It’s reached that annoying stage, late in the semester, where all I do is complain about having work to do and proceed to not get any done. This happens twice yearly, regular as clockwork, and there really doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.
Take today. A simple enough list of day requirements, on the face of it. Do some food shopping, some tidying, and then four sorts of writing—academic assignments, blog, novella-in-progress and work. It’s five in the evening, and I’ve managed the shopping bit. I don’t even know what else I’ve done since that early triumph. I haven’t read a book, watched TV, or even spent that much time dully browsing the internet. I guess twenty minutes went on cooking, and twenty more on a short walk when I decided I needed to clear my head (of what? Dust mice?), and…somehow there must have been enough little twenties to leave me here, scratching at my chin, wondering how it can possibly be getting dark when I haven’t even found the time to transfer my shoes from the side of my room where my shoes are to the side of my room where my shoes go. I really hope no superintelligent extraterrestrials have been peeking at me as a sample of the human race: “No point establishing contact here, Zlorg, they haven’t even evolved enough to do the laundry. They must have made the washing machine by accident, as a primitive ritual.”
Work’s a funny one, though, what with the freelance-work-from-home stuff. Oh I know. Work from home sounds amazing. But when you have twenty hours a week to file of Working In Advertising, it’s uncanny how that takes up around thirty-five hours, once you’ve factored in all the not-getting-around-to-it. It’s not that it’s terrible, or anything, just absurdly unfulfilling (all credit is due to my employer, who warned me at length about the tedium when I took the job on. And if I’m going to take off the whingey hat for a mo’, the pay is fantastic, and it’s only for a few more weeks. Token insertion of sanity completed!)
And then there’s uni, which is just a little hard to take seriously when I’m constantly being distracted by the fact that I’m IN AUSTRALIA and IT’S AWESOME and I have EPIC FRIENDS and I want to WRITE STUFF. I’m actually really looking forward to being a full-on academic slave for fourth year, as I bury myself in Edinburgh’s musty shawl and get my dissertation on. But for now, it’s just too easy to remember that all I have to do is pass, and merrily trip along passing but not obsessing. Which is of course way less fun than actually selling your soul to it and getting overwhelmed by the fascinating gleam of knowledge. My linguistic studies in particular are sitting uncomfortably on the chore-joy cusp.
But! Just as Eminem instructs us to sing for the moment, so this laboured whine is a transient whim. There are two weeks of classes left, then I’m finished all my exams on the fourteenth of June, and my job will be cheerily left shortly afterwards. And thence—unto road tripping! Myself and four incredible friends, possibly with more in convoy, are planning a five-day camperstravaganza south into Australia. And there are other joys; the post-exam-stress parties, the merry highs of getting essays handed in, the easy joy of my writing group, the fun of editing my novel up to sending-outable-level, and loads loads more. Even at my most befuddled, I can’t bring myself to leave a blog on a moany note (despite how much more entertaining that would be. I mean, who didn’t love Eeyore / Marvin?) when there’s SO MUCH SHINY all around me. Just have to…make the effort….to actually earn it.
But anyway yeah that’s my blog finished. Am I done now?