One month. There is exactly one more month to survive.
Or, breaking it down another way . . . for me, personally, there are six papers (and three of them are short assignments), and a single exam to write. By all accounts, I have it easy: I just have to ride through the last bit of the semester.
So . . . why does it feel so fucking daunting?
It’s not even that I’m tired of academics. I simply find myself unable to care, much. I lack my usual focus and discipline when trying to get through assigned readings, if and when I can actually force myself to do them in the first place. I’ve never really experienced this before–because I know what year-end-desperation feels like–and I get the impression that I should find it deeply troubling, but I don’t.
I just don’t give a fuck.
I’m reading. I’m writing again. I’m stifling a very intense urge to paint. The part of my brain that is academically-driven seems to have fallen into a coma, and the quirky-flaky-artist part is attempting to stage a coup. Unsurprisingly, that part lacks the discipline requires for a successful coup, but it’s making a damn fine effort regardless.
And, while the academic in me is currently offline, other parts of me are stubborn enough to not want to fail. It would be counter-productive to my education, a waste of time and money, destructive to my carefully-cultivated GPA, and well, a failure. I know I’m capable, so failing would be so far beyond undignified that I have no words.
Now I just have to figure out how to make that final push.
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.