I handed in my dissertation yesterday. It felt fantastic. Actually, I wanted to kiss one of the bound copies but got concerned that a lip-balm smudge might have an effect on my grade. I felt about 15 kilo lighter, as though I could float through campus, to the bus-stop, all the way home. I wanted to laugh. So I did laugh. I wanted to sit in bed and watch TV. So I did. The sense of freedom was immense.
Then night settled and worries rose. Financially, my state is appalling. I am starting a course at Goldsmith’s in October and I have no way of paying for it, no job, no settled home, no real sense of how I am going to get through the next two years, studying part time and working what will have to be full-. I am being unrealistic. Idealistic. Too hopeful, too trusting of the universe to give me what I need. Want. Need. Like I said before, everybody keeps telling me to take my life one day at a time, but I don’t have the luxury of doing so right now. The decisions I make now affect the rest of my life and at the very least have a heavy impact on the next two years of it. My stress is not unwarranted.
So I lie awake thinking about this stuff. I thumb my last tenner, folded neatly in my pocket. I calculate the number of packets of instant noodles I can buy with a quid (five). A friend from meetings has offered that I stay with her. I think about how I will be able to contribute. I think about how good it would be to stay in Canterbury. About how easy it would be to move back to London. I have friends here. I have family there. I can’t afford to move out there. I can’t afford to live here. So I can’t even concentrate on Orange is the New Black.
I lie awake.