What sad, desperate daydreams have filled my head today.
I’ve been thinking about university – my tutors, my fellow students – and missing it all. I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t enrol just to get an MA. I wanted to learn, to listen, to mix with other writers and make contact with people who could sustain me after the course.
Well, I got my MA so, obviously I did listen and I did learn but now the course is over. I had to move away before I graduated, meaning that I left behind my fledgling acquaintance with a literary society. I don’t mix with writers now. I’m under intense financial pressure (I can’t even afford ink for my printer) and my office is becoming a place to dump stuff (Currently it’s occupied by a large papier-mâché statue from my nephew’s school – long story). How the hell can I get ahead?
It’s pointless to wish I could turn back the clock to my first day at uni but …