I had my last day of theory class today! One class down, two to go. Unfortunately, I still have TONS of work to do. Like a paper for said theory class that’s due Monday. How much of it do I have written, you ask? Why, none of it! Every day this week I have sat at my computer, staring at the blinking cursor, wondering how in the world I am going to write this paper. And every day I come up with nothing. And every day my feelings have ranged from complete stupidity to apathy, the latter of which has become a staple of my life this semester, and it needs to go away.

Part of me just really doesn’t care how I do on this paper. Part of me hopes that I fail so I will have a legitimate reason to quit grad school. Part of me wants desperately to be smarter. And none of these parts are good things. I’m not used to not caring; it used to be that I cared too much. I certainly have never wanted to fail before; if I got a B on a paper the world came crashing down. I can’t just make myself smarter, and comparing myself to other people does me no good. So I sit, paralyzed by fear and loathing, and wishing that I had gone into something more sensible, like accounting. But would I be happy? I doubt it. I do, after all, hate math. But it’s not as though I’m all that happy right now, either. I just don’t know who it is I’ve become, but I know I don’t like me very much. And that’s a scary place to be.

I wish I were young again and could just climb up into my mother’s lap.

“O Great God, be small enough to hear me now.” ~Nichole Nordeman

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