Fear of being a t'ird!!

It's my third year at uni - hooray, I made the first two! Only one more to go!

I've done my best to take it seriously.
Typical scenario:

"Hey Dave, wanna go out?"
FUCK OFF, DOING COURSEWORK, LEAVE ME ALONE!
"What a wanker..."

I was on fire in my first year - 70% upwards on module assignments. Who's a clever boy (hint: me)
At this time, however, I was still ignorant to university grade banding. '2.1?' 'Honour?' A 'first'? I'd heard all these terms on Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air as a young'n and thought they were just American grades so Carlton could go Harvard! I told you I was ignorant to uni grade bandings.

Last week I was in a learning skills lecture on what we want to get from our degree. We went over all that stuff. The rusty floodgates of my mind opened, and knowledge gushed forth, filling my knowledge tanks to the brim.

FLASHBACK! The second year of uni was different for me:

Got a girlfriend, Dave?
Nope.
Lonely?
Uh-huh. Where to I go from here?
Shiiiit I dunno, I'm just your conscience!
How can you help me?
I can't. But as you're dwelling on how lonely you think you are, I guess I can make it worse for you by reminding you how de-motivating some of your lecturers are.
GAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
That's it, let it all out...

I got me a few 70%+ here and there. And a few below. And one fail.

YOU'RE BACK IN THE ROOM! We worked out a few examples of who we thought got a 1st, 2.1, 2.2 or 3rd. Something in the back of my mind is thinking 'What if the tutor is using your results as an example?'
Oh, and I learned that the first year doesn't count towards your final degree - WHAT?
Somewhere along the line, I switched off when they were telling me that!

To cut a long story short, it brought me to question what I'm going to get from my degree.
I did brill first year (even if I didn't have to), okay in my second, and my third year is going to be the hardest yet.

I have visions of me going to a job interview at a worldwide publication.
One queue for 2.1s and above. Pinstripe suites bought on Saville Row, promising futures. A second queue for those with a lesser degree, wearing cheap child-labour suits from Tesco . And me in it (dressed slightly better).

Or at airport customs. With a journalism visa. The customs officer opens it up, and for some reason, my degree is stamped on it too. He takes a look at me as if to say "I got the same degree as you, now look at me, having to work overtime here AND raise a kid at home, alone since my wife ran away with the postman who she was having an affair with since around the time she told me she was pregnant!"

Its not easy being at uni. Let's hope that every time I submit my assignments that I did them right, referenced them well and impress the marker.

Otherwise, you all know what my future is.