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MY HEAD A SPLODE.*

December 8, 2008

It’s been kinda dramatic around here lately, and only partly because I decided to stop taking my birth control pills, and am subsequently dealing with a haywire hormone cycle, bringing my period a week early and with no end currently in sight.  Awesome.

Really, though, the drama has been about my dissertation.  More specifically, how I want to quit it and just get a stupid job that, while gently, slowly soul-killing, will at least will keep me from feeling like I’m constantly failing.  In other words, I’ve been thinking I would prefer death by a thousand cuts to life with a thousand cuts, which are constantly bleeding afresh.

Anyway, last Thursday I had a little bit of a meltdown, which I suppose is better than continuing to hold it in.  RB knew that I wasn’t feeling good about my (non-existent)progress, but he was busy enough with his own work that he wasn’t really paying close attention to what was or wasn’t getting done, or how I was feeling about it.  You know, until my silent, simmering rage turned into crying and breaking stuff (the bounds of my anger surprise even me at times), which felt both terrible, and really really good.  It was a lucky thing I wasn’t in the kitchen when I detonated, where the combination of glassware and a brick wall would have been wildly tempting.

The Robot is always freaked out by my anger, regardless of who it’s directed at (it was directed at me in this case, as in many).  Nonetheless, after he realized that I was closer to having an existential crisis than just a crappy day, he was, as he almost always is, lovely and supportive.  He even cleaned the broken glass up off the floor.

And now, at my request, he is helping me set tiny, tiny goals, making me accountable to him for them, and offering encouragement and positive reinforcement.

I am feeling more than a little sheepish about this–first, that I need it at all, and second, that I’m putting him in the position of “coach,” rather than “partner.”  But, given my at times complete inability to produce anything…well, desperate times and all that.

If nothing else, it feels somewhat better being honest with him about my (lack of) progress.  And I have managed to start writing again, albeit in tiny increments. 

Aaaand now I have to go work on a paragraph.

*  You too, can have your head a splode!  But this is more fun, I promise.  Go here:  http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbzone.html

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2 comments

  1. I assure you it is with profound jealousy that I read this.


  2. Really? I’ll give you some glassware to shatter, if that will make you feel better. You’ll have to come up with the profound sense of failure on your own, though.



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