I have a little over 48 hours to get a research paper finished (I need six pages–with pictures–and so far have one and a half) and an arts project documented (again, six pages with pictures) before our Barony’s Arts and Sciences competition.
I am currently staring at the computer screen like a dumbass, totally unable to focus on much of anything, let alone a coherent paper.
Oh, and in that 48 hours I have a 12 hour shift, an 8+ hour shift (taking my time down to 28 hours), some sleep (we’ll say now 18-20 hours–minimum sleep), 2 days’ worth of commuting (~16-18 hours), getting ready for those shifts (down to ~15-17 hours), and grocery shopping. Possibly other things, because 15-17 hours seems like a lot of time, but with the fact that I have zero focus right now I doubt I’ll actually get 15-17 functional hours of writing in.
How can I write for hours at a time when it comes to a story, but when it comes to the research writing I get bupkiss? It’s not that the material I’m writing about is boring–it’s not–but I just can’t get my brain to stop squirreling. Is that a shiny object? Did that thing over there just move? What’s River doing? Ooh, I need to eat. Okay, now I’ve eaten, now I can concentr–hey, so-and-so’s online. Maybe they’ll have advice on how to focus. Yeah. It’s like that.
I have to finish this stuff before Saturday. I know, I know, I shouldn’t have procrastinated, but that’s my nature and I usually do well in a crunch-time situation. This, though, has me halted. And handwriting it isn’t getting me anywhere, so I have to have my laptop and type it up. There goes using break time to work on it.
Maybe after work today I’ll be able to focus. I gotta get something done. This is driving me crazy. I don’t think I ever had this much trouble writing a research paper in school, and aside from the one I did on themes in comic books in high school all the papers I did in school had way more boring subject material than what I’m working on right now.
The books I read to do the research are mocking me right now. Staring at me with their judgmental book eyes, telling me what better writers their authors are. As if those authors were working with the kind of deadline that I am.
I’ll get this done. I just have to keep telling myself that. And maybe, just maybe, I will. If I can just focus.