The Limbo of All Possibilities

I am suspended over a what-if chasm. At this point in my life, the likelihood of my becoming Prime Minister is the highest it may ever be. I have been invited to interview at a university founded when William the Conqueror was still a fresh memory.  

Here is the phenomenon - between now and my interrogation, I am a success. I have achieved a small indication that this could be my future, the old stones and the rigorous academic stretching and the landed gentry as roommates. It could be my realm. I could be the Spiderman of social climbing.

The infamous Sylvia Plath fig tree analogy means zilch to me in the void of these few days, all the figs of my future are equidistant from my reaching hand, all very-well-could-be-trues. And possibility is the promise of many figs, fig rolls, fig pudding, fig for breakfast.

I am enjoying my time in this vacumn as much as I can. I am a realistic girl, likely not enough to dazzle them when it matters most. And yet, I could.