Friday, August 25, 2006
(8:43 AM) | it:
Friday Confessional: I weep for Pluto
I confess I had job interview yesterday. This time I didn't make accidentally polemical comments about [sneer] bureaucracy or students 'not thinking of themselves as clients'. But I did, er, exaggerate a little bit about how close I was to finishing the PhD. But it wasn't any different from the lie I tell myself, so I didn't blush, I didn't look away, and I certainly didn't hesitate. It was like the truth, only more convincing.I confess that the night before aforementioned interview, I had an anxiety dream in which I had to give a presentation about the academic import of...'the money shot'. In the dream, the presentation went badly. I suspect this means I feel slightly guilty for writing about porn and posting pictures of sad-looking girls with cum in their eyes at the same time as trying to prepare myself to come over as a potential perky lecturer-colleague with 'RAE yes yes yes' stamped all over my arse.
I confess that my life oscillates between Rumspringa-like levels of drunken debauchery in which I truly go to live among 'the English'... and monk-like passages of reading and typing in which I see no one and speak about three words a day. I cannot understand how to reconcile the two 'modes of being' in some sort of rational, sensible, non-self-destructive mid-point. This is why, I confess, I believe that Descartes' 'mind-body' dualism has a lot to recommend it, at least as an existential claim.
I confess that often the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning (apart from the chance to read more sf) is the thought of dressing up. I confess I spend all my money on alcohol and vintage clothes (and the thing that unites them both - dry cleaning). I confess this probably makes me a drunken slattern, or at least an irresponsible drabble-tail.
Confess you whores!
