I think EE may be on to something in the comment on the previous post. Have I ignored the obvious? Is my vile attitude a super intense bout of PMS? I am embarrassed for my manic mood swings lately. And perhaps it’s also sleep related, still? I took a nap and felt better afterward.
But that doesn’t change the lack of progress regarding my research. Nor does it change my desire for the semester to be over.
And I find myself looking at and fantasizing about homes 1000 miles away which is pointless and unproductive and total escapism involving my winning a huge lottery of some kind. And I think it’s total escapism, too, my obsession of late in trying to figure out what novels I want to teach next spring. Sure, it’s good to be forward looking, but I recognize that it comes from a complete and utter lack of desire to face what’s in front of me at this moment.
I hate to say it again that I wish the semester were already over. I’m tired. I know everyone else is , too, so I apologize for making it worse for all of us by complaining and being so whiny. And by semester being over, I mean to include the faculty retreat and graduation. I’m ready to get home to my house for the summer where it will be unbearably hot and miserable, and I look forward to every sweltering minute of it, especially now that we have a new AC at the house.
Perhaps what is indeed so exhausting is knowing that my weekends must be chock full of work from now until the end of May as well. I’m sure I will have to put in some time during the weekends over the summer in order to stay on schedule, but it won’t be the same–not nearly as much. Plus, in theory, I should be able to accomplish more during the week while the husband is at work (please let him be employed over the summer), so I can relax on the weekend? Maybe. Of course nothing ever works out like it should.
Perhaps that’s the problem–once again the semester did not work out the way it should No goals were met either personally or professionally and now that the end of the semester is near I’m confronted with that cold, painful fact and must once again expend energy regrouping (rather than continuing working), come up with yet another plan, and try yet again. What is wrong with me that I can’t just do the things that I need to do? I mean, if I keep this up, I’m going to be 65 saying the same damn thing, and what a horribly depressing way to spend the next 30 years.