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hawkwing_lbEvery so often, I look up and am reminded that I'm extraordinarily lucky to have scraped an acquaintance with so many amazing people.
Yes, I mean you.
When I was younger, I never expected anything like this. Never imagined it, even. So that, at least, is one good thing about growing up and learning to adult. And since I'm gradually coming to terms with imposter syndrome, I might nearly be convinced I almost deserve my friends any year now.
This week, Life As A Postgraduate Student offered me a new curveball. It seems I've got a continuing case of anxiety-guilt over not doing work. But the kicker is that I have these feelings while I am actually working. And, even, making measurable progress on things. I feel anxiety-guilt because it doesn't feel enough like work when it's going well, and when it's going poorly, I feel anxiety-guilt because it should be going better.
It's a fun little tangle.
Today's work involved reading through a slim French (translated from the German) volume on buildings and builders in Pergamon and Ephesus from the 1stC BC to the 3rdC CE. I think I actually read (and skimmed) all of fifteen or twenty pages: there are only a couple of relevant chapters. But my head aches like someone took a drill to the bone between my eyes: I'm not particularly literate in French. It takes five times as much concentration - or more - to read the same amount of text and figure out what it means as it does in English.
I'm probably not going to get all my gym-sessions done this week, and I'll be amazed if I manage a proper go at the thesis. Because I need at least a day's worth of downtime somewhere in the next two days. Is it wrong of me to be merely mortal?
Yes, I mean you.
When I was younger, I never expected anything like this. Never imagined it, even. So that, at least, is one good thing about growing up and learning to adult. And since I'm gradually coming to terms with imposter syndrome, I might nearly be convinced I almost deserve my friends any year now.
This week, Life As A Postgraduate Student offered me a new curveball. It seems I've got a continuing case of anxiety-guilt over not doing work. But the kicker is that I have these feelings while I am actually working. And, even, making measurable progress on things. I feel anxiety-guilt because it doesn't feel enough like work when it's going well, and when it's going poorly, I feel anxiety-guilt because it should be going better.
It's a fun little tangle.
Today's work involved reading through a slim French (translated from the German) volume on buildings and builders in Pergamon and Ephesus from the 1stC BC to the 3rdC CE. I think I actually read (and skimmed) all of fifteen or twenty pages: there are only a couple of relevant chapters. But my head aches like someone took a drill to the bone between my eyes: I'm not particularly literate in French. It takes five times as much concentration - or more - to read the same amount of text and figure out what it means as it does in English.
I'm probably not going to get all my gym-sessions done this week, and I'll be amazed if I manage a proper go at the thesis. Because I need at least a day's worth of downtime somewhere in the next two days. Is it wrong of me to be merely mortal?
