It's been longer than usual, I am still alive! I know you probably didn't worry that much, no sleepless nights - unlike me. I had many of those stressing, sweating, worrying, searching for answers, balancing the pins and needles of the mind, trying to stay sane, wondering how it will ever be done by the time it should be and lastly trying to relax at the same time as you stare up at the ceiling considering how to push all of that out of your head so as to be able to fall asleep. Those days are over, and I will never have to do it again. Well at least not in the very near future. The beast has been defended at the altar of Academia and it didn't end in bloodshed or vampire tears, yet it is unfortunately not completely over - it is not dead and buried.
For the next 6 to 9 months I will still be stuck in this medieval village of ours fighting with the theoretical concepts of modern art and Marxist ideology. It is a small victory, hopefully followed by a much greater one: a dream of a job somewhere far away from here, in a place where art, shops, music, theatre is all within walking distance (and exists as it does not here). Reality has certainly hit the unexpected Doctorate, Norwegian loan agency knocking on the electronic door asking for its money back, council tax collectors trying to bring the already weak economy of the unemployed down into the mud and the constant checking of bank accounts for any glimmer of hope to where the cash for this evening's dinner will come from. It is stressful in another way, yet I am still tired still completely knackered and beaten, even two months down the line. I have lost all motivation to continue, I look for alternate ways of survival. I can tell you digging a whole in the garden, burying oneself might not be the way forward but it feels tempting right now.
I am stuck in limbo, no 'real' job, no 'real' tangible future, no 'real' plans for either. Time has in fact stopped inside my head, but outside my body the world is spinning still, is continuing to tick on. The post-Doc depression is very real when stuck here in this smaller than usual universe of golfers and exam-resit undergrads, I keep wanting to be somewhere else - maybe this is healthy, maybe it is just what I need to get out of here quicker - yet it has brought me to a level where I don't even feel like leaving the house or lifting my finger to cook, clean, take care of myself. It is funny how I tried to escape all of the depression by going away for a month and a half, first 4 weeks in Greece followed closely by an escape to Denmark to see family, all of which was so great I cannot even start to say how happy I was away from here. Happy not having to think about art history and the beast that has been holding a grip on my shoulders for the past 4 years seemed gone. Yet back in the village the beast is still here, it was laying in waiting, ready to jump the second one turns the corner of the cathedral ruins.
The worst thing is that a couple of days ago I started missing you.
For the next 6 to 9 months I will still be stuck in this medieval village of ours fighting with the theoretical concepts of modern art and Marxist ideology. It is a small victory, hopefully followed by a much greater one: a dream of a job somewhere far away from here, in a place where art, shops, music, theatre is all within walking distance (and exists as it does not here). Reality has certainly hit the unexpected Doctorate, Norwegian loan agency knocking on the electronic door asking for its money back, council tax collectors trying to bring the already weak economy of the unemployed down into the mud and the constant checking of bank accounts for any glimmer of hope to where the cash for this evening's dinner will come from. It is stressful in another way, yet I am still tired still completely knackered and beaten, even two months down the line. I have lost all motivation to continue, I look for alternate ways of survival. I can tell you digging a whole in the garden, burying oneself might not be the way forward but it feels tempting right now.
I am stuck in limbo, no 'real' job, no 'real' tangible future, no 'real' plans for either. Time has in fact stopped inside my head, but outside my body the world is spinning still, is continuing to tick on. The post-Doc depression is very real when stuck here in this smaller than usual universe of golfers and exam-resit undergrads, I keep wanting to be somewhere else - maybe this is healthy, maybe it is just what I need to get out of here quicker - yet it has brought me to a level where I don't even feel like leaving the house or lifting my finger to cook, clean, take care of myself. It is funny how I tried to escape all of the depression by going away for a month and a half, first 4 weeks in Greece followed closely by an escape to Denmark to see family, all of which was so great I cannot even start to say how happy I was away from here. Happy not having to think about art history and the beast that has been holding a grip on my shoulders for the past 4 years seemed gone. Yet back in the village the beast is still here, it was laying in waiting, ready to jump the second one turns the corner of the cathedral ruins.
The worst thing is that a couple of days ago I started missing you.
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