Doctor When

I graduated on Saturday!  You are now looking at [the blog of] Bad Wolf MA *beams* - that is never gonna get old   Bit surreal really, being up on that stage with the lovely Floella 'Make a difference, change the world, make us proud' Benjamin.  Many times I thought I'd never make it to graduation, and I know I freaked out those around me too (Gloria, The Wife), but they kept me sane, and both of them have said how proud they are, which means a lot.

What also felt weird was being on campus as a non-student.  I know I've worked at the museum for four months now, but that feels different somehow, largely cos it's kinda on the edge of campus, and maybe just cos it feels like a job – albeit unpaid.  Not that I miss being a student, hell no.  Though, apparently, I want to do a PhD… Funny story, not.

After the ceremony on Saturday, I went up to the reception to see a few people, and was immediately accosted by The Prof. with 'I hear you want to do a PhD?'.  Slightly lost for words, I didn't immediately respond, other than to um and ahh a bit, but mother, well, she jumped on this bandwagon.  So mother and The Prof. set about planning my future, discussing possible funding opportunities and so on.  The Prof. then calls over another Film lecturer, Bill, and tells him how interested I am in taking on a doctorate.  Fortunately, for me, he had to rush off to pick up his brood, but not before agreeing wholeheartedly with The Prof. that there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't apply for, and receive, funding.

Then we see my boss who mother, excited by the aforementioned conversation, harasses into giving his opinion on the matter.  He agreed with The Prof. and Bill – well of course he would – that there were many funding options available, and he'd even look into them for me – woo hoo.  Boss even asked if I wanted him to arrange for South to come and see me while I'm working at, to talk about possible PhD topics – OK, this I readily agreed to.   Sing was there too, and he was about the only one that listened to me that day when I said I didn't miss studying, and wasn't ready to do a PhD yet.  Though, that was probably because mother had left me unattended for all of a minute to go and get a drink.  Bless all these people for trying their best; they obviously believed that, not only did I want to do it, but that I could do it, which is naturally very flattering.

God, I even got a congratulations card from Gloria's daughter-in-law, saying 'Hope the PhD is going well'.  It really did feel like I was the only one that didn't think I was doing a PhD, though The Wife and VW both advised me not to do it, while Gloria told me to do what I thought was right, cos they listen, see?

I went home on a natural high from the festivities and, while the threat of a PhD had seemed to move closer, and it was all mother could talk about, it still only felt like a threat; not a promise.  However, on Monday night I switch on my BlackBerry – yup, I finally have a decent phone – to discover three e-mails from Boss; two of them information on post-graduate funding, while the other is informing me that he's arranged for Bill to come down to tomorrow (yesterday), to discuss applying for the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) grant, whose deadline closes on January 31^st.  Now, I have to admit, I knew when the AHRC deadline was, and I was deliberately trying to avoid it.  Well, if I wasn't planning on applying, why did I need to acknowledge it?  But, because Boss and Bill had been led to believe that this is what I wanted to do, they considered this 'urgent'.  Cue freak out.  Seriously, I cried, my heart raced; total flight response.  I just felt like I'd suddenly been pushed into a corner, and there was no way out – stupid I know.  The Wife, quite rightly, gave me a virtual slap, and told me to just say no, but I felt so guilty.  These people had gone to some trouble to try and help me out, and I was going to look like a right idiot, and totally waste their time, by saying that, actually, I don't want to do this. 

That physical reaction I had was almost the last bit of proof I needed that I really wasn't ready, it was similar to how I often felt during the MA; totally out of control, and overwhelmed.  It's like, I'd put the MA, and all my feelings towards it – good and bad – away in a box on a shelf in my mind, and I was quite happy with it just sitting there.  I knew it was there, and it was well within my reach, but it was tucked away enough that it wasn't bothering me, and I wasn't constantly tripping over it.  Now though, with all this talk of the PhD, it was like someone had come in and found my MA box, tipped it all over the floor, and left a right mess in my already cluttered mind.  The MA is still comparatively recent too, so all these feelings are pretty raw, which doesn't help.  Suppose it's like after giving birth, you'd say 'never again', but a couple years later... Yeah well, I haven't forgotten the pain yet.

