outwait outrun outwit


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Although I'm about 3 paragraphs away from finishing the conclusion of my dissertation, I took a break to watch Despicable Me. Then I went for drinks in the pub. And today—my favourite day of the religious calendar—I got pancakes in the castle cafe, slathered in banana and Nutella (about a jarful, I surmise, with horror and delight), and the best goddamn coffee in town and read yesterday's paper.

I don't know why I'm taking so long to finish. Maybe it's the weather: intemperate, at times tumultuous, with dull skies between storms. As the earth freezes and thaws and freezes again, I've become a strange creature, of knotted hair and cracked skin, poetry and birdsong buried under my flesh. Though I squawk theory and transitional phrases, I'm not sure how to conclude. The story of my life.

However I know this, at least: When I finally finish, I'll need a new skin to accommodate my freed self. So exciting ... and a little terrifying!


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