glutton for punishment

It's official - I've let myself in for three more years of libraries, bibliographies, deadlines... and of course, 90 000 words.

That's right people - a letter from uni in the mail today confirmed my acceptance into the PhD program at Melbourne Uni, starting March next year. You know, it seemed like a really good idea until I realised I actually had to WRITE a PhD...

No - seriously. Am rapt. Ecstatic. Overjoyed. Petrified. Excited. All that jazz. Just give me three years - I'll be Dr. Deep in Thought. Seriously scary stuff.

Does it detract from my serious academic appearance that I spend an hour of potentially constructive time every day watching Jessica Fletcher trying to solve a murder? This morning, it was a Grandpa who murdered a Mexican drug-dealer because said drug dealer was indirectly responsible for the death of his grandson two years earlier in a high-speed police chase. Riveting.

Every episode, a friend or close personal acquaintance of Jessica's dies. Every episode, someone takes Jessica into a dark room, where a suspicious man in a dark suit warns her that she is becoming a nuisance, and [for her own safety] she should keep her nose out of other people's business. Every episode I think 'Oh, well he's the bad guy. He's behind all of these dastardly deeds and deceptions and double-double crossing'. And every episode the man in the dark suit is actually a CIA agent... or an undercover New York detective...or a British spy. He's a good guy, doing his best to muddle though all the misunderstandings and find the killer. And every episode I think 'Oh. Yeah. Why didn't I see that small white powdery mark on the mahogany dining table that proves Person X was really a jealous homicidal maniac?'

Love Jessica Fletcher. She's on the list of potential heroes.