Summer days

Long, long days, long days with early starts, days filled with hours and minutes and light and warmth, hours all of which go by without anything ever being achieved. The long sessions at the computer, trying to force my eyes down and bring my mind back to an article full of long words and convoluted, BORING sentences, so I can write about it in my ‘Introduction’ (and the mind keeps wandering off hopelessly). The long intervals away from the computer, wandering around the apartment unable to remember the fact that the only reason you went to the living room was to fetch your computer keyboard to help you write; you were not there to wander round looking at things on the shelves, nor were you, under any circumstances, supposed to be watering plants or wiping away at the crusty surface of the table.

The slow suffering. I want to get on with it, but my mind screams with resistance.

The envious, sidelong glances at the sink half-full of dishes; oh, how enticing they look right now. God, I could wash dishes all day long. The temptation to scrub the kitchen floor. The almost irresistible attraction of the fridge that needs defrosting. I sweep up the crumbs off the floor half-heartedly, pretending I'm not really there.

The temptation to just sack it off, and go outside into the world and just spend the afternoon at a swimming pool. The steeling of the will and the deciding not to. The regret, afterwards: I haven’t been productive anyway, so might as well have gone out/ gone to relax in a pub garden/ sit by the pool/ gone for a walk/ gone to the shops/ ANYTHING…

Sometimes there is the odd bit of unprecedented joy, such as when the man from Sainsbury’s arrives, giving you the excuse to a) put on a shirt, b) talk nicely to a human being and be charming, and c) drop work and arrange tins of beans in the kitchen cupboard.

There are positive sides to my day, too, you know. The possibility of discarding clothes whenever it gets a bit hot. (how will I cope in an office one day, where presumably I won’t be allowed to just get my top off  every time it’s a bit hot outside?... finding seasonal work as a life model, or life guard, might have to be the solution.) The possibility of eating biscuits, or having naps, every time one is tired, or just fancies a break.

But I don’t want naps. I don’t want treats. I just want to FINISH THIS, and then get the hell out of here. I want a holiday. I bet I won’t get one at this rate, though. I bet I’ll be stuck here in front of this computer screen and working on this dismal PhD project until the cows come home. And when the cows do come home/ my final deadline passes, I will need a job. I can’t live off my savings, supplemented with a bit of teaching here and there, forever. I hate this. I hate these days of half-arsed concentration, of boredom, of never quite getting around to doing enough, of not really being productive and therefore not feeling like I should be allowed to stop. I WANT TO WORK FROM NINE TIL TWO and then get out of here and DO OTHER THINGS. Why do I seem to keep sabotaging this wonderful plan?... why?...

Too many posts today (three in one day, that’s too many), I think this means one thing: I CAN’T CONCENTRATE ANYMORE.