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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I realised what a cross I've made for myself with my current line of study when I was sitting having a polite chat with someone at work on Wednesday. She was asking about my studies, and I was telling her about my studies. That's the way conversation works, you see. I talk about me, and people listen. It's the way of the world. Anyway, I was saying that this year I'm doing child development, and how interesting it all was, and how much I was learning and that when suddenly out of nowhere she piped up "and so if a child grows up with a lot of shouting and arguments, what kind of effect does that have?"

With that happy sentence, she’d shared far more of her personal life with me then I ever would have wished to know. And she continued to share. With abundance. I won’t reveal many details, since my own revulsion of this new found knowledge has left me wondering what to do with my brain in terms of cleaning it out and making it happy again, but while I was reeling with the shock I was also realising that I might have to put up with this for the rest of my life.

Doctors get asked medical questions, lawyers are asked their opinions on various matters, and now I’m going to be being asked if I think people have attachment problems, or unresolved issues with their fathers, or OCD, or whatever the new trendy psychological illness is at the time.

I’ve decided that from the moment I step foot in the town of London, I’ll be telling people I’m studying pure maths. Then see what questions they’ll have.

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