27 June 2008


I am starting to think that I am not meant for the solitary pursuit that is summer research. Plagued by disinterest-- not in the topic, but in the act-- I watch the looming deadline draw closer without any desire to make the necessary phone call that comprises the vital next step. It's making me wonder if I'm really on the right path, if I really want fifty more summers of digging through boxes or lying awake at night thinking about the infinite series of next steps. I can't believe I'm writing this-- last summer's me would yell at me with a completely unhinged ferocity-- but I miss the days of leaving work at work. I like where I'm at with my current job, making my own hours and mindlessly listening, but it's obviously not a pattern that can be sustained over half a century. Not that I'm sure my flagging interest in research can be, either. As professors say "Do a PhD, it'll be fun!" and my peers start to ask where I'm thinking about going in 2009 while at the same time, my stack of notecards recieves no more attention than a dismissive stare-- I have to say I'm just not sure about this. I don't like grad school without classes and I loathe more and more the sense that I have so little control over my future.

Sorry to be so dark.

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