erratum

I'm sitting in the cafe in Obs. I sit here most Sunday evenings, trying to write, trying to reconnect with my 'academic' self, drinking more cappuccinos than I suspect is good for me. I've been trying to write a rough draft of a section of a chapter I'm meant to be construct with my supervisor. I'm late with getting the draft together, yet the more I work on it, the more the argument I'm trying to construct seems to slip away from me. I haven't been able to selfishly block off time during my 'working' week to attend these 'academic' type tasks. I'm frustrated by my inability to organise my 'working' life so that I can accommodate and nurture my 'academic' self. These frustrations morphing into self-doubt about my ability to have or indeed cultivate an 'academic' self. Last time I noted how I actually might enjoy writing, provided I could accept that it was a long, slow process. Somehow the 'slow' aspect that is so revered in cooking and design has become twisted in my brain, representing all things negative.

Working on this chapter means working through my thesis and picking up the stupid, silly, downright careless mistakes that now appear to litter my thesis. Each time I find one of these irritating little reminders of my carelessness I curse at all the checks and balances and quality assurance measures I put in place to help avoid the very situation I now find myself in. I know there is a moral to this story - 'there is no such thing as a  error-free thesis' - but for now I just want to kick that freaking moral in its teeth. Yeah, yeah I know, ahimsa but I get some warped sense of satisfaction imagining that I could effect some pain on this inanimate thing causing me all this frustration. But all I can realistically do, is sigh, a long, deflating sigh and add yet another embarrassing entry to 'that' list I will take along to viva room on 13 November.