I can’t quite figure out what the hell is wrong with me. While I am tempted to say a lot of things, I’m really more concerned with one thing. Why the hell did I waste today and not finally just finish revising my last forty pages?
I woke up this morning and thought, “Make some breakfast, have your coffee, then get to work.”
Well, before I knew it I realized I had a hair appointment and then when I got back from that I decided I needed to get a tomato plant and other plants. I then returned from the garden center and got to work repotting some plants and well now it’s late, I’m tired, and I haven’t revised a gosh darn page.
The thing is, these final pages are due on Monday. If don’t turn them I can say good-bye to summer graduation. Shouldn’t that be enough of an incentive to force myself to focus? I mean really, hasn’t this project gone on enough?! Why do I torture myself like this?
Well, I’ve been wondering about this all day, as I worked on things other than my thesis. Instead of enjoying the gardening and hair appointment the whole time I kept thinking, “I should be writing.” This is no way to live. Instead of just getting it done I’m procrastinating. I’m like my students. GAH!
Could it be that I’m afraid to finish? I mean there is something scary about being done with this degree and not having any clue what the future will bring. While I’m well aware that regardless of if I finish I don’t know what my future will be like, it’s like when I finish this novel a large chapter of my own life will be ending and that is always frightening.
As my graduation day approaches, I have been applying for jobs that an MFA is more than qualified for, and as I receive rejection letters up the ying-yang, and my bank account quickly dwindles to nothing, I feel like starting in August life is going to be tough. Real tough. Not grad student budget tough, like I-can’t-get-student-loans-because-I-graduated tough and I can’t find a job because the market sucks. Which is scary because there are no jobs and while NPR reports the economy is getting better I can’t say I’m even close to being able to live comfortably. I basically spend my money on food and gas, both of which are expensive, especially when you love to eat fresh produce.
My most recent paycheck didn’t even cover my rent this month and once my bills get paid, I’m done. I don’t have any money. NOTHING. I’m not quite sure how I’ll be gassing up my car to get to a job that doesn’t pay me enough to even get there.
I think about all these things, as I procrastinate and I just hope that when I do finally sit down and focus, that I end up writing something so brilliant that Clint Eastwood decides he wants to turn it into his next masterpiece and I can retire early and just write forever.
While this is a dream, I’m quite sure it will remain a dream and not become a reality. In the meantime, I’ve got forty pages–that’s it just forty sitting next to me that need to revised by Monday.
It’s going to be a long night.