My life has been the most pleasant ordeal of dealing with thesis stress over the last few months.
In this time I have surpassed my own prior levels of low self esteem, constantly in war with the dark, evil part of me that thrives on negative, self-deprecating thoughts and the positive, beamy part of me that radiates goodness and encouragement and tries to sprinkle my self esteem with tiny, but colourful rainbows with pots of feel-goodness at the end (read: writing encouraging messages on post-its and sticking them on the wall against which the study table rests. The evil part is such a little prick that it picked out a capital L on one of the post-its and thought 'Haha. Loser. Just like you!' And just like that, it hurled some rainbows from the Happy me into a burning, stinking pile of negativity, fanning the putrid flames).
It's not quite as bad as I just described. I'm not crying or hugging my knees and rocking back and forth or something. I just got carried away with the liberation of writing in a language I can properly express myself in after so long.
Anyway, it HAS been rather cumbersome, boring and challenging at times, but I don't have to work much longer and I have already started my list of things to do after I'm done.
Since dealing with the stress has been my main activity (besides, of course, working on the damn thing), I thought I would, being the benevolent person that I am, share with you my favoured methods of coping with the horror.
Coping mechanism #1:
Procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate oh shit I have to submit in a month. Oh well. Procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate
How do I manage to achieve such colossal levels of procrastination, you ask? Why I'll tell you: tumblr tumblr pinterest facebook blogger pinterest blogger facebook tumblr
Coping mechanism #2: The Pretend Mechanism:
*Play reggae music as you work, pretend you're on the beach.
*Pretend the stand fan whirring behind you is the sound of the waves.
*Pretend the murky cup of coffee is a glass of pina colada.
*Pretend that the healthy snack next to you (because you turn into a feeding monster when you work, so you have to eat stuff like cucumbers and puffed rice) is a plate of something seafoody.
*Pretend that the linoleum floor is actually cool sand.
*Marvel at the new personal levels of escapism you have just achieved.
*Burst into angry Ihateeverything tears.
(I didn't actually burst into tears, just sighed at the new levels of patheticalness).
****
Sometimes, well more often than not, I'm just sitting still, frustrated because my mind has switched off and refuses to give me any material to write about. So...
Things I do when I'm creatively blocked:
Stare out the window.
Stare at the floor.
Stare at my freaky pimple upon a pimple in the mirror.
Stare at the mirror. Not my reflection in the mirror. Just the mirror.
Stare at my notes.
Type inane things and then backspace like wheeeeeeeee.
Drink coffee.
Drink jasmine tea.
Drink buttermilk.
With salt, with mint, with mint and sugar.
Pace restlessly.
Sweep the floor like a maniac.
Open the window.
Close the window.
Snack.
Fill ink in fountain pen.
Ask everyone I know how they're doing.
How's everyone doing?
The Cyniqueen
