Every semester, like clockwork
For me, the academic semester is a continual cycle of motivation and energy, and despairing burnout. The problem seems to be nothing more than that 16 weeks is a long time to sustain the workload (to say nothing of the engagement required to sustain the workload) of grad school. (Or, I have some kind of severe mood disorder. Also quite possible.)
The most severe stage of burnout usually happens between weeks 10 and 12. This is not unrelated to the fact that most grad classes assign 2-3 major assignments (large-scale research projects, papers) over the course of the semester and midterm is usually when the first major project is due. When these projects are turned in, I rebound. My life becomes manageable again. Just a couple weeks ago, I was flying high. I created schedules meant to streamline the production of my final papers. Preparations were being made for summer—a change of houses, a summer job—and, a few snowy days notwithstanding, it’s been feeling like spring outside. The weeks of school were waning.
Yet, as of this weekend, I have reached the second wave of my despondency. Basically, I have no procrastination time left; my final papers must be begun. But they’re big projects; they involve tons of research and writing and idea-making. They’re hard. And the majority of the work is on the other side, the “not done yet” side.
In this mood, in the past, I’ve frequently blown off my academic work in favor of a TV marathon, or even a novel unrelated to my studies. In fact, I can reproduce the titles of a number of those Distraction Novels. Sophomore year, spring semester, there was The Age of Innocence during final exam week. Senior year, spring semester, I read The Nanny Diaries the same week I defended my senior thesis. Fall semester of last year, I put off final projects for a whole day to read The Catcher in the Rye. (That one…does not take very long to read.) This novel reading is a sort of deflection. I want to avoid thinking about the work I have left to do, and yet, I feel the need to accomplish something, like finishing a book.
The potential for distraction expands beyond my completion of necessary tasks. I’m also having trouble lately committing to (even the idea of) a field of study. It’s been a year since I’ve been allowed to study American lit (not counting some brief encounters with Faulkner last semester) and I keep having these basically laughable impulses to drastically change course and study weird things. I’ve been putting ridiculous suggestions on my summer to-be-read list all month, like Balzac, and “something about the Wars of the Roses.”
It’s times like this when I begin to question why I’m in school, and if I wouldn’t be better off just learning at my own pace, under my own direction. This is a legitimate question, and one it doesn’t hurt me to ask myself every now and then.
My usual answer to myself is this: “You had four years off from school. What did you accomplish then?” Point taken.
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