I am sitting in bed, drinking wine and eating chocolate by myself, grinning like a lunatic while I re-watch season one of The Mentalist.

I would like to be sad about my life but I am so far incapable.

Do not adjust your television sets; I am actually alive.  I haven't updated in, ooh, six years, mainly because my life has been an endless cycle of dissertation-stress-eat-diet-give up and eat-dissertation-stress-essay-what am I going to do with my life oh my god for as long as I can remember.  I'm pleased to say that the dissertation (Sleuths in Stilettos: The Representation of the Female Investigator in Crime Fiction for those of you who are curious; I now projectile vomit at the mere mention of Nancy Drew as a knee-jerk reaction) as well as my university education now is over and done with, and my life/prospects can be summed up by staring into a washing machine of funeral garb while it's on a fast spin cycle.

After applying for roughly eighty thousand jobs/apprenticeships/schemes*, I've had a couple of phone interviews - which, by the way, are an absolutely mind-boggling experience, "I am professional, organised and passionate about *insert something of relevance*" she says, while sitting un-showered in bed at 12.30 in a TARDIS t-shirt - and one face-to-face interview, which was yesterday.   I say face-to-face but...  well, I didn't actually speak to anyone.  Which I've always thought is a pretty integral part of any interview process but, hey, apparently not.  I did a few computer tests; data entry, proof reading etc, and then the age-old 'put these flashcards in order of importance' gig which I've never understood as proving anything other than you're not stupid enough to put 'unprofessionalism' as most important which, really, should be established before you're called to interview.  I have another face-to-face (perhaps this time with bonus human interaction) tomorrow in Warrington at 8.45am, so am travelling up there today and staying overnight in a travelodge, to save myself having to get up with the sparrows tomorrow.  I am crossing everything I have that I get one of these jobs.  Neither of them are what I imagined myself doing after leaving uni (are they ever?) but they're paying and that's all I need while I try and set myself up in the real world.  Everybody else seems to be going back home and 'thinking' but...  I can't.  I love my parents, we have the best relationship we've ever had, and I can't see that continuing if I move back in with them.

...  So I'm moving to Chester.  Everyone I've announced this to has asked the same question: why Chester?  Honestly, I don't know.  My housemate and I decided we didn't want to go back home, and could stand to live with each other for a while longer, so decided to go on a few weekend road trips to scout out places we could see ourselves living for a few years.  Chester was the first.  We went, fell in love, made a decision.  So there you are.  Flat-hunting is not a particularly pleasurable experience, but we got through it; we just have to wait for the long-winded credit etc process to come to an end, and we can move.  Fucking hell.  Future-Flatmate has a job interview today so, if everything comes off, we'll be moved in and working by this time next month.  Please.

*I debated long and hard about adding 'enormous capacity for the dramatic' to my CV before deciding it probably wouldn't stand me in particularly good stead.  However, after filling out dozens of 'situational' applications, and having to answer questions such as 'you see a colleague stealing.  Do you a) report it, b) ignore it or c) steal too, now you've seen how easy it is' in honest-to-god serious tones, I am regretting not adding 'keen grasp of the obvious' to my list of key skills.