It was recently mentioned to me, in a shockingly offhand, by-the-by way, that I ought to be spending a minimum of 15 hours a week on my thesis. As though, you know, 15 hours isn't really a big deal. "Oh, just 15 hours, here and there, no biggie." I suppose that that's really only about 2 hours every day, which doesn't seem so bad, but it still took me by surprise. I guess I hadn't bothered to take the time to figure out what writing a thesis meant, how much time would actually be necessary to pull off something I could be proud of...

I had another spazz attack in Starbucks yesterday afternoon when I was suddenly overcome with the urge to scribble "IHATEYOU!!!" and "DAMMIT, BATAILLE" all over my notes in a kind of maniacal frenzy. I resisted. I have recently discovered that I am running the risk of inadvertently arguing that Dillard and Thoreau have simply written allegories for what Bataille has already argued. Which is NOT the point of a thesis. Which means that I have to find a different question to ask. So that's what I was doing yesterday. Going back through all of my notes with a blood red highlighter, trying to find interesting overlaps. Turns out, there are lots of interesting overlaps. My problem is finding ONE that I feel I can explore with enthusiasm!

Then I got more irked today in my Nietzsche class because it turns out that one of the ideas that I was most enthusiastic about possibly pursuing is a little too like one of Nietzsche's ideas. For heaven's sake! Can't a girl get a break?? I came up with the darn idea before knowing that Nietzsche had done something with it - doesn't that count for something? It ought to. Pft.

Presenting my new proposal (which is sort of wrong, now) and my annotated bibliography in my thesis seminar tonight ought to be interesting... Everyone will get a copy of my neatly typed ideas and then I will suddenly whip out my crinkled and scribbled upon notes, and my ratty notebook and be all "BUT WAIT!" and then proceed to confuse the crap out of everyone. Anne McGuire is going to be SO pleased with me. I think I might sort of be in trouble because I have too much information to wade through.

And my dear old chum WILLIAM BLAKE keeps inserting himself into my thoughts. So I can't get away from him either. In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn't have gone back and read my final paper for last semester's Blake class... All I have to say is that I am quite pleased that Professor Dawson is so willing to humor my erratic behavior and slightly crazed emails. I can't be thankful enough that he is my advisor and feels that I am "just the one" to pull off a "great project" that is "lurking" in my texts. Hallelujah. At least someone has faith.

Additionally, I should probably cease and desist passing an average of 2 hours on the phone every night. THOSE TWO HOURS SHOULD BE DEDICATED TO THE THESIS!! Really, though. It's not intentional, but it's sort of like quicksand for the passage of time... The scary thing is that those phone conversations would probably be more like 8 hours if I didn't eventually return to my senses and remember that I have a debt to pay to that little thing we call Responsibility.

I have to worry about my resume, too...it's embarrassing. I have this sense that the woman at the CDO was shocked and horrified by what I handed in...like, "This girl expects to get a JOB in the next year??" Oops? Good thing I now have access to a video presentation of how to create a WINNING resume. I'm gonna memorize that shit. Don't you doubt it. Perhaps I can simply win over prospective employers with my witty charm and devilish good looks.

Ha.

Ha Ha Ha.

If only things were really that easy.

...Blackmail?

I can be maaad sneaky when I want to be. The acquisition of compromising information wouldn't be too difficult.

Of course, having just written that, I suddenly remembered that this blog is public and any future employer could stumble across it, read the above statement, and take it seriously. So I retract it. I don't do blackmail. I just do complete and total win.

And now...annotations here I come.

Fick - le

adjective

changing frequently, esp. as regards one's loyalties, interests, or affection

volatile, mercurial, capricious, faithless.

Antonym

Constant.

Fact is, it's a perfect word for me. I have a problem.

I think I get bored. I used to think it had to do with being wary of vulnerability, a method of self-protection I employed. While that may indeed be a component, I'm beginning to think that I may actually just be getting bored. I'm satisfied, sometimes blithe, and at ease for awhile, and then...BOOM...I'm suddenly tired of it all. Grass is always greener. ALWAYS. Shouldn't there be a point when I can look around and think, "Ah, yes...here I am, in the middle of an emerald field, where everything is yellow beyond its edges?" Instead, I am perpetually cursed to be wearing the green-tinted glasses of The Wizard of Oz, only to take them off the moment I set foot in an area I thought was green.

Hello, letdown.

A friend of mine once told me, "You're going to be a runaway bride." He was only half-kidding. I seem to have a gift for talking myself out of feeling. Any kind of feeling, good or bad. Similarly, I can also talk myself into feeling, if the methodical, logical part of my brain feels that some sort of sentiment ought to be in existence. So that means, I'm finding, that I keep a tally of occurrences in my mind: "good," "bad," "good," "bad." Then I weigh them next to one another, do some division, distribution, make ratios, and come out with a "How I Should Feel Now." It's actually kind of pathetic. I don't know why I can't let my feelings do their thing. I was born with a perfectly good set, I'm sure. And yet... Plus, my imagination can always dream up some scenario that's better, and realistically-speaking, I can't run through every possible "better" scenario over the course of one lifetime. It's just not feasible. Or possible. Period.

So, whenever my emotions aren't strong enough to commandeer the rest of my brain, I automatically slip into an analytical state bent on determining how I ought to feel. Not how I do feel, but how I should feel. It's really irritating. I have to learn how to LET myself feel. HOW to feel, even. I think I might have forgotten.

Problematic.

I'm sorting it out very slowly. Piece by piece. Like doing a jig-saw puzzle with the pieces upside-down. I can only go off of what fits with what - I have no contextual colors to help me along. And eventually, I'll have to sort out the matter of perspective.

There was a story in one of those Chicken Soup for the Soul books about a teacher who had two students in his class who couldn't agree on anything. Ever. Eventually, he got tired of the arguing, and one day, before class, he brought the two students up to his desk and had them stand on either side of a ball.

"What color is the ball?" He asked them.

"White," said one student.

"Black!" said the other, just as adamantly.

The two of them looked at one another like each was insane. Obviously the ball was white (or black), they were looking at it. The teacher had them switch places.

He asked them again, "What color is the ball?"

The first student was forced to say, "Black." The second, "White."

Half the ball was white, while the other half was black. The teacher's point in all this was to teach perspective, that there wasn't always a right or wrong answer to a question, a right or wrong observation of a situation. And I'm finding the same thing with respect to people. Get a little distance from someone, and suddenly you're wondering if they're who you thought they were. For better or for worse. Funny how "You're the apple of my eye" can so quickly turn into "You're a pompous ass; how did I miss it?" So then I have to assimilate all of that into my equation.

One of these days, I won't have an equation. I'll just have a reaction that I can trust.