In which I languish in limbo

You could write an entire PhD thesis about how difficult it is for academics to relax on holiday.

Presiding over festive cheer…and apathy

(And whoever’s writing it would be lying on the sofa by the Christmas tree right now, fretting about how they really ought to be working on that dissertation instead of reading a novel– the first novel they’ve managed to pick up in months. Instead, they remain where they are, gripped by negative feelings, vacillating in that state between work mode and not work mode. Failing utterly, in short, to manage either.)

Yeah, that’s me. Three days into my holiday, and the internal battle is raging on like a land war in Asia. It’s not just academic tasks that taunt me, but the personal projects I’ve been saving up for this break. Making cookies. Planting spring bulbs. Potting up propagated seedlings. Tidying the study. Putting up a few new articles on LabLit.com. Studying for my Foundation license for amateur radio. Wrapping presents. Practicing for my driving test. Making the Christmas wreathes.

And of course, blogging.

Can it really be an entire season since I last wrote here? Sadly, I find this to be true – but it’s not at all surprising. This was the year that I’m thinking of as my academic ‘tipping point’. I’ve been inundated with invitations for keynote lectures, plenary talks and seminars, which collectively have sent me to three continents – a blur of trains, planes and hotels. I’ve written about a dozen grants, a surprising chunk of which have been successful. A sizeable number of people have asked me to collaborate on their projects. I’m in the middle of two hires, and have a whopping twelve manuscripts in various stages of the production line. Meanwhile, I’m contractually obliged to discharge three days a week of full-time teaching, which I still enjoy, but which is relentless, nudging me in the ribs whenever the other stuff starts to pile up. Meanwhile, the commute continues to take its physical toll, exacerbating my chronic metatarsalgia, while the heaviness of my shoulder bag has inflicted a deep ache in my left shoulder and neck region that is starting to feel worryingly permanent. Some days I am so busy that I only manage one or two meals, most of which are not particularly wholesome.

Given all this, you would think I would embrace my 2.5 weeks off with the fervour of a shipwrecked soul washing up onto the beach of a fertile island. Anyone else would be sticking out her arm and demanding a cocktail with an umbrella in it. But sadly, that’s not happening yet. I’m still sleep-deprived, but too guilty to nap. The FOMO is entirely internal: an audience of one. I feel like grabbing a stick and writing HELP ME in massive letters on the sand.

I know, from long experience, that things will settle down. Work emails will trickle down to nothingness as the 25th approaches. I will eventually get enough sleep. I will start ticking things off my list. It will probably help immensely to work on the two manuscripts I urgently need to edit, because that will send the academic guilt scuttling to the far corner of the room, at least for a while, and probably free up space for more fun stuff to flourish. And the party we are throwing tonight will force me into the kitchen to do some baking.

So, yeah. I’m getting off this sofa on the count of three.

One…two…