So anyway, I was worried.  I knew I had to tell Bill the full story but, aside from looking like a time waster, I knew I'd probably get upset talking about all this, and I hate crying in front of people.  Especially male people.  Bill was 'booked' to be there at 10 a.m., for when I arrived at the museum, and I was worried that mother – who drops me off – would insist on staying, and I wouldn't get a word in edgeways.  Fortunately, Bill was characteristically late, and mother had already gone.

Bill, and Boss – we stayed in the main office, so it wasn't exactly private – were great!  Neither of them had realised how uncertain I was, and Bill was so understanding, telling me I should only ever do the PhD when I was ready – which is what The Legend said to me ages ago.  I told Bill how tough I'd found the MA – I could totally feel myself getting upset – and he agreed I should give myself some time to really think about what I wanted, and take that pressure off.  He could see I'd been flattered by the fact that everyone believed I could do it – everyone in the Film department apparently, *blushes* – but I shouldn't do it because other people wanted me to, or because there was a window of opportunity; there would be more.  Finally, Bill said that I was in the perfect place being in the museum, and I could use that to my advantage; if I come across something interesting while cataloguing, that I'd like to research further, that could become the basis of my thesis.  Equally, Boss said that if I came up with an idea that I'd like to look into, and he knew that the museum held relevant artefacts, he'd let me use my time there to view them.  I'm to use my position as an advantage – not something that occurs often – and call on Bill/HH/The Legend/Sing/South if and when I ever need them cos, even though I'm not a student anymore, I'm still 'one of their favourites', so they'd make an exception for me.

Aaaaand relax!  That convo was just what I needed, and to think, it was with Bill, i.e. A Bloke.  They do have hearts sometimes.  I was planning to have this kind of conversation in the near future anyway, to clear the air, and try and sort out how I felt about a PhD, but I was thinking of talking to HH, or The Legend.  Although initially I freaked out about being put in that position, I'm glad I was in the end, as it made me confront the issue, and voice how I really felt.  OK, so Bill and Boss maybe weren't the ideal sounding boards but, actually, I think that almost helped, as I had to a) really compose myself, and make my thoughts cohesive, rather than be an emotional wreck and b), it's always supposed to be easier to talk to someone less involved.  Personally, I'm not very good at talking, and I have to really bond with people, and trust them within an inch of my life before I tell them anything remotely juicy, so Gloria, VW, and The Wife know everything, I should think they need counselling now.  So I was quite surprised how honest I was with Bill; maybe I've grown up a bit, and learnt to speak up for myself.  It's only taken 25 and a half years, not bad.  Or maybe I trust Bill more than I thought, and I should give him more credit, after all, I've known him for over four years, and he and the Film/English department have been incredibly supportive; still are it appears.

So I feel much better, like a weight has been lifted.  A weight that I wasn't completely aware even existed.  As far as I was concerned, I had no immediate plans to do a PhD; it was like a threatening storm cloud, just viewable in the distance.  After the events of the weekend, said cloud was right overhead, about to drown me, but now it's back on the horizon again.  It doesn't seem that threatening anymore either, weirdly.  When I repeated my conversation with Bill to mother – not exactly word for word, but she got the gist – I actually felt positive, and even talked about my next graduation with The Wife – who was appalled.  Knowing I've still got the support of the staff that I've grown to love over the past four years is an incredible boost, and having the time and resources to make my decision without any pressure is brilliant.  I'm not saying I will definitely be applying next year and, even if I did, there's no guarantee I'd get funding anyway, but I do feel that it is something that I'm probably going to do now, whereas before, it was probably not.  Might change my mind again tomorrow, knowing me I probably will.

