On Hold (Part I)
I realised some time ago that I put a large chunk of my life in limbo when I decided to go for the posthuman division. In 2004 I aced the examinations for that, and then began the long slog for the dissertation.
Some people are fast dissertation-writers; I'm not. It runs in the family. Or perhaps, one might say it overruns. I know a man who got his staff to gather the data for him and was very proud about the subsequent achievement; I'm not like that, and neither is my family.
It's almost there though. In a sense, it began to kick off when I became an historian in 2005. Then my academic mentor made me write two chapters in a 2007 book which, to my delight, turned out rather well. 2008 brought more work; 2009 even more. This year, I think I'll see another two book chapters, in two different books.
I still want to continue being a teacher. I think that if you were to read what I've written, you'd feel a sense of the didactic narrative there. I write to teach, to inform, to dig up the hidden underbelly of history and count the wriggly things.
This is why I sometimes feel like Elijah Snow, an archaeologist of the impossible, a person out of time, often being lied to, sometimes unknowingly conscripted into other people's games, once in a while heartsick, fundamentally optimistic though not without a large dose of sardonic cynicism (yes, that's a rare phrase that relates both dogs and sardines).
But as I've said before, "I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be..." as Eliot puts it so well in the one section of Prufrock that speaks most to me. And in a while, when all this is done, my life will resume with a new vigour.
Some people are fast dissertation-writers; I'm not. It runs in the family. Or perhaps, one might say it overruns. I know a man who got his staff to gather the data for him and was very proud about the subsequent achievement; I'm not like that, and neither is my family.
It's almost there though. In a sense, it began to kick off when I became an historian in 2005. Then my academic mentor made me write two chapters in a 2007 book which, to my delight, turned out rather well. 2008 brought more work; 2009 even more. This year, I think I'll see another two book chapters, in two different books.
I still want to continue being a teacher. I think that if you were to read what I've written, you'd feel a sense of the didactic narrative there. I write to teach, to inform, to dig up the hidden underbelly of history and count the wriggly things.
This is why I sometimes feel like Elijah Snow, an archaeologist of the impossible, a person out of time, often being lied to, sometimes unknowingly conscripted into other people's games, once in a while heartsick, fundamentally optimistic though not without a large dose of sardonic cynicism (yes, that's a rare phrase that relates both dogs and sardines).
But as I've said before, "I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be..." as Eliot puts it so well in the one section of Prufrock that speaks most to me. And in a while, when all this is done, my life will resume with a new vigour.
Labels: University Life
etched with acid at 9:03:00 am
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