So things have been a challenge, blogosphere. The thrill of starting postgrad is the expanse of time that stretches in front of you, delicious, writable time that you plan to fill with reading books in cafes, thinking profound thoughts that somehow billow through your mind and become startlingly good prose on the page. Time that will culminate in the kind of writing experience that has you buckled up on a wooden kitchen chair at 3AM, hair sticking at all angles because you have been absent-mindedly dragging at it you try to pluck the word that is wilfully receding from you and smack it into your sentence, and forgetful of the fact that o! maybe sleep might be helpful at some stage and o! drinking seventeen cups of green tea in a row doesn’t really count as dinner and but o! you don’t care because you’re in the grip of it.
That’s what I’m working towards, dear reader. But I’m finding that to get there I need to do other things first. First problem- the dilemma of being able to go anywhere you want and not knowing where to go. Second problem- you can choose a direction to pursue and then become paralysed by the choices you didn’t choose. And then, before you know it, it’s 4.30PM, you’ve already eaten dinner (to give you something legit to do to avoid the problem of approaching challenging books) and you’re scouring Facebook for something, anything to distract you from your indecision. Did I mention that it’s only week three?