I have chosen this image for two reasons. One is because that's how my eyes feel after eleven odd hours of quality time with my computer screen. Red and glowing and hot and fiery and lovely. Except not lovely, more just fiery and red and glowing and hot. And maybe a little bloodshot.
Two is because it's rad. She looks so obsessive and dark and sort of how I imagine Abigail Williams would look if The Crucible was costumed with the wardrobe from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
So on that note, HAI. I know, I know. It's been ages. Totally my fault, too. But you would not believe how busy I have been and it's really not a very interesting story suffice it to say that I actually skip into bed with excitement because I'm so stoked to go to sleep. Yeah, I AM that hardcore.
I spent all of today shaping up an article and thought it might be fun (read: am too brain-frazzled to write any other content) to blog my tweets so you can get a sense of what the process was like.
first tweet. circa 9am.
have been up editing for three hours already and it's still not done. DIE, ARTICLE.
So I started the day off on a sparkling top note.
relying on Sarah Blasko, Modest Mouse and a large skim flat white to get me across the line. #comeonbrain
See also my classical tune-out playlist feat. the best bits of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, Rachmaninov's Symphonic Dances, Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez and Alexis Weissenberg playing Debussy from The Darjeeling Limited soundtrack which, might I just add, is one bangin' soundtrack.
'Man is a half-open being'- Bachelard.
O yeah. I came upon this cool quote from Bachelard while I was rereading my notes. Disclaimer: I don't know who Bachelard is. I'm going to go with French philosopher.
nothing like a little piano accordion to help you on your way.
A little helping hand provided courtesy of the intro to 'Interlude (Milo)'. 'Good News for People Who Love Bad News' is a great, great, great album. I will not be argued with on this one. Also: it is impossible to keep a train of thought unbroken when 'The Devil's Workday' comes on. Consider that one a lesson learned the hard way.
Maria Callas' voice just brought tears to my eyes. Like that line in Dr. Zhivago about Lara's hair, 'it's beauty stung his eyes like smoke.'
Did I mention I listened to 'La Boheme' as well? What you need to do is listen to Maria Callas singing 'Si. Mi chiamo Mimi' and you'll see what I meant. I wasn't even exaggerating, my eyes actually started to sting with tears. I attributed it to Callas' voice but now I think about it, it could equally have been my eyes smarting at the seventh straight hour of reading off a screen (optometrists of the world, look away. I'm sorry, I am. It's just how it has to be.)
So I took a lunch break around 2pm, feeling the sweet ebullience that comes with earning a break. Then reality came crashing back around my ears as I stalked the microwave and happened to overhear the conversation of two other postgrads.
Overheard: 2 intnl postgrads talking about whether their scholarships cover cost of repatriating their bodies if they die while PhDing #grim
Cause of death: prolonged exposure to PG-ARC.
(I jest, I jest. It is a useful place to work, even if it does feel like it's patrolled by dementors. SIDENOTE: WHO'S EXCITED FOR HARRY POTTER THIS THURSDAY?)
Immersed in stupor of writing. Time is elastic, eyes unseeing, mind furious, nonstop, running #homestretch
This was funny to try to articulate. I realised as I was eating lunch that I wasn't quite 'with it.' I was still just thinking about my work, nutting out what needed to be done and how I was going to make it sing. But my eyes were staring ahead, unfocused even when I was looking at things. I felt a bit as if I were sleep-walking, my limbs slow and disconnected. It was almost like a half-narcotised state of being. And you know what it told me? That work was getting done even though I reread my paragraphs and felt like I had argued the same point four times in a row.
so close to finishing this sucker I can literally taste it. Like how you can taste snow in the air before you get to the skifield. POETIC.
Self-explanatory. Am clearly poet laureate-type in lineage of Coleridge, Keats and the rest of the gang.
not that I ski #ewsports
If I have to write the phrase 'style bloggers' one more time, I'm going to go mad.
The sad state of my mental health at 5.30pm, having been at it since 6.30am. You know how sometimes you look at a word and the more you stare, the odder it looks? Take a moment with 'bloggers.' Then multiply that moment by eleven hours and you begin to empathise.
But it was so satisfying to stick with it even when all I wanted to do was push my chair back from the desk and yell 'UGHHHHHHH!' (protracted 'h' fully intentional and necessary.) But it gone done(-ish. The ending still needs something else but I'm not sure what yet) and I am now going to go and get dumplings before starting on the reading for the next one. THAT'S RIGHT. 'The next one.'
ps. If you want to read these gems of invention in "real time" join me on Twitter. There's a link up on the side there or you could be tech-savvy and search for @fashademic.
image by Arthur Elgort or Terry Richardson, Google was being very vague.