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I endeavour to be as calm as this gentleman looking out to sea at Broadbeach.
My scholarship runs out in exactly 401 days. Having just returned from fieldwork and being about to enter the third year of my PhD next month, I cannot help but fret over the impossibility of giving birth to a full dissertation in just 12 months. I could whine about what a mad rush a three-year Anthropology PhD limit is (why, Australia, why?), or I could move my butt and start working twice as hard (read: half the sleep) to make the deadline.
But another part of me is already experiencing premature regret about all the things I have to give up in year three, and all the stuff I have to leave out of my thesis to make the timeline work. The conferences, symposiums, public lectures, teaching opportunities, work opportunities, publishing opportunities – I really thrive on this adrenaline (or maybe I am secretly sadistic and addicted to some sort of mental self-harm).
They say a good thesis is one that is finished; it doesn’t have to be perfect. The perfectionist in me hears that and wants to claw my eyeballs out.
Is there rehab for this?

Beep here.

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