The soft tissue pain was a surprise. On Monday, I handed in my dissertation in a fugue of personal disappointment, bodily exhaustion, dry eyes and “done is better than perfect!” I got the damn thing in. Thanks to family, friends, Google Scholar, and an angel in the Thesis Centre.
For a few hours after the scramble, I wandered the city, traversing a two-bus commute in the pouring rain, my soul and body and brain at a level of tiredness that belongs in an airport at 4 am. I took shelter in Supermacs and while I haven’t seen The OA, I understand it is about strangers connecting and I now feel forever telepathically knitted to the people who ate in my vicinity that day.
I got to a bed and rested as best I could and then went for dinner and then sleep and ever since I’ve had creaky bruising pains. Turns out weeks of lying down after surgery and then bending over to write a damn thing gives a person terrible muscle memory. Repressed for survival purposes, then, in the aftermath of the weight lifting, the pain unfurled with a battery of punches.
I sought out Yoga with Adrienne, and decided to give it a go for as long as I can. Day 3 and it’s been okay. There have been some good creaks. At the end of the first video, Adrienne told me to repeat after her: “I am strong, I am strong, I am strong.” And I did. And it was kind of lovely.
Last night I did a bedtime yoga session with my YouTube captor and remembered: “I am strong, I am strong, I am strong.” Sure, I wasn’t happy with what I’ve handed in, but people have asked me about the thesis topic - illness memoirs authored by women. I can recommend books. I’ve made promises to rewrite parts of it for here once I get a grade which will momentarily upset me. I’ve realised that I don’t need to be good at academic writing, I gave it all I got, that’s fine, we all have different Everests. Anyway, I am getting positive messages about another thing I wrote. My friend got me a voucher for a massage. I no longer have to write a dissertation.
I am free.