Waking Up

Another awful little morning ritual I’ve picked up is the inability to get out of bed in the morning.  I won’t be asleep necessarily.  I’ll just be laying in bed and staring at the alarm clock.  I won’t decide to just turn off the alarms and sleep for a little longer–I will continue to torture myself with periodic alarms interrupting my  aimlessly lying in in bed.

I have to get up on time actually.  I have to go to the gig-which-assures-I-will-be-employed when I finish.  Actually, I like this gig quite alot.  I stumbled into it by accident, and love (that actually deserves a LOVE in caps and italics) the company and the people, and for the most part I like what I do.  And even things I don’t like as much, I’m learning how to do better, and so I feel more proficient and like doing it more (more on all this another time).  So, I’m not unhappy to get up and go there.  But I am unhappy to get up and know that eventually I will have to work on the dissertation again.

I had avoided working on the dissertation for a few days.  I was exhausted, strung out, and really pissed off.  So, I decided to take a few days away, which resulted in a lovely weekend with the husband, going back to yoga, and starting up this blog.   My psychological undercurrents were pretty fucked up, to say the least, but it really helped to step away a bit.  Yesterday when I began thinking about working on the dissertation I began to cry.  I kept crying when I opened the chapter and started revising it.  I stopped crying for a bit when I took a break to eat dinner and watch some basketball with the husband.  I cried again when I worked on it after dinner and left to go cry in the shower awhile.  I cried in bed while trying to get to sleep.  My eyes still hurt today.

Is this how it’s going to go?  Will I spend my next several months looking at this dissertation through tears?  Really????

I keep trying to remember that this is all temporary.  Eventually it will pass, and I will just look back on it as memory.  But the sheer misery of it now is so overwhelming that it is hard to see beyond it.  Particularly through tears.

The lunacy of the situation is out of control.  If I had a job where a boss made me feel like an inadequate failure, and where I was driven to tears whenever I worked on it, and that made me hate getting out of bed in the morning, I would be looking for a job so fast my own head would spin.  And probably a therapist.  And yet, I persist in trying to finish this thing.

In some ways, continuing to rehearse the ways in which grad school makes me feel like crap and how I want to quit is rather pointless.  I made the decision to leave academia a few years ago, but decided to go ahead and finish the dissertation because I was “so close.”  The idea of being so close to finishing when you’re ABD is hilarious, as tossing another few years into the life sucker is an enormous commitment.  I can’t believe I looked at that a few years ago, and thought–oh, I can polish off a dissertation, no problem.

My difficulty in finishing the dissertation now is bringing up all sorts of issues that had lain dormant since my decision to leave academia a few years back.  At that time, I was incredibly upset, very pissed off, and ready to walk away.  I decided to finish the dissertation so it wouldn’t haunt me; thinking that I could unproblematically get it done so that way I could free myself from ever thinking about it again.

But I can’t dismiss the profound ramification it has had on my life.  My husband recently said that I will have to spend some time recovering from the dissertation after I finish it.  I visualize this as an old-fashioned convalescence where I travel to a seaside town in order to sit in a chair by the water with a blanket over my knees.  Apparently a dissertation is psychological consumption.

I think I’ve realized that I can’t just finish it and forget it. The problematics at the end have stirred up problems I wanted to conveniently ignore and cannot.  Its effect on my life has been too pervasive, too pernicious to brush under the rug with a completed dissertation.  I thought that finishing it would kill it, so I could be free.  But now I’m not sure.  It is more like a sleeping beast that could rouse itself at any minute to torment you.  Here at the end, I realize simply finishing it to forget it, if I even can, might not be enough.

When I first decided to leave, I felt like I was alone, and that my decision to leave academia but finish the dissertation was just about me.  But it isn’t really.  I’m part of a much larger group of people experiencing the same misery, the same confusion, the same anger over buying into a life that would only chew them up and spit them out.  Staying silent and alone pretends like it is some isolated problem that is more about me than about the institution.  There was a time I believed that was true.  I don’t anymore.

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Morning Rituals

Another day.

I realize that I have fallen into a horrible habit of starting every day by working myself up into a dissertation-related frenzy.  Before I have even had my first sip of coffee, I have already rehearsed numerous hate-filled imaginary diatribes with my advisor, enumerated the litany of reasons I’m over it, as well as imagined various scenarios in which I dramatically quit.  In all these scenarios, I imagine myself mixing eloquence with profanity in a deadly and unarguable cocktail of undisputed rectitude, but in reality, it probably looks something more like this:

At any rate, it occurs to me that this might not be the healthiest way to start my day.

The Ever Moving Light at the End of the Ever Darker Tunnel

I have been driven to starting a blog.  Which in the modern, over-privileged condition is perhaps what you do when trying to deal with towering, impotent, and ultimately pointless rage.

My rage is predominately directed at my dissertation (henceforth am trying to refer to it as “the” dissertation as to hopefully evoke a more dispassionate, impersonal view of the thing).  But I also have a lot of leftover rage pointed in other directions as well:  academia in general, the advisor in particular, and myself for getting so deep into this thing.

How deep?  I am literally just a few months away.  The entire thing is more or less written, though after months of ignoring me, the advisor has been finally forced to read it, has concluded it is a giant pile of shit, and therefore needs to be revised, rewritten, and redone.  I thought I would graduate this semester, but needless to say, I can’t rewrite my shitty dissertation in a few scant weeks, so light at the end of my tunnel has moved farther away, yet again.

I came damn near quitting a few years ago.  I looked at the job market full in the face and the abyss stared back.  I realized I would never get a job and knew that finishing the dissertation would be more a matter of personal accomplishment than a stepping stone to a career.  I almost left then, and for a variety of reasons decided to stick it out and finish it–mostly so I could never feel regret over not doing so.

Now though, my regret is over not dropping it then.  The last few months that I have left should seem like a mere drop in the bucket given the amount of my life this thing has already sucked away.  It should be so easy to just put these next few months in and be done with it.  And yet, I can barely open my computer.  The thought of looking at pages of my (the!) work bleeding with snide comments and revisions and hoops to jump through makes me want to set fire to the whole thing and never look back.

rugen - sucked one year of your life away

How do you feel?   Source

I honestly don’t know how to force myself to finish it at this point.  The “just do it” + “get er done” adages aren’t working.  Sitting down to “just do it” fills me with violent rage.  It is like my subconscious has been screaming at me for years that this is just.not.working and that I need to just stop and after years of not properly listening, it is just stepping in and making itself heard.  I keep telling myself that it is just a few more months, and my self responds (quite rightly) “we’ve been hearing that for years.”  I’ve hit the point where I have to really listen, and I don’t know how to push past that point.

And so, I’ve started this blog out of some need for catharsis to help me get through the next few months.  Catharsis and participation in a conversation that has helped sustained me through some dark moments over the past several years.  In a moment of academic panic (and general self-doubt) I feel like I have nothing “new” to say, or wonder why I should bother in putting yet some more self-analytical musings on the internet.  But in some ways I just need to say it and work through it myself.  And given how important reading this online conversation has been for me, I’m ok with putting in my two cents, just to have another voice in a place where we so often feel very alone and alienated.

postscript

And yes, my blog name and subheading has two puns on the same thing AND two dashes all in short succession.  And since this is my blog, and not a dissertation, I will leave it that way because I can.