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Well, here I am in the second week of the second to the last class I have to take before I can say “I am a Master of English Literature,” (and we can talk about punctuation and quotes in another blog) and I am really questioning whether I am almost a master of anything.

I’m pretty skillful at eating ice cream when I’m lonely, and I am quite masterful in the Art of Mariner Linguistics when I’m pissed off, especially the Maneuvering-Automobile-in-Traffic Dialect!

I’m in one of those moods where everything is a bit bleh.  It could be that Oklahoma has had marginal sunlight in the last two weeks, and maybe I just need some UVs to get me back on track.  It could be that this is part of the grieving process.  I still haven’t donated the dog food I left.  I still haven’t put away any dog beds or toys.  I just don’t wanna.  And that, folks, is the story of the week:  I just don’t wanna.  I have a long list of things I just don’t wanna do.  I am so far removed from wanting to do anything at all for more than fifteen minutes that I don’t even know what things I’m putting off.  It could be that I am burning out.  That’s a potentially BIG deal.  I have been in classes non-stop since January of last year.  I have the one I am in now, and my thesis until I’m finished.  I have NO IDEA what I’m doing between the end of the thesis and the following January, when some poor school admits me to their PhD program.

I CAN’T BE BURNING OUT!

Mostly two ten week courses at a time with one week off in between for 17 months.  That’s a lot of literature.  How do people do this and work?  I have the two Young Adults living at home and Big Daddy.  Because I’m the one not working, I take care of everything else.  I pay bills, go grocery shopping, prepare meals every night, clean toilets, bathtubs, floors, counters, and anything else.  Oh, and laundry.  None of that is getting done right now.  Because I just don’t wanna.  I should be looking up a scholarly source to use its theoretical perspective to give my own analysis of something Swift wrote. Don’t wanna.  I don’t even wanna be writing this blog.  I am though because it has been almost two weeks straight that I have been feeling this BLAH get bigger and bigger, and I don’t like it at all. It’s making me a Contentious Booger.  You know, the kind that gets stuck on your face or your finger and won’t come off no matter what you try to wipe it on! The kind that grabs a tiny bit of tissue so that it gets stuck to your nose, and someone has to say “you got something on your face…right there…yea, you got it.”

I want it to stop.  So I’ll see if I can write my way out of it.

Is this really just a simple case of Hey You! Take Care of Yourself?  Maybe. Probably. Okay, yes. Sort of.  UGH I hate the taking care of me schtick.  I don’t wanna.  It’s because I sent that stupid paper off.  It’s eating my lunch.  Whoever said no news is good news obviously never had either good news or bad news, ever.  None.  Because that saying doesn’t even make sense.  No news is NOT good news.  It’s no news.  Good news is good news.  Winning the lottery is good news.  Passing a test is good news.  Kids moving out is good news.  No news is no news.

And the damn sun won’t shine.  It’s been thundering and lightning and muggy like a swamp for two weeks.  We got fifteen minutes of sunshine today.  There’s tornadoes and flash flooding.  The Nature is mirroring my emotional state.  Ugh.  Speaking of thunder and lightning, isn’t there some “rule” about being on the interwebs during a thunderstorm?  I don’t know.  What happens?  Does everything on the interwebs become true during a thunderstorm?  Will I get electrocuted?  Will Zeus try to contact me via Gmail?  Who knows?  Maybe I should play in the rain….

I am on a path toward a PhD in English, and I am nearing a milestone.  I am frightened as hell and feeling very unworthy.  I quit my job to do this.  I put a lot of financial stress on my family to do this.  I waited with bated breath for nineteen years to finish this.  I can’t crack up now.  But I’m scared to death.

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