The gap widens every week.
I’m falling further and further behind in my reading, in my research, in my writing, and I find myself seriously questioning the manageability of the task.
It’s only 70 pages.
It’s only 70 pages and a thesis proposal.
It’s only 70 pages, a thesis proposal and 12 informal critiques.
I’m exhausted.
I’m not writing well.
My thoughts are unorganized and fleeting.
I question whether the window through which I have to succeed is too small.
Someone is up too early.
Someone is up too late.
Someone is too sick.
Someone is too misbehaved.
Someone is falling behind in school.
Time curls into the air like a cool vapor.
Poof.
I empty every bit of the hot water into the tub, hoping for a revival of eloquence or clarity, after which I watch drain away with the grit of my worry.
So long, hopeless wells for wishing.
But still, I’ve never been good at taking no for an answer.
What if the question itself is all wrong? What if, in our quest for one certain outcome, we miss the whole point?
Maybe the answer isn’t no.
Maybe the answer is that you’ll find your own way.
Maybe the answer is, even in her majestic unruliness, mother-nature grows daffodils in the dead of winter.
Just, maybe.
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