Daughter refused to go to bed. Now on page 17, though I’ve got a missing bit somewhere in the middle of page 16. Which never bodes well for the stuff after the gap actually surviving until the end of the paper.
In the meantime, one of my students tells me he and his partner for the oral exam are having problems, and now wish to do their tests separately. Should I tell him, “Dude, I’m kind of on her side. Maybe you need to fix this”? Yeah, probably not, even though my student evaluations are already done.
I had to stop writing to go teach, and now I’m going to be at work until seven thirty, and am feeling like I’m trapped underneath a bookshelf.
Two hours ago my argument evaporated out from under me. One of the passages I thought I had read doesn’t actually exist. It seems I dreamt it entirely. Now, after another trip to the library, I’ve got two more books of criticism. Huchet, and Guynn. Both are great, but God, so much great stuff about my subject means I look worse by comparison.
Five pages to go. One Monster Energy (zero cal) sitting beside me like a cocked magnum during the Zombie Apocalypse.
So I went home last night feeling pretty good about what I’d accomplished. I’m almost onto page fifteen. Then I looked back at where I started: at about 10:30 yesterday morning I had five pages. It took me…fifteen hours to write nine pages. Oh. Dear.
Either I’m writing faster or the quality of what I’m writing is going down the tubes. I can’t rule out the latter.
Just bought a song by the Arctic Monkeys to help speed me along. Yes, I know you listened to them before anyone else did. Stop judging me. Now I’m going to have to purchase seven Justin Bieber songs just to counteract all that cool.
Just starting page 12. So close.
I’ve decided if I can get to page fifteen, I can allow myself to go home. Not before.