It's 6.24 pm, and Anna is sat in the library writing a blog. Most of the other occupants appear to be asleep. It had been a productive day for the dark-haired one, with 1802 words being written on her third chapter of the dissertation: Charlotte Smith's use of a 'mother-writer author function'. It is shortly time for a trip to the pub.
... Definitely enough with the 'Big Brother' commentary thing.
It has, however, been a good day. Amazingly enough I slept straight through from 11pm ish to 8.15 this morning. This never happens - I've had sleep issues on and off for about 2 and a half years now, sometimes I can't get to sleep, and I never EVER stay asleep all night. It was impressive. Anyhow, I got to Chester around 10.30 and migrated straight to la bibliotheque. Ran into a friend from the year below, so have had quite a pleasant afternoon discussing how shite men are, the literary canon, and pasta pots. Have made a decent start with the 3rd chapter - it's divided into 3 sections, and I've started each of them off, and have also written my introduction.
I was just reading over my first blog entry, and was really struck by how I introduce myself. I appear to define myself by university. This was an unconscious thing, and it really made me realise just how much my academic aspirations have taken over my life. For example: when I move back to Chester, I have two weeks before the PhD starts. Am I spending this time getting pissed and sleeping? Well, partly: it is Fresher's Week. But mainly I'm intending to spend that time sorting out my job (to enable sufficient income so that I don't have to waste precious reading time worrying about lack of cash) and writing an article for a journal. It's only a short article (1500-2000), but still. I seem to have this disease at the moment where I just can't stop. This has been happening all year (Sept 08 - Sept 09): I'm constantly searching out things to do that will look fab on my academic CV, but don't really help me right here and right now. It's weird: I'm utterly obsessed about getting my name in print (it is once, already, in a poetry magazine called Anon :D) and doing all the things that will (hopefully) get me noticed when I apply for jobs in the future. I was never particularly dedicated in school (5 x A Grade, 3 x C Grade, 2 x D grade GCSEs) or college (1 x B Grade, 2 x C Grade A-levels and 1 x C Grade GCSE). I mean, these are *alright* results, but I should and could have done much better. I preferred to hang around the stables in checked shirts and chaps than sit at the dining room table with my revision timetable designed by my Dad, and the door shut.
I started worrying a while ago about not getting on the PhD. This prompted some long and hard thinking about what I'd do if, for whatever reason, I couldn't see it through and get a job as a lecturer. I came to the conclusion that I'd train up as a counsellor, like psychology type thangs. I'm not sure why this appeals to me. I had counselling when I was 20 and it helped me with a lot of stuff, and I figured that this would be a rewarding career. Of course, I'd have to face my Science demons, but this is a back-up plan that I sincerely hope I do not have to turn to. Hopefully, though, things will turn out just peachy: it certainly won't be for lack of trying if I fail!!
... Definitely enough with the 'Big Brother' commentary thing.
It has, however, been a good day. Amazingly enough I slept straight through from 11pm ish to 8.15 this morning. This never happens - I've had sleep issues on and off for about 2 and a half years now, sometimes I can't get to sleep, and I never EVER stay asleep all night. It was impressive. Anyhow, I got to Chester around 10.30 and migrated straight to la bibliotheque. Ran into a friend from the year below, so have had quite a pleasant afternoon discussing how shite men are, the literary canon, and pasta pots. Have made a decent start with the 3rd chapter - it's divided into 3 sections, and I've started each of them off, and have also written my introduction.
I was just reading over my first blog entry, and was really struck by how I introduce myself. I appear to define myself by university. This was an unconscious thing, and it really made me realise just how much my academic aspirations have taken over my life. For example: when I move back to Chester, I have two weeks before the PhD starts. Am I spending this time getting pissed and sleeping? Well, partly: it is Fresher's Week. But mainly I'm intending to spend that time sorting out my job (to enable sufficient income so that I don't have to waste precious reading time worrying about lack of cash) and writing an article for a journal. It's only a short article (1500-2000), but still. I seem to have this disease at the moment where I just can't stop. This has been happening all year (Sept 08 - Sept 09): I'm constantly searching out things to do that will look fab on my academic CV, but don't really help me right here and right now. It's weird: I'm utterly obsessed about getting my name in print (it is once, already, in a poetry magazine called Anon :D) and doing all the things that will (hopefully) get me noticed when I apply for jobs in the future. I was never particularly dedicated in school (5 x A Grade, 3 x C Grade, 2 x D grade GCSEs) or college (1 x B Grade, 2 x C Grade A-levels and 1 x C Grade GCSE). I mean, these are *alright* results, but I should and could have done much better. I preferred to hang around the stables in checked shirts and chaps than sit at the dining room table with my revision timetable designed by my Dad, and the door shut.
I started worrying a while ago about not getting on the PhD. This prompted some long and hard thinking about what I'd do if, for whatever reason, I couldn't see it through and get a job as a lecturer. I came to the conclusion that I'd train up as a counsellor, like psychology type thangs. I'm not sure why this appeals to me. I had counselling when I was 20 and it helped me with a lot of stuff, and I figured that this would be a rewarding career. Of course, I'd have to face my Science demons, but this is a back-up plan that I sincerely hope I do not have to turn to. Hopefully, though, things will turn out just peachy: it certainly won't be for lack of trying if I fail!!
Just cut that last clause, will you? Things will turn out peachy whatever happens. Also for your Dad, who won't have the hassle of drafting revision timetables for his errant progeny ever again...
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