A few days after starting this blog of doom and gloom, I was offered a place at Oxford University. I can't believe how fast time flies - whether enjoying oneself or not - but I've finished. Dissertation handed in, books returned to libraries, champagne drunk, and a strangely deflated feeling acquired. I'm now yet another out-of-work graduate, clawing around for a reason for my existence and having considerable difficulty locating one. What with it being a whole week into the World Cup, I'm already becoming slightly fed up with that form of entertainment, and somehow sunbathing doesn't have quite the same appeal when you don't have that underlying feeling of guilt nagging at you simultaneously.
Speaking of which, I have Argentina v Serbia and Montenegro on in the background. Random aside that this must be the one occasion when Boca and River fans don't want to kill each other - united by the glorious game. Perhaps it does serve some purposes.
I went to the Careers Service this morning. Why? God alone knows. I have no desire for a career and had that confirmed for me; besides, it is ludicrous to expect somebody whose job consists of advising other people on How To Get A Life to be able to have any kind of understanding for my job-related dilemmas. (Summed up as: I don't really want one). Am mulling over the idea of asking for advice on how to become an escort, just to see their reaction.
In my slightly drunk, slightly sun-stroked state, I am therefore making a worldwide appeal, to all those single men with an extremely large inheritance to seriously consider approaching me. Please also send all openings for the post of Garden Gnome to me, I think that is definitely an option I should contemplate.
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