I have a nearly debilitating fear of filling in forms.
I don't quite know why. They make me feel hopelessly inadequate, unprepared for life; unable to fulfill innumerable inflexible requirements.
But I've managed to fill in enough this year that it seems that truly, I'll soon be ending my hermetically-sealed, perfectly-cloistered existence. I applied to the new Comparative Literature MA program at Queen Mary, University of London; I got in; I completed my FAFSA; I applied for countless jobs and am now working three of them so that I can pay for the program and live in the dorms without starving to death; and today I completed my application for on-campus housing. So many applications, so many new things. My hands are still shaking from the dormitory application. Why? It didn't even ask me anything harrowing. Why?
It's really happening: I'm going to live in London for a year. I'm going to write a masters' thesis and apply to PhD programs this fall. I'm not going to crawl back into my shell; I'm going to keep pressing for decades, and not stop until I retire. Publish! Apply for grants! Give papers! Apply! Apply! I'll not give in again. I'll starve my fears and feed my talents.
Could it be that I'm excited?