Quando sono sola
sogno all'orizzonte
e mancan le parole,
si lo so che non c'è luce
in una stanza quando manca il sole,
se non ci sei tu con me, con me ..
sogno all'orizzonte
e mancan le parole,
si lo so che non c'è luce
in una stanza quando manca il sole,
se non ci sei tu con me, con me ..
Recently I've been waking up and going to bed nearly every night wondering, "What if I'm making an academic mistake that will cost me £3000+ per semester? This follows on to "What if this is my rational foresight kicking in that I've since masked due to bravado and pride that was falsely created when I was deemed 'special' by means of selection?"
Could it be that my non-emotional side, free of the shackles created by the subtle and overt feeling that's accompanied me every time "further education" is mentioned, has spotted the obvious on the horizon and thus begun slipping in the warning bells, the worrying and second guessing? I've always been aware of the expense issues, and have long since ambled away from the monetary concerns, but now some of these things are back, reverberating within my mind. The really worrying fact is that the good old counterpoints to the financial clusterfuck that tuition/housing presents aren't really cooing me to acceptance any longer.
"But are they not paying the majority of the lions share?"
Theoretically yes, but unfortunately it's a massive fuck-off carcass on which the lion dines. Additionally, a happy sizable portion of monies is no longer checked off and taken care of, for one simple (or more accurately, non-existent) reason - no student loan this year. I am unable to "go to plan B" as Captain Mactavish would say. The black and white perspective paints the most accurate portrait available: for 3 years of education and boarding, it will cost me about an entire years worth of earnings that a family of 5 at the poverty line earns. Worry and self doubt swells within me like a rampant venereal disease.
I also fork out £62 tomorrow for the last payment of my christmas trip, a payment frequently and confusingly referred to as a "deposit" by my high-flying housemates. The irony being that we will never, ever get it back. Our trip is to Berlin, a journey that will finally take my Western-Europe virginity, and doubtlessly have another adverse effect on my liver and cholesterol levels. Will the trip turn into the cultural and 'educational' experience that so many have tried to disguise it as, or descend, as pondered, into bratwurst-fuelled debauchery? We shall see.
