I feel like I am not supposed to be saying this, but today I feel a bit like death.
I reckon many of us near The End feel this way, but don’t talk about it much because:
a) it’s taboo to admit failure in academia
b) lulls and depression in academia are a given
c) being *this close* to the end means one should be a trooper, keep marching on, and finish the Thing
d) this is not the time for existential crises, hunn. Get. On. With. The. Writing.
My second full draft is due in three days, and my final submission is due in fifty-two days. And the thesis has slowly become this Thing to which my daily mood and satisfaction is pegged.
Some days, I love my thesis so much.
Some days, it makes me want to die inside.
Some days, I feel like this Thing is my life and legacy and will change the world.
Some days, I feel like this Thing is the grossest text in the universe of forever.
At this very minute, I feel lost in a sea of highlighted references I need to check against my bibliography, in between chunks of cumbersome sentences I need to truncate, and amidst chapter introductions & conclusions that still read very amateurish and dumb. I even accidentally cited Goffman as Froggman last week.
I feel the need to remind myself:
a) not to lose the plot and narrative
b) that this is just a whole lot of words strung together coherently
c) that good enough is good enough
d) that all I need is to pass
Okay folks, I am going back to the Thing now. The Monster Chapter (most horrible chapter ever ugh ugh ugh) that I have left to the last is calling out to me.
Dear Thing, please be good to me today. Oh bless.