I do not know what day it is; for the past two weeks every day has been a Tuesday. I wake up to daylight at six in the morning, do my best to get started without too much faffing about; some days are more successful than others. There is a kink on my shoulder from the tote bag I have been lugging around, with my laptop and page after page of hastily scribbled notes.
Today was Sunday, and I have had to remind myself of the fact several times. I have thirty-five thousand words to rewrite and Spring weather that is quietly blooming in the air. I listen to The Chainsmokers’ new song on repeat for hours, fill up my water bottle a couple of times, cross out the pages that are done.
It is mentally draining is the thing. It is time consuming, but in a way that’s manageable; I just didn’t think that it would be so exhausting a thing to carry out. I have been living and breathing this thesis for weeks now; and it’s reached the point where I don’t have enough brain space to write a blog post that doesn’t have anything to do with it. It isn’t terribly exciting, and I am so, so ready to be done.
But today there was iced tea, and forty-five minutes spent lazing on a bench in the sunshine with two friends, doing nothing aside from being together, lazy and tired and quiet. There were blue skies, which doesn’t sound special but it really bloody is, and a sunset that painted the skyscrapers gold, set them aflame.
The end is so near I can taste it already. The transition days are always strange, the endless string of Tuesdays disorienting. But it is sweet, in its own way, and it is worth it. It is so, so worth it.