It’s not that I can’t think of things to do. It’s not that I am lazy about doing them. It’s more like I can’t let myself get into anything right now because I’m supposed to be resting. Kind of like a snow day where the snow is my own mind telling me to stay in. It’s not illogical. I’m going to start a Ph.D. program in the Fall. I wan to be rested. I am exhausted. I feel like I need to be doing things but I feel that out of an obligation to feel like I need to do things.
For the past 5-6 years, I’ve been working non-stop. 16 hour days, 7 work days a week, very little social life, no sex, friends only in academia (and they were always dumped when they got in the way of my work)… so every thought I had was about getting from the screw up years of my early twenties to a Ph.D. program.
Now I made it. What am I supposed to do? Even my MA is done. Thesis preliminarily approved, committee happy. I’m ready for the defense, I do very little teaching very early in the day, have one class once a week, and the rest of the time is… the problem.
Logically I know there is “everything else” that is not academia. But the thing is I learned to ignore and see no relevance at all in other things. A roach problem? Ignore the roaches. Ph.D. Live in a tropical paradise? Ignore tropical paradise. Ph.D. I’m even having trouble thinking of the things themselves right now because I’m so conditioned to ignoring them. I used to have music, but then I decided to get music tangled with the Ph.D. project, and now music is not a “something else.” There is no something else that I care about. I have pets. I like them a whole lot. But they’re not everything else either. They’re there.
I have moments when I think “Ooh. Happy.” As in just being.Like the “everything else” is back. But that just lasts a few seconds.
I’m in a valley between two wonderful things. Everyone around me is in the thick of their journey, so I can’t invite them down to the valley. Not depressing. But valley.
I haven’t been drinking, I try to binge watch netflix, but I can’t focus, I don’t leave the house cuz where would I go? I don’t want to do creative things because that would be starting something. Almost like I’m scared that touching something that turns out way too special in the “everything else” might mess my narrative.
I always thought downtime would be about reading books I haven’t had time to read, or painting my house, or going to the beach everyday, or… anything else. I feel more like it’s a long flight. With no entertainment.
So what does it boil down to? Have I solved anything? I’m beginning to romanticize this, so it might be time to stop. I almost think “Virginia Woolf.” Bored white woman. Bored makes me white and makes me woman. Hmm.
This was pleasant. Back to nothing.