Man, I got tricked a little bit. I had a nice job lined up that I was going to do while I finished my PhD, but then there was a downturn in the number of students and I was cut down to a measly two days a week. Too late not to sign the contract though, and therefore too late to chase up a more reasonable part-time job. Ergo: six months’ more poverty. Not that I’m down to my last or anything. I’m still going to Thailand with the Rat and bringing me home a wife. It’s just that my wife may now have a penis.

I have also been staring at a job advert for a fairly respectable position in Cape Town, South Africa. I doubt they’d want me, with a total of zero publications, but I do wonder who else in the world wants the job, and whether any of them have a more impressive cv than me. There are also adverts for the graduate intakes of the Dept. of Premier and Cabinet and the Attorney General’s Dept. here. Suit jobs that, unfortunately, will probably not involve me holding forth in front of rooms of impressionable teenagers. Luckily the deadlines are either today or next week so I don’t have to think about them for another year, but still, if the future involves a choice between jobs in countries that I don’t ever want to visit and jobs that don’t stroke my enormous ego then the future is majorly lame. Never did it occur to me that I might actually be sad on graduation day.

Hence the paranoia.