You know how sometimes, when your mom has taken a whole week off from her extremely busy career to watch your kid just so you can have some dedicated writing time and jumpstart the massive revisions you need to do on your dissertation and you aren’t sleeping well because that’s how your stupid, self-defeating brain handles stress and when you sit down in front of your computer you have one of those sessions where you write four sentences and then delete them because they’re crap and then write four different sentences and then delete them because they’re also crap and that’s kind of the pattern of your day?
Yeah. That was yesterday. Kind of like beating your head against a brick wall. Today is going a little better.
Other things that might make you feel like you’re beating your head against a brick wall:
1. Harry Reid – who is, let’s remember, a Democrat – who’s been giving Repubbbs a total pass on anything they say they’re going to filibuster, has decided that his fellow Democrats don’t deserve the same treatment. WTF, Harry?
2. Did you know that Hillary Clinton is a CUNT? Isn’t that, like, the most hilarious observation you’ve ever heard, like, in your ENTIRE LIFE? Also brilliant? Christ. As Shakes says, personally, I’d consider it a compliment (if I didn’t know the source).
3. You know what’s even funnier than calling Clinton a cunt? Making fun of Heath Ledger for dying! Especially if you can do it while gay-bashing! Whoo, that’s hilarious.
Loud-macking barista-girlfriend is gone today. However, the free wi-fi is extremely spotty. How am I supposed to waste time surfing the internet when I should be writing if the damn internet keeps going down? EXPLAIN THAT.
If the chick sitting kitty-corner from me does not stop loudly macking on her barista boyfriend I AM GOING TO VOMIT.
I’m sure they’re perfectly nice people, I’m happy they’re so in love, it’s fabulous that they can spend the day together, but for christ’s sake GET A ROOM OR SOMETHING. PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO CONCENTRATE OVER HERE.
That is all.
It’s day one of Revisions Week in squab country. Mamasquab has come all the way from Michigan to watch the Hatchling during the day so I can have extended writing/revising time on Ye Olde Dissertatione. I’m back in regular contact with my dissertation director after a long break. Things are progressing, and it looks like it might actually be possible for me to have this damn thing finished and off my back by June. At long, long, long fucking last. So I should be feeling good, right? I mean, these are positive developments that have been a long time – far TOO long a time – coming.
Instead, however, I find myself in the grip of a deep blue depressive panic session. I’ve got a jukebox of writer’s block greatest hits running through my head. The Top Ten numbers include:
1. I hate this; I’m no good at revisions and never have been.
2. I would much rather be at home playing with my daughter.
3. I don’t even want this stupid degree in the first place; if I had it to do over again I’d never go in this direction.
4. It’s not like I’m even going to get a decent JOB out of all this.
5. What the hell am I even trying to SAY? Who cares what I think about stupid Joan of Arc in the stupid 19th century?
6. I can’t even believe I’ve wasted so much time and money on this crap. What am I, crazy?
7. Of course, with all these student loans to pay off, I damn well BETTER have a degree to show for it, whether I want it or not.
8. God, it’s hard to write. Why is it so HARD? God, I’m lazy.
9. What if I do all these revisions and it’s still not enough? What if my committee wants two or three more sets of revisions? How much longer am I willing to work on this thing before I just say, fuck it?
10. But how could I live with myself if I got this close and didn’t finish?
Ain’t that a great selection? Boy, just gets your toes tapping and makes you wanna WRITE, don’t it?
Fuck. Fortunately for me, I have very intelligent and downright decent blog-friends, like Jordan, who posted this today. It was just what I needed to read. Not that I’m feeling insanely optimistic now or anything, but her post at least gave me the gumption to tell myself to SHUT UP already and just get to it and do something. So I’m going to go do that now. I’ll let you know how it goes.
by Louise Glück
Like a child, the earth’s going to sleep,
or so the story goes.
But I’m not tired, it says.
And the mother says, You may not be tired but I’m tired –
You can see it in her face, everyone can.
So the snow has to fall, sleep has to come.
Because the mother’s sick to death of her life
and needs silence.
(I hasten to add that this is not a reflection of my current state of mind; I just like the poem.)
What is it about even the most innocuous emails from one’s dissertation director that causes one’s blood pressure and stress levels immediately to rise to unhealthy levels?
Hypothetically, I mean.
First: I totally love you guys for being so supportive as I put up post after post bitching about my progress. You have no idea how much it helps.
Second: (Drumroll please …)
Okay, I’m not really *completely* done: my conclusion is all of about 5 pages now, so that will need massive expansion, and I have a ton of revisions to do on every chapter. But I’m officially done with a solid draft of THE ENTIRE THING. Jesus fucking CHRIST it took me a long time to get here. It would be embarrassing if I weren’t so damn happy to be at this point.
Right. I’m going home, where I will get Mr. Squab to make me a strong beverage of the alcoholic type. Later, bitchez.
You know how some days you kind of just hate everything you’re writing? Like, all your turns of phrase sound clunky, and none of your thoughts have any flow or coherence?
I’m having one of those days. Must. Plow. Through. I hope to god this stuff looks better when I reread it this weekend. Ugh.
God DAMN it, I hate writing conclusions. They motherfucking SUCK ASS.
That is all.
Got 2 pages done today, plus a solid outline of the conclusion. Which, considering that I was dancing my butt off at the Police concert until 11:30 last night, is really about as much as I hoped to do. (I’ll try to post some more detailed thoughts on the concert later.) Plus, it’s the freaking 4th! Why are you even READING this? Get outside and grill something, dammit!
PS – Happy Birthday, Mellie! Way to rock 26 years.