BW MA xxx

Re-Enablement

*Updated 25/01/12*

Something else pretty big happened last year; my enabler, VW, got pregnant.  Now I know this news is obviously way bigger and more important to her than it will ever be to me as, unfortunately, I had nothing to do with this, much as I love her.  It's still a mahoosive thing for me though, as I will now explain, whist trying to redeem my inner selflessness.   It's not all about me, honest.

Without going into too much detail, VW was, basically, under the assumption that it would be very difficult for her to have children, maybe even impossible.  So when she told me last June that she was pregnant, it was quite a shock for both of us.  I must clarify here, in case she reads this; when I say she told me, what actually happened was I dragged it out of her.  Harsh I know.  I didn't mean to, but she was being all mysterious, asking if I had any plans for the following week, as she wasn't going to be able to see me.  I initially assumed she was covering for someone else, no.  Going away with the boyfriend?  Noo.  Skiving?  Nooo.  I don't even know what made me ask her if she was pregnant, but I did.  Yes.  Cue emotional 'I'm very pleased/happy for you' speech, which of course I was – am.  I knew how much she wanted this, and how awesome she's going to be, but also, at the back of my mind, I knew that this meant I'd eventually lose her.

She has been brilliant over the past seven months, trying to help me get things sorted for when she leaves in February.  Aside from [some of] my family and friends, I have very little outside support.  I have a couple of regular carers that come throughout the week to help with bathing, and another to help me at lunchtime when I'm at the museum but, apart from that, and VW, I have zilch.  My home carers can only do so much, as they're not allowed to lift me, and I'm still waiting for a hoist to be set up.  Not sure if I've mentioned this before but, cos of my condition (Brittle Bone Disease, or O.I), moving me isn't a straightforward task.  My mother has always done 99% of the lifting, with the odd exception of very trusted [and brave] friends and other relatives, and she still does it all today.  I've been waiting for my, frankly, rubbish Occupational Therapist to come up with a suitable means of hoisting me from A. to B. for what must be almost two years now.  I know I'm a difficult case, but really, does it have to be this hard?  Anyway, digressing.  The point is, that VW has been fighting this already crappy system on my behalf in order to, a) try and resolve the above issue and b), set me up with a suitable replacement, to fill the huge void she'll be leaving in my life.  Not possible, but bless her for trying.

For reasons that are far too complicated for me to understand, let alone write, I never had to pay anything for VW's services – innuendo much intended.  It was actually one of the few things that my OT did get right, the other was finding a house for me and my mum when we really needed to get out of a bad situation.  VW's role was chiefly to give me back the confidence I lost after The Event, and to provide me with some much-needed independence.  She certainly did both of those things, but particularly the first, as I now barely think anything of going out in the car – unless it's a motorway trip, that still bothers me a little, but really, minor.  Hence why I didn't have to pay I suppose, as this was classed as 're-enablement'; a service helping people get back on their feet – so to speak – after a difficult time, an illness, hospitalisation etc.  This was only meant to last for a few months; until I was back to 'normal' again anyway, but two years later…

What I need, and what VW has been doing for me for the past two years – somewhat under the radar – is an enabler.  Someone to take me out shopping, cinema, to meet friends, and so on.  Obviously, none of this comes free, and this is what VW has been helping me sort out; putting a rocket under my useless OT, in order to get her to reassess me, so that I can have more hours of enabling time, and the money to pay for it – courtesy of Direct Payments.

VW must have actual magical powers cos, finally, after much pissing around – by OT, but you got that – it is sorted, and my new enabler starts in February.  Hoorah.  Obviously, nothing is that simple.  Yes, I'm happy because I managed to claw a couple of extra hours out of the government, who totally bloody owe me (see The Event) - I'm now entitled to five whole hours a week, as opposed to three.  Yes, I'm also happy with my new enabler, as I chose her - it's one of the carers that comes in the week, so I'm used to her already, and we get on well.  She's not taken me out yet, or practised securing me in the car and, while I might find it a bit difficult to get used to somebody else driving, I reckon I'll be alright, in a not-freaking-out-kinda-way.  Besides, I've come to realise over the past couple of years particularly, that this – getting used to other people doing things for me – is my life, I've just gotta deal with it.  My mother can't do everything for ever, and I wouldn't want her to; she's done enough.  We should've sorted al this out a long time ago, then I probably wouldn't have so many issues about learning to trust new people.  We kinda just struggled on, finding our own way to do things, without asking for any help; and look where that got us.  There is loads of amazing support out there for people with disabilities, and I've experienced just a fraction of it, but my main source of support has been from my friends, particularly Gloria and VW, and family.  I think it's about time somebody else chipped in.  I'm not saying the world owes me, but my friends and family need a break so that they can be just friends and family, not carers, and it's not like I've asked for a lot over the past [nearly] 26 years.

