Whiny Time

I find that as I write more and more about space and Irish literature (that's space as in "roomy" not as in "Star Trek"), I have less and less writing energy to devote to my little blog, who is becoming a bit like a neglected child who is understandably getting a little fussy. Unfortunately, I can't promise the situation will get better anytime soon. After spending (on an ideal day) four hours pounding at the keyboard already, sometimes I can't muster up any extra strength to rant about the state of the world today or (let's face it, the more frequent topic of the blog--) the state of me. As for the non-ideal days, when I don't write for four hours or anything close to it, I am filled with such profound self-loathing for my lack of discipline and self-control that I am more likely to turn my energies to making peach smoothies and watching The L Word. (By the way, isn't it such a good show?)

That's the problem with doing something that you're really not meant to be doing. It feels icky--sort of all the time. (And by "doing something you're not meant to be doing" I mean writing a dissertation, not blogging, which actually is fun, unlike thesis-writing, which is like soul-sucking purgatory.) This is why it feels icky: because either you're doing that thing you're supposed to be doing (for example, oh, reading the same passages of some super hard book over and over trying to make them fit some obtuse theory you came up with and thought was clever 9 months ago but now are realizing may just be cleverly wrong) and hating every minute of it, or you're not doing that thing and instead the weight of it is hanging over your head like a very creepy black cloud of guilt and going-to-the-dentist feeling 24/7 that ruins every other fun thing you may be doing. I've had going-to-the-dentist feeling for two years now. By the way, if anyone you know is thinking about pursuing a PhD, please please have them come to me so I can run a battery of personality tests on them first.

I think it's safe to say the love is gone. What's left is the commitment. Just the sheer endurance factor. The problem is, I doubt anyone of you are going to understand what the hell I am talking about. Because most people are jealous that I "work from home" and have a flexible schedule and don't have to actually earn any money (Which is another thing that irks me to no end, believe me. Before you quit your jobs, career women, think carefully about the psychological impact of not being able to pay your own rent if you had to. Just, if you had to.) And, after all, what's so hard about writing anyway? Right?

I don't know either. All I know is that it sucks to be in the wrong place. To be doing the wrong thing with your energies and your hours and to know simultaneously that you can't quit now or it will all have been wasted. If you are doing something you don't hate, if you see more than one person on average per day, if you have a boss who gives you both structure and the occasional affirming boost, if you aren't trapped by your own decisions inside your own apartment for the vast majority of your week, don't change a thing! Keep doing that! Even if it makes you no money or involves a long commute or something. Trust me.