It’s Friday again. The weeks propel past me and yet I am still lusting for time to pass so I can get away on holiday in the summer and back to my palm trees. It’s like a compulsion I have; counting down to the next trip and I find myself sending a WhatsApp to a friend saying; ‘Is it wrong that I want to escape my life so much?’
I don’t – not exactly – but there is a feeling of the hamster wheel right now as the new season drags itself out of winter and the Brits get excited about the prospect of leaving the house without a coat. I am finishing my dissertation, one essay down, one to go. I feel like I have been in this academic holding pattern for a long time but it’s bittersweet. Once it’s done it’s done. I upload the submissions and I have to say I hover over the ‘send’ button for longer than I care to admit! It never feels good enough, but at the same time I can categorically say I have done my best. The book is not complete; people ask me all the time: ‘when can I read the book?’ as if it is imminent and I have to explain that now I have learnt to be a demon editor, I need to go back to the draft and strengthen it, make it better, before seeking out a publisher. I write that: seeking out a publisher, like it’s a case of launching a search that has a guaranteed outcome. It might not. Fingers crossed. Meanwhile I am presently thinking much more of academic principles and the Harvard Referencing protocol and whether my dissertation still has typos. I will write another whole post about it when I am done and it will be entitled: why everyone should do a Masters degree if they can. Education is like a fern unfurling.
I frequent social media as it’s the ultimate distraction from work. I read blogs and like photos and wonder what the hell happened to my Facebook feed when I get inundated with pictures of cute puppies in compromising positions. There’s the usual family stuff, meals cooked and beds made. My daughter’s revision takes on a torturous feel; two weeks till the exams start. We all just want to get underway. She’s 16 soon too and that causes me to take a sharp intake of breath! 16? Eh? She’s smart and beautiful and clever and I feel like I will never fully know the measure of her. Having teenagers is like having a unknown quantity in your midst. So much potential; such a thorny exterior. We muddle though.
The younger son is everything that’s good and wonderful about 12 year old boys. Curious and gentle and heart-burstingly loving. I know it will end, the hormones will come and that will be that. For a few years at least.
Ever want to just press ‘pause’?