gillpolack @ 2012-04-06T14:08:00
I feel extraordinarily clever. My dissertation is actually only three days work from where it should have been by today. Given the amount of time I lost in March, I think this is cause for smugness. My reviewing is only about three days behind, too. It's about to get a lot more behind, as more assignments come in, but that's reviewing and expected.
Where I can't be smug yet are the other articles I promised - they're uniformly three weeks behind.
It usually amuses me when people say I work hard, because in my mind there are vast tracts of laziness in between small amounts of work, but at times like this I realise that I must work reasonably hard, for it I didn't, there would be nothing to fall behind on.
My aim this Passover is to catch up on almost everything. I have eight days, starting after the seder.
This isn't overwork, let me say this and reassure worried friends. This is me not letting the thief, my eyes and other interesting life events (of which there are far too many, most of which I couldn't be bothered reporting) ruin the things I love doing. It's like letting chronic illness rule my emotions rather than working out ways round it, or like letting the bad career luck I've been prone to send me into unhappiness. I get joy from research, and also from keeping promises. I get to do both this week. Also, each stack of papers that's sorted and each bit of work that's finished sends that burglary further into the past.
Where I can't be smug yet are the other articles I promised - they're uniformly three weeks behind.
It usually amuses me when people say I work hard, because in my mind there are vast tracts of laziness in between small amounts of work, but at times like this I realise that I must work reasonably hard, for it I didn't, there would be nothing to fall behind on.
My aim this Passover is to catch up on almost everything. I have eight days, starting after the seder.
This isn't overwork, let me say this and reassure worried friends. This is me not letting the thief, my eyes and other interesting life events (of which there are far too many, most of which I couldn't be bothered reporting) ruin the things I love doing. It's like letting chronic illness rule my emotions rather than working out ways round it, or like letting the bad career luck I've been prone to send me into unhappiness. I get joy from research, and also from keeping promises. I get to do both this week. Also, each stack of papers that's sorted and each bit of work that's finished sends that burglary further into the past.
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