This is a strange time for me, it is a twilight of sorts. I have just handed in a huge chunk of writing for the wringing out process. Basically my supervisor will squeeze all the excesses out of it and leave me with the creased remains. I shall then go about the process of rehydrating the concepts with a more nourishing brew of thought!
But what for now? Limbo? Purgatory? The waiting hours. It is hard to plan the next stage when you have no idea whether the work you have just handed in will be received well or not? So you sit and look at your plans, dig out the coloured pens and start thinking about what the next step should be.
This stage is accompanied by a lot of sighing; A LOT!
Then lightening strikes you and you realise that something you wrote in your last piece could have been expressed so much more succinctly than it has been, with more erudition, insight and mastery. But it is too late. Time cannot be stopped, the clock is ticking mercilessly towards the feedback.
You know you have to get on - pursue the dream, plunge forward into the blackness of the unwritten. Yet all you can seem to do is procrastinate, and even that you tend to put off until tomorrow!
At least the germs seem to be retreating from my body. A few stubborn snifflers are clinging on but the signs of good health are on the periphery waiting to march in victorious!
I read a scary, actually terrifying 'horoscope' yesterday which threatened that anything I wrote within the next two weeks could be the ruination of me, tarnish my reputation and be hazardous to my future career... which when your entire existences hinges upon the written word is rather petrifying! :-O Good job I set no store in horoscopes eh! ;-)