I'd love to share my state of mind right now, but I'm not sure that's possible. It feels... really creative, jungle-like, hot with lots of intense dreams about love and adventure.
Completely chaotic, tired, filled with information. Bearing text and being born from text.
Why was I ever afraid of this? Revolutionary ideas are born out of textual overdose, too much visual input (at least in my case).
The thesis, though: not so revolutionary, with more loose ends than anything else, and tying them up is the most difficult thing, because
there is always more, of course, and the only technique I know to make a chapter come to an end is polemics, which is pretty much forbidden in academic work. I think. Couldn't manage without it nevertheless.
It is almost finished. (Finished? I don't know 'finished'.) And it's not. It's raw, bloody, too short, the chapter order makes no sense. It's not saying anything new, but it's collecting and trying out things. I like it, in a way - even if it screws up, it's still my child.
What it gave me, examples.: A NaNo idea. Knowledge, to serve as a basis for further study. The realization that I still want to be a scholar. Good times with good literature. Reminded me of my weird desire to connect all the dots on a map. Manga and comics fandom. A thousand beginnings for just as many possible projects. Knowledge, about the way I work.
I don't know if I can do it, yet.
Sleep now. Another exhilarating workday tomorrow. Before that: more dreams of eternal love.
All in all: yay.