Death and its rhythm.

All plans, it could easily and accurately be said, are made to be changed. Five months and no posts later, it finally occurs to me that the anonymous internet might care to learn exactly what has transpired, or conspired, to keep me from making any progress in my earlier-stated goals.

First, the short answer: I have done nothing.

This is perhaps not surprising; even all those months ago I had a sneaking suspicion that I would need to postpone my exams for six months in order to cope with the burnout that ensued after the completion of my coursework. Other obligations, including a conference in April and a large research project undertaken for my advisor seemed always more pressing than simply sitting down and reading for some abstract future event. The death of a family member immediately preceding said conference put, as one might say, the final nail in the coffin.

In all, the postponement was a wise decision as far as my own mental health was concerned. My subsequent trips abroad to my childhood home and two subsequent professional conferences have provided me with more perspective on what it is that I do and why I do it--something that is quite easy to lose sight of when trapped in a tiny professional and social bubble. Many doubts as to my desire to continue my work and earn my PhD were, at least temporarily, resolved in its favour. The prospect of walking away from it all--even with the sunk costs of time and money--to teach English on the beaches of the Azores became a somewhat less vivid and fervent desire.

Regardless of this newfound positive outlook (or rather the waning of desperation), I have not yet managed to insert myself into a positive cycle of productivity. I have entered something I call the rhythm of death. It's not as morbid as it sounds--really it's quite pleasant and alluring--but it inevitably leads to the death of any semblance of productivity. It can be summed up fairly easily:

One wakes up late, feels tired and unmotivated, and thus decides to put off doing anything of consequence until coffee is made, a podcast is listened to, websites are checked, and other personal business is attended to.

It becomes time for dinner, and so one spends some time cooking, eating, and possibly even cleaning. Working immediately after dinner is unappealing, or perhaps even the advanced hour makes the idea preposterous.

Having woken up late and undesirous of going to sleep and waking to a new day (complete with its promise of new opportunities for productivity), one staves off somnolence for as long as physically possible. This allows one to 'get the most out of the day', maximising free time and distraction since productivity is already a lost cause.

Finally falling asleep around dawn or a bit thereafter further delays one's waking hour.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

When not faced with obligations outside the house, it becomes quite easy to get unstuck in time, cycling through the hours and the days until a week goes by quite unexpectedly. When coupled with depression it is crippling, but even when one is in good spirits it becomes difficult to accomplish anything of merit. I have to find a way to break this rhythm, and it won't be easy. Let's hope for the best, anyway.