The Rhythms of Scholarship
Good Morning. So. January is swiftly passing away. A blue January, I would like to call it, as it is dark so late in the mornings I can appreciate every shade of it as it turns from pitch black to off-grey. In between there are many deep, pretty blue shades.
At this stage in the game, I am suffering, a bit, I must admit. I have hit my first real writing blocks, beyond the fact that its a pandemic and I’m lucky to be healthy, beyond the fact that there is mysterious drilling in our building every single day (but today it mercifully seems to be coming from farther away, and not from directly under my feet, shaking my brain). It is the work itself—they always told me this phase would arrive, but I was like no, I am a unicorn, obviously—well the work is a bit un-fun.
I usually like editing, scrubbing it up, but it seems so tedious. I liked re-wording, and shaking my head at Past Me who was not as clever as present me, who now has so many more synonyms at her disposal. There is still a very large part of my thesis I am (still) writing from scratch—and I very usefully spend most of my time and brainpower beating myself up for not having realized that the last section would end up being the most important, and longest. Basically, my work is making me hate myself and I just want to come clean about it.
The “rhythms of scholarship” is a phrase I once read on wikipedia and its beauty has sustained me through much (I am sorry, I don’t know who exactly said it, but it was a French lady academic). I am now located at a low ebb in the rhythm, a long, drawn-out low note. There is not much rewarding about this part. Maybe it is because this week I tasked myself with fixing up something that I know too well—yes it was fresh and exciting last April but it just isn’t anymore, maybe it’s because I’m tired as sh**.
It’s just going so slowly. Soooo Sllloowwwwwwwww.
I am finding very little to romanticize, which is dangerous. It’s not coming easily, so I am saying things like “I guess I am not a writer” and “This academia thing is clearly not for me”—because I hold a million comparisons with my peers, and the greats of my discipline, living or dead, in my head. Why don’t I know more? What have I been doing? Am I really stupid, or what? Oh, and don’t get me started down my You Have Made Weird Choices In Your Life Girl rabbit hole…that can take a day, or a whole good night’s sleep to climb out of.
Which reminds me. Mornings. They are still here. The deep blue of this one has faded but there will be another wistful one tomorrow. And on and on and I just have to fill them. A little cat is sleeping right beside me now as I type, and another one is sleeping in her bed to my right. There is nothing to complain of there—peace and serenity rule. Today I can probably carry on. At any rate the day will pass away and I will have, at least some point, tried to try.
I am lucky to be able to fill my life up with this nonsense. And these wretched-blessed days won’t last forever. I have put it off a long time, but someday I will become a little cog, hopefully a useful cog, a respectable cog, in some larger machine, and this private time of contemplation and “freedom” (inside the shackles of one’s mean mind) will be over. And then I will say “how precious it was!”
Ok—those are some nice ruminations. Now go to the desk.