Bureaucracy

I finally applied for my student loan for next year. My goodness, what a process. What kind of system, when you ask it to remind you of your username, gives you a username that is then too long for the field in the form you have to put it into? A stupid one, that’s what. I have emailed them, including the phrase “unbelievably stupid”. I then filled out an application as if I wasn’t a returning student but a new one, which took about half an hour and several yells for DH to come and tell me, e.g., what our bank account number is, what his monthly income is, what we’ve paid on house maintenance this year, and so on. If he died tomorrow I would seriously be in the poop.

I had a nice long chat today at DH’s work do with a fellow psychology geek who’s actually working in the department so she could give me the low-down on some of my potential supervisors in there. Now I face the daunting task of contacting these people, one of whom will direct my fate for the next two years and help form the basis for the rest of my life, and decide which one. No pressure. Oh, and I should send them my CV. Yes, I’m starting an MSc in Psychology. I’ve done an Arts degree, run an office for the last four years, written a total of two lab reports and never designed an experiment in my life.

On the other hand, I got at least an A average in my DipGrad (endorsed in Psychology) including an A+ in both Stats papers, so perhaps I should just stop psyching myself out.

Why are seven-year-old boys so addicted to making annoying noises and talking in silly voices? Mr 9 did the same. Mr 7 has discovered a way of humming which makes something, possibly his teeth, buzz. Like nails down a blackboard.

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