Yours for the Taking

For The Disciplines song quoted in the title, check their MySpace page. I’m making it my theme song.
What it’s getting down to is that it’s nice to get patted on the head for laying out your love-life to your friends. Which still makes me an idiot, but a relatively content one. Possessing ties and cufflinks, no less.

I thought I was approaching the upwards inspirational curve early this year (but then I had an extremely bad start) because my word count (thesis word count, no less) increased, but apparently the part of my brain I need for reading rapidly evaporated as well. (Which means I'm more or less screwed, and not in the good way.) Then again, I’m not writing much at the moment, but that’s probably from London and too much shopping. (Though I wrote on the train home just now.) I’m putting my money on tomorrow and hoping things’ll sort themselves out before works starts again. (And surprisingly, I'll be so glad when it does...)

What is good is that I've been finding notes to myself about writing things that I have (by this time) already written. It's good to find out the brain is doing what it intended to do six months ago. What's scary that I'm not entirely conscious of the process. I am told that the slow descent into hell is just part of the thesis-writing process. (I'm lying, of course, because I'm actually having loads of fun. To admit that is to jinx. Which probably means I'm screwed any which way you look at it.) We keep calm and carry on.

I have a bet: thesis finished by March 2010. I get a punt to Granchester over the Cam (with picknick!) if I make that, and I owe two people a dinner at the Sherlock Holmes Pub if I don’t. Either way, I win, it looks to me.

Brightness decays brilliantly. Madness is the most shining way.

I love how life can box your ears and make you reassess things you've just started worrying about and makes you realise you can stop worrying, because it's about people, and you can't control people. Terrible realisations over the weekend remain terrible realisations over the weekend, but at least I can live with the notion that perhaps the best state for a writer is one of frustration. Frustration makes you do things. Satisfaction, most of the time, does not.

That said, I should get incredible amounts of work done, the next few weeks, months, etc.
I could do with less of the hyperactiveness of it, though.

Or it might just all be caffeine deprivation.