Course, getting use to a new team means saying goodbye to the old one, and it is gonna be super hard to do that where VW is concerned.   Aside from everything I've already credited her for, she has been a brilliant friend.   I've never really had the opportunity to just go out with a friend, and be normal, so for a couple of hours a week, VW gave me that experience.  Yes, OK, that was her job, and she was getting paid for it, so maybe that doesn't make it a 'real' friendship.  But I think the world of her, and I hope she sees me as a friend now, rather than just a client.  I haven't asked, as this would come across as needy – right?  I'm just going by the fact that we talk a lot and, while she is a very open person anyway, some of the stuff she's told me is the sort of thing you'd only tell those you really trust, so if I'm in that category, then that'll do me. 

She's also enabled me – see what I did there? – to feel involved with her pregnancy; something that I largely missed out on with other friends, as I never saw them.  It has been incredible, without being too mushy.  Not so much the 'miracle of life' stuff – yawn – but more how it's affected her.  It's gone so quickly, and obviously there's the physical changes – though she still looks amazing.  Bitch – but the emotional/personality changes have been the most eye-opening.  VW's always been one of those people that only cries if she's very upset, and doesn't often let you know that she's worried about anything, mainly cos doesn't often seem to worry or dwell on things that can't be changed.  Nothing like me at all!  Now though, thanks to those blessed hormones, she cries at anything and, more recently, is really paranoid about things that are so unlikely to happen.  Last week she nearly had me going when she said she wanted to learn first aid, as one of the things that she's worrying about is the baby dying.  I wasn't upset cos I'd had the same thoughts – I hadn't – but because she was having them.  It killed me to think that my fearless VW, who has wanted this so badly, could ever be freaked out by – basically – the scariest thought a woman can have.  And there's absolutely nothing I can do for her, apart from being a mate, and letting her know she can always talk to me about anything.  Not that I know much, and even less about pregnancy and babies, but I can have a go.   I could never do for her what she's done for me, which is quite hard to get over, as I often feel pretty useless, but as long as I offer myself as a friend, what more can I do?

I hope this won't be the end of a beautiful friendship, and that VW – and bump – will be part of my life for a very long time.  Don't think I'd be quite the same without her.  Or quite as sane.

BW xxx

* We had a practise run of getting me in and out the car on Monday, with VW giving a demo, and SB – VW's replacement – having a go herself.  When it was SB's turn, VW turned to me and said 'this is weird', meaning it didn't feel that long ago that she was learning the ropes, and now she was handing over to someone else.  I think she felt quite protective, telling SB to be careful when driving over rough roads, and telling me afterwards that, if ever something didn't feel right, I must say so.  Monday the 6^th of February – VW's last day with me – is going to be a very emotional one.  Though, I was given a pretty strong assurance that I'm not going to lose VW completely, with her making plans to meet me, with my new enabler, in town, once she's recovered and all.

Job's Worth

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not sitting here twiddling my thumbs, hell no; I have A Job.  I know, right?  Shocking.

