Sobriquet 49.8
Well, today has been another exceedingly long day and, unfortunately, it's not even close to being over yet. I spent a good deal of time working on stuff for my beloved literature classes, which is much more a labor of love than real work. I mean, reading or re-reading a novel is hardly an unpleasant way to spend a windy, cloud-sealed late autumn afternoon. It is, however, time-consuming. I ended up doing dissertation work later in the evening than I would have liked but, for whatever reason, I actually did more transcription than I thought I would, so I'm fairly satisfied with myself. Again, I find that the dissertation remains both the one thing that continuously gives shape to my day and the tightest, most restrictive rope tethering me to a place and time I am about three years further into than I ever wanted to be. Although I have been coping with a battery of unpleasant issues stemming in large part from this particular time and place, I have decided to do try to turn to the dissertation as an outlet for my stress, to use it as a centering device. The transcribing of notes, while often boring beyond belief (especially 66 single-spaced pages into what feels like and endless endeavor) can also serve as a meditative activity, something that drains one's consciousness of stress and anxiety, that enables one to plod on un-self-consciously . . .
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