16 Eylül 2014, Salı
saat: 07:13
My social life is nice and fun and I am happy to have friends in different places, but I definitely work a lot. Too much. Work is getting me down. When I am not in the coffeshop reading books on my dissertation topic, I am keeping busy with my little stuff, I plan weekends around the library, gym and other projects. Fearing the wrath of Dr. B., for instance, last Tuesday I decided to get a huge chunk of my literature review done by our next weekly meeting, but -not surprisingly- spent all week with a cluster of notes, tentative fragments, thematically ordered thought processes and also just the pure chaos of this all. Even though this meant that the actual writing process involved less intellectualizing and lots of brutal editing as I tried to bring disparate sections together, I resorted to the most pathetic option I could over the weekend and childlocked my computer. In the end, I totally rewrote my first chapter and got it to a point where I can let it go for now. I don’t know how much more I can put without exploding my brain. I have so much to do, and I’m freaking out, obviously. Oh, and Washington DC in October. With no findings yet. UGH. The thought of reading something and having to work it in seems unbearable at the moment given how much work it is just to wrangle my own text and thoughts. Unfortunately, every time I sit down to write, the whole process feels like a tragic fate I have to endure. The pleasure of writing exists only in retrospect.