While I was researching my dissertation, I spent a bit of time in the campus' very own Film museum, and figured I might as well ask the curator, Mr Wickham (HH's equally awesome husband) for a job.  I've known for ages that the museum takes on volunteers, and was always tempted to sign up, but didn't think I'd have been able to manage that along with the degree/MA.  Looking back, I know I wouldn't have been able to do both.  I'd already decided I wasn't gonna do the student thing for a long, long time after finishing the MA, but kinda worried I was gonna miss the security of knowing exactly where I was, and who I was with.  Everyone at the University had been so amazing that, although I was saying goodbye to some extent, I wouldn't have to leave completely.  I know that sounds a bit pathetic, but when you've built up that much trust and confidence, it's difficult to leave it all behind.  Also, maybe I felt that by not completely leaving, I'd have loads of support, and [free] resources, on tap, in case I ever wanted to come back.  That, and I'm hoping that, if I show enough willing, this job might lead to something more permanent.

Luckily, Mr Wickham said yes, and I am now Chief Cataloguer [self-titled] of The Robin Allan Disney Archive.  I'm ashamed to say I don't yet know a lot about Allan, other than he has written books on the history of the Disney studios including, most famously: Walt Disney and Europe: European Influences on the Animated Feature Films of Walt Disney (1999). 

During his research, Allan met with animators, and others associated with Disney, and subsequently donated a load of his findings to the museum.  There's tons of it; from newspaper clippings, to greetings cards designed by the animators themselves – Eyvind Earle, Mary Blair are two I can remember off the top of my head.  Cos I happened to write 20,000 words on Disney, Mr Wickham automatically set me the task of working on this archive.  So not complaining, it's brilliant!  Course, some of the stuff is dead tacky, and not really that interesting, but most of it is great – and very pinchable; not that I ever would, natch.  Really though, it's not what I'm working with that's important, it's the fact that I'm working with it at all.  Alright, so I don't get paid, which to some means that it's not a 'proper job', but it's still a job.  It's still a responsibility that requires at least half a brain to manage; if I got the item numbers mixed up, then the consequences could be catastrophic... Well, it would make it very difficult for someone searching for an item within the archive anyway.  I have to write a brief description for each item and, while I'm not going to win any literary awards, I was pretty proud to see my first few entries go up on the online catalogue.  Even more proud to see a small article go up on the museum's Facebook page - I'm a slave to modernism. 

Yeah, so I'm pretty happy in my work, and I think Mr Wickham is relatively impressed with what I'm doing.  Bless him, he's marvellous.  He's always making sure that I'm OK, and asking if there's anything else he can do to make things easier.  Such an atypical bloke.  He's so calm and quiet too, possibly HH's influence, but the museum does seem to descend into chaos whenever he's not there.  Hope he doesn't read this, cos that might worry him.  I mean comparatively speaking, of course.

Working one day a week, unpaid, at the university where I studied for four years may not seem such a big deal to a lot of people, but for me it is.  I've had jobs before, paid jobs actually, but I've never gone out to work; with the exception of a quarterly meeting for a disability magazine I used to write for.  A lot of my friends are all 'Ah, that's good, well done you', and I think 99% of them really do mean it.  Without assuming too much, I reckon Gloria for one is pretty proud, from what I've gleaned from @sarahwithstars.  Actually, just remembered; the museum had a children's fun day last October, to which Gloria came down for a visit.  I rang her a few weeks later with my MA results – so it was a pretty emotional conversation anyway, and I can't remember much of it, annoyingly – but I do remember her saying how well she thought I'd done that day, and how confident and happy I seemed.  Gloria is just the best ego booster ever, she should be bottled. 

Anyway, so I know I have the support of me crew at least.  Not so sure on the family.  I mean, of course they're proud by default, but whether they're as made up about it as I am, and my friends are, I'm not sure.  Mum keeps referring to it as my 'little job' in conversation, which grates on me just a tadge.  Alright, so I'm not on the brink of finding a cure for cancer, but at least I'm making some effort to do something with my life, rather than hanging around at home, annoying her – I can do that the other six days a week.  I dunno, I'm probably reading too much into it, as per.  She is disappointed that I'm so anti-PhD, and maybe thinks, like I said in my last post, that she won't ever see me graduate as a Doctor.  Honestly, are two graduation ceremonies not enough for some parents?  Not that we've been to the second one yet, it's next Saturday (21st).  Big day.  Big day.  So much bigger than the last one.  Not just in terms of the qualification being higher, but after everything that happened in 2011, and the worry that I put everyone through, let alone myself; this means hell of a lot more than the degree did.  God, I may even cry… If Gloria does – and she's sitting right up front with us this time – then I don't hold out a lot of hope.  It'll be good to see Floella Benjamin OBE (the university's Chancellor) again too.  Got a feeling she might recognise me – not being big-headed; I'm the only one in the Department in a wheelchair.  Thinking of greeting her with 'Hey, we have got to stop meeting like this!'

