It's a 3000 word essay and I'm almost in sight of the halfway mark after another full day's work. There is now a very real possibility that I won't get it done by the Sunday night deadline.
My feelings around this are fascinating me. There's no panic at all, no shame, no despair (the hallmarks of last year).
Rather, I'm curious, amused. Thrilled, even.
Because I've not really failed at anything like this before. How would it feel to get a poor mark, flunk the module, be less than good, after getting distinctions for everything last year? I don't know, but in the absence of panic I can reasonably assume it won't be the end of the world. It feels kind of exciting to be on the verge of finding out.
I've always tried so hard to be good. My whole life has been devoted to busting a gut just to keep up, do okay, not fall behind, be enough. If I didn't think I'd be good at something, I wouldn't even take part.
And yet suddenly here I am not giving a shit about any of that, and it's brilliant.
Of course I'll try and produce something worthy of handing in. Some habits you can't shake off so easily. But academic failure is an intriguing new direction to explore.
Oh, wait - this isn't entirely true. I've just remembered 18-year-old me who left school with three piss-poor A Levels, and who genuinely didn't care.
Welcome back, kid, it's been a while.
Today's Photo: Max Gross
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