My life feels like the epitome of a quagmire right now: I am stuck. Trapped inside my own mind. I can see the door to get out of this dark place but the hallway keeps narrowing and lengthening way too Poltergeist-like. I am on a roller coaster of emotions lately. One minute I’m happy, the next I’m contemplating the meaning of life. And by this I mean the meaning of my life. Without tequila. And whether I should pursue a PhD.
The possibility of returning to school is exciting for me. I adore the learning experience: meeting new people, learning new things, writing massive research papers, being in the library with a stack of books, a thesaurus, and a pencil in my hair. At the same time, I am not as interested in this prospect as I should be when considering taking on more student loan debt. I vacillate between being gung ho about doctorate applications and being gung ho about finishing (starting) my first novel. And then I waver between being Debbie Downer about school and an outright defeatist about the book.
Lately, I’ve been concentrating more on the book. The same line has been repeating itself in my head for months. Hopefully, that one line is a harbinger of a dedication that has yet to come. And a story.