BW xxx

Great Expectations

Yup, I had a baby... But not in the way you're thinking.  Well, the way I think you're thinking anyway... Lemme explain.

OK, so there I am, at the beginning of 2011, struggling away with, frankly, everything.  Although I'd started to get myself mentally together in February, and was feeling a lot more positive about certain things, I was completely panicking about the 20,000 word dissertation I still had to write, in order to even attempt to pass my MA in Film.  The thought of it scared me half to death; I just couldn't imagine being mentally, and physically, able to cobble together enough research to 'fuel' a 20k essay, let alone write the thing.  I also had no idea what I wanted to write about.  I remember going to see The Legend in December, who tried to get me to think of a subject – or 'corpus' – I'd enjoy writing about.  We discussed maybe writing about the portrayal of women in vampire films – I did know I wanted to focus on feminism.  Really though, I was pretty clueless, and not particularly passionate – an important word, will feature heavily in this post – about any subject.  I came away from that meeting feeling rubbish – absolutely no reflection on The Legend – so much so, that I reckon I could pinpoint this exact day as the tipping point; the day that it all just got way too much.  The day my head exploded... Figuratively speaking, natch.

The next couple months are a bit of a blur, to be honest.  I know that, after Christmas, once the worry regarding that, coupled with my bonkers family – and other animals – was over with, I definitely started to pull myself together.  Counselling began in March, after my friend Gloria had already removed a load of weight off my shoulders, simply by listening, and I just had one – huge – hurdle left to stagger over, which [finally] leads me back to the beginning – and point – of this post.

While I'd not stopped thinking [fretting] about the dissertation since November, I'd also tried really hard not to think about it, which is as difficult to do as it is to explain.  It wasn't till late February, that I finally hit on an idea that might just work as an MA thesis.  I'd just written an essay for Sing's module on New Cinemas; we had to choose a film that had sparked debate, positive or negative, over its portrayal of a group not normally the focus of mainstream cinema, i.e. the elderly, disabled, homosexual, those of ethnic origin.  Thinking outside the box, I wrote on Disney's Aladdin (1992), and how it, in a nutshell, Westernised the goodies, and emphasised the foreignness of the bad guys. 

For the first time in ages, I actually enjoyed writing and researching an essay – what wasn't to like? I had to watch Aladdin several times over – and thought that, maybe, mixing a childish love of Disney with a spot of feminism might be enough to drag me through the next seven months.  A lunch date with The Legend helped to finalise this idea, and she sent me off with a few – OK, loads of – wise words, and a starting point for my research.  I was still bloody petrified and, had someone said that I could pass the MA without writing the dissertation, then I would have asked them where to sign.  In fact, someone sorta did, as Gloria – whose husband is a lecturer – thought that there was a way of avoiding a dissertation, probably based on extenuating circumstances, which resulted in some form of qualification, albeit of a lesser status than a Masters.  Bearing in mind what I've just said, and how I was feeling then, it really never occurred to me to just not do it.  I suppose I saw it as yet another challenge, and didn't wanna play the 'I'm disabled/stressed' card to get out of doing something that, maybe subconsciously, I knew I could do.  

