I'm starting to do some independent work and research on Colm Toibin's The South and despite having considerable knowledge of third-wave Irish drama, I feel like I'm missing an important piece of the puzzle when I begin to look at this novel.

I wish I had the time to sit and figure it out on my own. Were I graduating this year, like I wish I were, I would have that time. I would make that time, at least.

My writing is so dull lately. I feel like I can't think through what I want to try and say. I am proud of very few things I've been producing. I feel like my writing isn't connected to where the world is currently. I feel like because of that, it won't ever be publishable, and if it is, that it won't sell.

I've been thinking in brief spurts about perhaps pursuing a master's in Publishing.
I've been thinking about quitting school and not telling my family, and moving to the city and working a shit job and being very poor.
I've been thinking about going to Spain but I doubt I'll actually get there.

I do too much thinking because I'm stuck and can't do any doing.