Contemplations on my Masters thesis:

If it was easy doing a Masters thesis then everybody would be doing it.  Or so the saying goes.  Actually, it's not doing the work that's hard, it's the mental anguish of disciplining yourself to sit down and begin a task that has no apparent start or end point, no direction other than what is in your own head (and that's not reliable at the best of times), no deadlines other than those self imposed - unless you count that one that is so many months away your denial-brain can't fathom it and where any distraction is better than going on that forced march through your own head each day.

Ways you can tell I am doing a thesis:

- I am losing hair.  Literally.  This is something that happens every time I study.  The constant raking of fingers through the tresses, or the stress, or the imbalance caused by too much coffee...I don't know, but hair is everywhere.  On the floor.  On the pillow.  Down plug holes.  Over all my papers.  In sandwiches.  Nowhere is safe.

- I post more frequently on Facebook.  Trivia.  Ramblings.  Nothing is not interesting enough to find its way onto my victim-friends feeds.  If I could add my Facebook word count to my thesis I would be done.

- I overtake everybody on Candy Crush.

- The kitchen table disappears under a sea of books and papers.  I appear to prefer finding articles and books that are on topic rather than reading them.  I would rather spend a day researching possible sources than writing ten words.  I am hoping for some type of osmosis.

- My dog is well groomed.  Pissed off with me, but well groomed.

- The cats are more intelligent.  They are nowhere to be seen.

- 'Friends' cross the street when they see me coming.  The stress of not mentioning the M word is too much for both of us.  They worry they might accidentally ask me how its going.  They worry I might actually respond.  For a long, long, undecipherable time.  Agonising and embarrassing for all parties.

- I no longer have an opinion.  I am hyper aware of how little know about anything.  I can not complete a sentence without needing to provide references for my thoughts (Sharp, 2016).

Ah the list goes on.  And so must the show...so back to it...

Tracey