Thirty minutes ago, I felt anxious.
I still feel the lingering of which in my stomach.
I’m obsessing over an essay.
I’m being irrational about the argument.
Every word I write, I edit and change.
I’ve lost what I’m talking about by thinking:
‘Uh… this is not what this means’
I’ve set deadlines for myself to get this work done.
This essay’s one is today.
It’s likely I won’t make it, but I want to give it one last try.
I know the argument, I should just stop worrying if it’s good enough or if it’s right.
‘Right’ is up to interpretation anyway. The attempt is important.
I’ve got 50% of an essay which is great, it’s just this last bit which is causing some issues.
I keep starting, stopping, worrying, pacing.
Right now, I talked myself out of the hysteria.
I had a conversation to ask myself what the worst case scenario was and realised it meant nothing at all.
There are policies in place to ensure that my hysteria is accounted for, especially during these uncertain times.
So I will try again, and again until it’s done.
At this point, it’s not so much about the argument as it is about the word count.
Reach the threshold, tidy it up and submit.
It’s not like I didn’t try — more that I nearly exhausted myself trying.
It’s important to acknowledge these bumps.
For after Monday 5pm, I will be grateful that I persevered and stuck it out.