Tonight I began looking at graduate schools and I am afraid. I doubt that I have what it takes to attain a doctorate. Have I been laboring under a silly little delusion of my own intellectual capability for this long, and have others just entertained my accidental pretension?
The words ORAL EXAMS, PROSPECTUS, DUAL LANGUAGE READING PROFICIENCY, 650 ON MATH GRE make me want to throw up.
Oh good holy God. No.
I am looking at my immediate future and I am also afraid. Too many choices. There are TOO MANY CHOICES. GIVE ME THE CHOCOLATE OR THE VANILLA AND TAKE AWAY YOUR TUTTI FRUTTI BUTTER RUM BULLSHIT WITH RED CURRANT SAUCE AND TOASTED MARZIPAN TOPPING! *protracted panting*
Do I bust my ass to teach private school for a year (providing I secure a job)? Do I go work at Fathom for a year, which would be comforting and great and probably help me pay off my loans? Do I try to stay in Spain for another year (not like I’d get to see Greg if I were in the States, anyway, and the people I care about are all scattered far and wide)? Do I say “screw it all” and go to something else totally off the wall for a year, like move to Seattle and work as a professional cat groomer? CAN I HANDLE THAT MANY CLAWS!?
Fuck this. I’m going to bed where I can wrap myself up in my green comforter, much like this:
Man, I miss my Gemma and Flora. As soon as I get home, priority #1 will be sticking each of them in my sweatshirt just like that and kissing their little noses.