Today at uni it’s come down to ‘time to do final reports and such’ time of the semester. So far it’s been a really good, very easy semester which has worked out really well considering how weirdly horrible I’ve felt. Not just sick, but … really, really miserable and rotten. I can’t even attest to it being a side effect of uni work. I think it was just the sort of stuff I was trying to do with myself, all piling up at once and leaving me feeling exhausted and despairing.
I think a big part of this is just realism. I don’t have that much to say that’s worth hearing, I’m just another one of the many voices in the internet’s hindbrain trying to differentiate myself from the wall of noise. I’m just a blip. I signed up to uni thinking it would get me options in one of three fields and now I’m finding that all three of them are terrible ideas, and they won’t work, and they’re bad as well so nobody should be doing them, that kind of thing.
I just keep on circling that drain though.
Still, I have enjoyed the classwork this semester. I’m glad I have been trying to reduce the things in my life that make me miserable, which is why, a week from the last time I sat down to write about it, I’m really glad I stopped trying to force Mycroft. I still like the characters in that space – but I am just not the person, in this headspace, to try and write about them.
I wonder sometimes, what it’d be like, to be in that lucky time and space where churning out a book every month could be a full-time job. It seems like such a strange fantasy.
I did well, at least by my hopes and standards, at the two presentations and the first two blogging assessments. That’s super nice to know.