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Post-doc

  Wed 18th January 2012

My doctor called me in to have my dropsy knee drained. I followed her down the corridor. A skirt with a fine checked grey and black pattern to her knees, black tights, black boots just below her knee. Black woolen V-neck top with elbow-length sleeves. I felt better already as my eyes fixed on her tightly-skirted arse. Bit thin, if we're going to get fussy.

She washed my knee with iodine, put a needle in, and drained some brown liquid of a colour that I thought ought not to exist in the body. Afterwards she sat next to me on the examination bed at a distance which I thought was too close to be professional and married and pretty. She said that she'll send the liquid off for analysis.

"There are some other matters we might like to discuss," she said, with a show of politeness, alluding to my alcohol intake and the fact that the nurse adjunct was in the room. I don't care who knows about my drinking, and would have been nonplussed about discussing it there and there, but she was keen to arrange another appointment to signify the importance of the information she is to convey.


There is something I need to tell you. I've told Kim and Denise, and now it's your turn. I've abandoned my PhD.

I liked the social side of the Phd, and I've had many enjoyable drunken evenings, often with Lancaster's Management School through the introductions of Linda, who has wandered off with an attractive Swedish Economics professor she fancies rather than an impoverished pisshead from Lancaster she doesn't. I liked the way that we drank Leeds University's stock of welcoming wine dry on our introductory day, whilst all the time I was glancing at the gorgeous Departmental Secretary, with her black hair and her oatmeal coloured below the knee skirt and black tights and flat black shoes, and a manner that perfectly stopped just short of familiarity.

But why do it? I liked my supervisions. I liked the feeling of being an apprentice. My supervisor picked me up on the differences between em and en dashes and whether the phrase "post hoc" was sufficiently naturalised to not require italics. He is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met and he pushed me to my feeble intellectual limits. I developed an occasionally sexual attraction to him, glancing at the outline of his trousered cock while he picked up on every scatterbrain thought I had and made me blink with the effort of meeting his intellect. I dissembled my failure to do this through the deployment of a large vocabulary, which I often use to conceal my lack of a single original thought. Every time I left him I felt joyous. I used to then meet Kim in The Angel, gabbling on a high of not having to think, my tumbling talk meeting its pisstaking equal in her.

But I'm having a good life now and I don't need to do it. I am aware of my own mortality and I lack ambition and the work ethic. I live on advantageous terms in my house through the kindness of a good friend, and have a few hours of well paid editing work in which I have to pretend I speak good French. I understand my daughter Melanie's desire to be a tramp. I am differentiated from beggars by a minute sliver of circumstances, luck, and choice.

11 comments

Comment from: sarah [Visitor]

hmm, I know the strength at warding off negative thought and internal and external comment that would have to have taken to do, so very well done. again: are you able to come to london soon ? i am 40 and have a party on feb 10th - mail me, it would be great to meet you and we have a BUDGET meaning train fare and accommodation gladly provided, in exchange for an ability to drink loads, mix well and sound vaguely intelligent at at least one point in the evening X

Wed 18th January 2012 @ 23:19
Comment from: [Member]

i bailed on a PhD. loved the idea of it. didn’t want to spend the time or do the work. i survived.

oh, and if we ever meet in person? do you have any idea how paranoid i’m going to be about what i’m wearing?!?!?

Wed 18th January 2012 @ 23:47
Comment from: [Member]

Sarah: I’m flattered and hugely delighted! I’d love to meet you and your friends. I still gratefully remember what you said when there was a possibility I could have been homeless a couple of years ago.

The only thing is that it’s Kitty’s birthday on 11th so I’m not sure what we’re doing for that. But I will liaise and let you know. If there’s even the slightest possibility of me getting there I will be. And a huge thank you!

DF: It’s the telling everyone I’m not looking forward to. I’ve been doing it gradually. Mary-Ann will have to be next - I’m seeing her at the weekend.

In terms of clothes, just wear what you wear on your saucy nights of underdressing with N. I’m sure most readers would take delight in a subsequent detailed description of such attire.

Thu 19th January 2012 @ 03:03
Comment from: ISBW [Visitor]

Well done on having taken a decision. It must feel a huge relief. Don’t forget to enjoy the time you get back from it.

Thu 19th January 2012 @ 12:23
Comment from: [Member]

Thanks - it is. It’s been bothering me for months. I can’t afford the fees, but even imagining that I could, I still don’t want to do it.

And I’m pretty good at finding uses for free time :)

Thu 19th January 2012 @ 12:29

I don’t think you need to provide a rational to us or anyone else. Or yourself. If you don’t have the desire then that’s the end of that. Trying to manufacture enthusiasm for something you have no real interest in doing is poison for your soul.

Thu 19th January 2012 @ 21:38
Comment from: [Member]

You’re right UB. And in certain jobs I’ve had, I’ve done several years of that.

Fri 20th January 2012 @ 09:31
Comment from: young at heart [Visitor]

mmmm…..you’ve obviously thought it through but nothing you say about doing the phd sounds negative, in fact it all sounds very positive: the social side, the supervisions, feeling joyous….. Could ‘But I’m having a good life now’ be anything to do with the direction your studying has given you??

Sat 21st January 2012 @ 11:21
Comment from: smallbeds [Visitor]

You don’t *have* to provide a rationale; but a blog is after all a place for rationales, and I appreciate that you decided to share yours. Even the bit about the cock.

Well done on making the decision, anyway. I’ve known people who’ve decided either way, and there’s pretty much no correlation in how happy they’ve ended up being in life. What seems key, I think, is making whatever decision you’ve made, for the right reasons.

(And a bit of luck helps too, so: may you have the best of that.)

Mon 23rd January 2012 @ 19:42

I’m a bit ambivalent about your PhD decision. I did my Masters when I was 47, and I would have really loved to go back and finish a Doctorate, but I didn’t have the time or the money.
I wouldn’t have done it for the kudos, but I just loved the life at University, and appreciated stretching my mind and discovering something anew, even having vague and slightly frightening fantasies about my supervisors.

But life goes on, and changes have to be accepted.
Welcome back to the life of a wage-slave; if not yet, then sometime soon I predict, no matter what you may feel at the moment, I can foresee the future, and old-age beckons and a rising need for security.
Maybe.
Hope it works out, and even hope that the Doctor with the tight skirt but disappointing arse wants you back for a private consultation to discuss matters other than alcohol or drug consumption. Take a condom just in case, she’ll appreciate your forethought.

Mon 23rd January 2012 @ 20:28
Comment from: [Member]

YAH: I enjoyed my subject long before the PhD, so my good life at the moment isn’t really a product of the PhD. It’s more to do with having a stable housing situation, a good relationship with Kirsty and the children, having someone to touch and kiss and hold (I cope very badly with being physically alone), and being able to get away with not doing much paid work.

SB: Thanks - I think it is the right decision, made freely. I can carry on as a sort of unofficial hanger on at Lancaster University anyway, should I wish (going to seminars etc).

TSB: I never want to wake up again, as I did for years, with the first words coming out of my mouth being “Oh fuck", at the prospect of going to my job. I know the way I live is a bit precarious but it suits me for the foreseeable future.

Tue 24th January 2012 @ 07:35


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"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 45-70. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
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I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
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Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
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