Discomfort

Sometimes, I think my problem lies in my perpetual discomfort.

Not physical discomfort, per se (though it does manifest itself in joint pain from time to time) -- no, I am referring to a certain kind of mental and emotional discomfort. Usually self-imposed, self-inflicted, self-defined, this kind of discomfort is often with myself, my position in life, and my goals.

I am always 'making decisions' -- what I want to study, if I want to continue my education, where I want to live, if I want children. Some small, most large, these decisions plague my mornings especially, when I am most thoughtful and have the energy to consider greater things than 'what's for dinner?' and 'do I have homework due tomorrow?' (Often the only two things I think of after work.)

Lately, I have been questioning my decision to return to graduate school.

I took six months off earlier this year for health-related problems -- my thyroid was crashing, couldn't seem to be righted, and as a result I was frequently too exhausted to do much of anything, let alone function in a classroom. In that six months, I started a new job at the university library, began and dropped two novels, landed a publishing deal for a third, and felt...better. Better than I had in a long time.

I came back to school this summer to keep my job. And because, perhaps foolishly, I thought that I might want to finish this damn degree. I was half-done before the first summer session, and had a fun idea for my thesis. I was kind of excited, to be honest. But then I actually started taking classes again and felt the same way I did before I left -- stifled creatively, overwhelmed by tasks I cared little for, even with my grades at stake. This isn't a reflection of my professors -- I respect them endlessly -- but a reflection, perhaps, of something within me I haven't yet wanted to face.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't something I want.

Ah, the discomfort of reevaluation, constant self-analysis.