When I saw her a few weeks ago, Gloria confessed that she'd worried I wasn't gonna see the dissertation through.  Now, if anyone else had said that, or I'd not completely understood where Gloria was coming from – after all, I was there – I could've been offended into thinking she didn't believe I could do it.  But that's not what she meant at all, and a chat with @sarahwithstars – aka The Wife, Gloria's niece, my soul mate – confirmed this.  Both Gloria and @sarahwithstars were worried that I didn't believe in myself enough to realise that, actually, I was being a tit – as @sarahwithstars would say – and that this was very doable.  Also, back when I was just starting to research, and formulate ideas, Gloria was desperate for me to feel passionate – there it is – in order for me to get anything out of this experience, and to care about it.  Well, I definitely wasn't passionate, and thought Gloria was possibly a bit bonkers – who gets excited about an essay?  This perception wasn't helped by the fact that Gloria said she'd written her Masters dissertation in three weeks, WTF?  So not possible…

I can't really remember the exact order of events that led up to finalising a title but, eventually, this is what I came up with:

'The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale?'

Catchy, no?  To cut what was a very long process short, I basically figured that the Renaissance era of Disney (1989-99 approx) would provide a narrow, yet interesting background, as it was supposedly a time of change, and modernisation.  To narrow it down even further, I chose just two films to focus on; The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989), and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991) and, as both of these stories derived from fairy tales, this became the final element.

I was assigned the incredible HH as my supervisor, who I'd previously had for a module on film adaptation so, naturally, this became a big part of my writing; the rationale for the way that these films were adapted, and moulded, by Disney. 

I'm not gonna say much more about the content of the dissertation, as I'm hoping to put it up on here, in a modified state, soon.  What I will say, and I've hinted at it enough for you to probably not be surprised to learn that… I totally fell in love with my dissertation.  I got passionate!  Way, way too much actually.  Just seeing everything fit together, like my choice of films opening the door for an analysis of fairy tales, or HH providing me with tonnes of resources regarding adaptation theory, became exciting.  God, I never thought I'd be one of those people, who got excited about research.  Wow.  But I did  

HH played a big part in my total mind shift.  She was such a calming influence, and constantly told me that 'I could do it'.  Yes, Gloria had been saying the exact same thing for months, but I think hearing it from somebody else, who wasn't so close, and who wasn't obliged – as a friend would naturally be – to say 'of course you can do it', gave me the final push I needed.  I wouldn't say I couldn't have done it without HH or Gloria – though there are many things I couldn't have done without the latter – but without them, I don't think I would have got half as passionate about what I was writing, and the end result definitely wouldn't be what it is today.  I wouldn't love it like I do either, I call it my baby.  Seriously though, that's not a bad analogy; it took nine months – November, when I started thinking of a suitable subject, to August, when I handed in – of preparation, worry, stress, and discomfort – I barely slept or ate while I was writing – only for me to be left with something that I couldn't leave alone, was immensely proud of, and actually missed when I finally decided that I couldn't do any more for it.  To it.  See?!  I cried when I finished it, HH [nearly] cried I told her I'd finished, and Gloria [again, nearly] cried when I handed in.  It was a very emotional time for all concerned.  Oh, and what I said about it not being possible to write 20,000 words in three weeks?  Yeah, I was wrong;   It is.  Gloria's always right.

Am I glad I did it?  Yup.  Would I do it again?  Nope.  As much as I [eventually] enjoyed the process, it has well and truly put me off studying any further for a long time.  Though maybe not forever.  The next logical step is a PhD and, while it'd be awesome to be a Doctor, and my mother's desperate for me to do it, the thought of putting myself through all that again, times five – a PhD thesis is 100,000 words – scares the crap outta me; an altogether too familiar feeling.  Part of me almost feels I should do it for my parents - who aren't getting any younger - kind of as a 'thanks for supporting me' gesture, and I know there would be a fair few other people who'd be dead proud too; Gloria and The Legend for a start.  That thought; of how it would make other people feel, sways me one way.  That, and the fact it'd give me a purpose in life for another three years.  However, as The Legend said recently, you've gotta a) really want to do a PhD, b) have a 100% solid idea of what to write about and c), be passionate – last time I'm using that word today, promise – about the subject.  Currently, a) I don't want to do a PhD, and I'm certainly not doing it because other people want me to, it's got to be for me, or merely as something to do; b) I have a rough idea of what I'd write about, but it largely depends on what's already out there; c) I think maybe all the passion – sorry, that was the last time – I did have got poured into the MA, and there's not a whole lot left.  If – dunno, maybe 'when' – I can get conditions a. and c. up to the level of b., then yeah.  Maybe.  Watch this space… For quite a while.

