Well of course I’ve applied for the PhD. This is in accordance with my new life mantra, ‘It’ll either work out or it won’t’, the second part of which is ‘And I’ll be ok either way’. Deep, eh? I had a blinding moment of realisation while I was drying my hair one morning that it’s time to stop being scared.
Besides, when I thought about it a bit more, it turned out that what I’m actually scared of is being broke; but the only reason I’m a bit bothered about being broke is that I won’t be able to buy shoes from Hobbs; but one of the main reasons I buy stuff* anyway is to compensate me for having to go into work every day. Ergo, the vicious circle. None of it means anything, though, and stripping away the superficialities wouldn’t be a bad thing.
It’s not as though I’ll ever give up entirely on treats, and a woman has to keep herself in haircuts and perfume. It’s just that what constitutes a treat can be redefined in the blink of an eye. Tiffany or Jaffa Cakes? They’re different points on the same continuum. (But what if Tiffany made a small, silver Jaffa Cake…?)
I should know pretty quickly whether this indeed a light at the end of the tunnel, or just ignis fatuus. In the meantime I’m trying not to think too much about it. Hope can be such a dangerous thing.
*books are not stuff, books are oxygen. Don’t worry, Blackwells!