anticlimactic

on friday i submitted a draft of what, up to this point, has been one of the more difficult chapters of my dissertation to write, not only in terms of my relationship to the material, but also in terms of my relationship to what i often affectionately refer to as my bag of neuroses.

it's done. it's not exactly pretty -- those parts where i bled onto the page really need to be cleaned up -- but, as i've been saying to those who inquire about the product: that's what revisions errrr ferrrrr, right?

what has surprised me is that following the initial rush of dissertation submission euphoria (which included a rather embarrassing "i've just finished my chapter" victory dance, which along with the chapter also needs to be revised) a sort of writer's adrenaline rush, if you will, it hasn't taken much time for me to arrive at the point where i'm shrugging my shoulders and dismissing it all with a cynical "meh, but i've still got so much more to write ... and revise."

maybe the the 58 undergrad assignments that i'm spending the weekend grading are a contributing factor, but still, my blasé attitude necessitates my deploying one of my much used, and therefore terribly hackneyed, interrogatory colloquialisms (helloooo uncle ted!): what the flying fuck is wrong with me?

please limit your answers to the situation at hand.