I feel like I have been at this PhD thing for too long. Like a pregnancy after thirty-six weeks, looking forward to meeting your baby, but hating feeling like a beached whale. I love the idea of contributing to knowledge but I am currently in the valley of shit when it come to the process this entails. I hate the writing. I actually love writing when I get into the rhythm of it.
Ask any thirty-six weeks plus pregnant woman and they want the baby out of their stomach by whatever means necessary. You can barely see your toes, let alone touch them. You can never find a comfortable position to sleep in and when you finally do, nature calls for a bathroom break, which produces a small quantity of liquid you wonder why it felt so urgent. I make it sound like pregnancy is a terrible thing but I think the discomfort that comes towards the end is one of nature’s way of tricking women into willing labor to come despite the pain accompanying.
I feel like my PhD pregnancy is long overdue and this baby seems to be way too comfortable in my tummy. I know part of the delay is from genuine disruptions that are just part of life. I however hope that I can pick up from where I left off and do the PhDance. I can see that magic finish line called submission is not so distant anymore.