Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones
cleolinda

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Fnarr.

I'm having one of those days... it hasn't been a bad day generally speaking, but it's been a bad day medically speaking, and I am sitting here trying to convince myself that I can write a 12-minute presentation and deliver it tomorrow. Because if I can't, I may as well just drop the class and take an incomplete. (Which I can't afford to do.) See... this should not be hard. If I can't do this, I don't know how I'm going to deal with this huge annotated bibliography and then the actual paper. I can't remember if the bibliography is due Thursday or next Tuesday, but I know the paper is due December 2, so I don't have too long to endure finish the whole schmoo as it is. This can be a good or a bad thing, depending on which way you want to look at it.

Despite the medical hoohah, I think it's a largely a psychological block. I just don't. want. to write. papers. This is bad for someone in an MFA program, really. I thought I'd gotten over that after I took a year off after graduation--I thought having to write papers in three languages was what burnt me out. But here I am, doing the same thing all over again, putting things off as long as possible, almost getting a thrill out of it. It used to be in high school and college that I'd wait until almost the last minute, and I'd pull out the adrenaline and get it done. I needed that push to get it done. But now... it's a different thrill I seem to be after. It's the thrill of not doing it at all. And that scares me.

(Somewhere, my agent and publisher are reading this and getting very, very nervous. All I can say is, the day you require academic footnotes is the day you have to worry. Until then, you're in the clear.)

(Not that the medical hoohah is anything to sneeze at, though. I was supposed to hear about the ultrasound today, and no one called. You know, the test to see if I had uterine cancer? That one. And my uterus? She is angry. She is an angry, crampy, evil uterus. Please send help call soon.)

And I love the professor and the Milton class itself, so I don't know what my problem is, other than a general feeling of deathly tiredness (see: medical). I keep trying to put my finger on why I'm getting seduced by this "not doing it at all" thing--do I want to prove to myself that I don't have to overachieve, or achieve at all, and the world won't end? Am I overwhelmed by the book and the medical crap and all? Am I just a lazy cuss? I can't be burnt out on school again, because I had a four-month break from school and I'm only taking one class right now as it is. There's something going on here, and I can't figure out what it is--I have to figure out what it is in order to defuse it and move on with life.

And I'm still puzzling over an anonymous comment made on the entry where I whined (tongue-in-cheek, I thought) about not wanting to write a paper: "See? And you wonder why I don't respect/answer your posts? Surely you have some cramming skills at least? Don't make me lose that last little bit of respect... Turn off that darn computer when RL should take precedence!" I mean, never mind that I went off and wrote the paper and let y'all comment on the entry. And that you generally need the computer on to write the paper. And that it's hard for me to wonder why you don't respond to my posts if... I don't know who you are. No, what I'm really puzzling over is who this was, and why I still care. You can say just about anything to me that you want if I know who you are--it's the anonymous comments that tend to stick in my craw, probably because I can't imagine what the personal motivation behind them was.

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