BW xxx

PS, I do have a potential title for a PhD thesis; it literally popped into my mind a couple days ago, when I was barely thinking about it – I was actually thinking how much I did not want to do it.  This title-enlightenment means nothing.  Totally zilch.  Nada.  Nowt.

2011 in a Nutshell

Bloody hard work!

No, don't worry, that's not it.  I know I've been very, very absent over the past 11 months - has it really been that long?  Man - But believe me, I've had my reasons.

OK,where the hell to start?   Maybe where I left off last February  So, I had counselling, and it was good.  Seriously.  I didn't need to freak out about it, story of my life; maybe my New Year's resolution should be 'I Will Not Freak Out'.  Yeah, that'll work.   Anywho, although it wasn't face-to-face, and therefore may not be considered as 'real', or 'proper' by some, including me at first, I'll admit, it really was helpful.  Just being able to write everything down, all my deepest, darkests, and know that the person reading it was not gonna judge, or criticise what I had to say, was marvellous.  That, and the fact I wasn't burdening yet another friend with my baggage.  I mean, really, I could've got a similar effect if I'd just carried on blogging... wait a minute, now I realise!  D'oh.  But at least with the counselling, I was guaranteed a response from a pro - I assume - who, while not allowed to give advice, was able to guide my ramblings into some form of cohesive logic.  Yeah, she must've been a professional, cos no one else would've stood a chance.  I told her the whole family saga, and I was finally able to make some sense of the whys and wherefores of my crazy, messed up mind.  I've still got everything I wrote, plus the counsellor's responses.  Don't think I've read any of it since then, but it's almost comforting to know I can look back at it all again if I ever need to.  Remind myself that it is do-able.

I didn't keep up with the mentoring, which I did feel a bit bad about, as everyone had gone to so much trouble to put me back together again, when I was blatantly cracking up.  I just found that, by releasing all the stress and emotions over the family issues, everything else seemed to fall into place.  I genuinely had a light switch moment; when one day I just felt better, in control, like I could actually do this.  It was still hard, and I had my bad days, still do, but at least I didn't feel so shit-scared and alone.  Always a bonus.  So yeah, counselling, in any form; recommended.  Failing that, write everything down, diary-stylee, or even simple bullet points, or a brainstorm - love a brainstorm - so you can make sense of how you're feeling, draw connections between thoughts and events, pinpoint triggers that make you feel good/bad/ugly. 

Maybe that's one of the reasons I've started blogging again today - the second reason being to do something constructive, and not be such a lazy cow, wolf - not cos I feel crap, and need to vent, but as a preventative measure.  The counselling only lasted six or seven weeks, and I found I missed it for a bit afterwards, so what better way to make sense of my innermost thoughts and anxieties, than publicly, over the World Wide Web.  Genius.

I know I keep on about it, but I really can't get over how much better I feel now, in comparison to this time last year.  It does get better.  It's hard to believe when you're feeling rubbish, and the proverbial shoe's been on the other foot lately, with me trying to offer help to friends, so I know how difficult it is to both accept, and convince, that you will get though it.  @abbey_queenofall tweeted me the other day, saying she'd read my last post (yay, somebody does), and was currently going through similar feelings.  I hope I helped her a bit, basically by saying all of the above (in 140 characters, natch), and if reading my, somewhat garbled, ramblings makes one person feel a teensy bit better, then that's cool.  Peace out peeps, and Happy New Year!

BW xxx

NB: Next time, I'll actually explain what I've been doing for nearly a year, to account for my lack of blogging.  I'll give you some clues; it took nine months of planning, and caused a lot of pain...