I have to fix my dissertation chapter today. see I started off proposing a survey of historical narrative of the American West and then plopped down a boulder of musing about American Pragmatism which then naturally segued back into historical narratives so I have to figure out whether to keep the narratives split up like that or move the whole shebang down to the end of the Pragmatism section. because the Pragmatism section turned out quite well and so I am loathe to delete it or put it in a footnote as the digression that it probably is.
I'm getting tired of writing and want a break. well actually I'm getting tired of being stressed out about writing the origins of which stress I have never quite pinned down. it has something to do with having a deadline and it has something to do with being evaluated but it seems to have the most to do with my disbelief that I could ever finish anything like this and so logically what I must actually be facing is death as I cannot imagine life beyond the dissertation because of the very impossibility of its ever existing.
I haven't figured out what's behind this disbelief. it may be related to my inability to conceive of myself as an adult. which may be related to never having any model for adulthood besides modest government clerkship and heterosexual marriage and two children and conservative christian beliefs and I knew from the very beginning that none of this would suit me and so my adulthood seemed situated in unimaginability pretty much since I first started trying to imagine it. and this seems to work both ways in that I couldn't imagine myself as my parents and there were no alternatives available to be imagined in the place of that.
it may be though that instead of trying to fix this now I should tell myself that fixing this chapter instead will in no way propel me towards the oblivion of adulthood and that I've managed to write a lot of things without dying or growing up, which are apparently the same thing.