I endeavour to be as calm as this gentleman looking out to sea at Broadbeach.

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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.

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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).

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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.

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Is there rehab for this?