It’s currently 7:48AM.
I’ve been awake since 4:30AM. I lay in bed until a few minutes ago when I couldn’t stand the boredom anymore, only to discover that there isn’t enough coffee grounds to make a pot. Damn.
I’m waiting for a Very Important Email – the one from the Royal College of Surgeons saying I’ve missed out on a second round offer for surgical training.
Prior to waking up, I was having nasty dreams about it too – like 9AM rolling round without an email, then 10AM, and 11AM and so on and still no email. Even worse than getting a rejection letter – not getting any letter. And, everyone else I know who applied crowing about their new positions. I feel some vague antipathy towards them still, even though it was just a dream.
S asked last night at what point did I think it was hopeless – meaning how many rounds to go, and at what point in the year would I need to make alternate plans. The answer, of course, is that I need to start making alternate plans now, regardless of how many rounds there are still to go, because other job applications will be opening and closing around now. In my head, though, I asked myself how many attempts of getting onto the training program would I need to fail before I gave up on a surgical career. Half of me (the blue-facepainted, Braveheart half) yells, “NEVER!” but the other half wonders if there isn’t an easier option. Seems like “easier” generally means “boring” and usually comes with too much geriatric medicine (urg).
This is far too heavy-going for four hours of sleep and no coffee, so I think I’ll brave the frosty morning air and go in search of some.