i'm sitting at my desk in my new room, looking out onto my new neighborhood as the sun begins to set once again. another day. another massive challenge and nothing to show for it. i'm feeling pathetic. this is my last chance to get my first draft of my thesis to my advisor and i can't even begin to write. not a single word. what the fuck is wrong with me? i think back to 6th grade. sitting at my childhood desk in my bedroom 20 years ago, i struggled to write my report on the man-o-war jellyfish. i missed the due date and my authoritarian social studies teacher marked me down. then i think back to my first year living in northampton, struggling to write an article about an antiwar protest that was overdue for a friend's website. i was getting paid for that one, but i still couldn't find the focus or determination to make it happen. then my dear friend liz accompanied me to the public computer lab at smith college's library. she graciously acted as my chaperone, making sure i kept on track. sitting behind me, she kept looking up from her graphic novel, providing much needed supervision until i finished the article. eventually, i wrote it. and then we were free to leave. liz saved my life and i will forever be thankful for that. before i go to bed tonight i need to somehow find the strength and the focus to write a rough draft of the main body of my thesis. then i will wake up in the morning, pump out a draft of the concluding chapter, put it all together and send it off to my advisor before i head to my coffeeshop job in the afternoon.
inhale. exhale.
i can do this.
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