paying attention.

I have some really good things in my life. Don't believe me? Here's a smattering of examples:

• Dr. Jacob Andrew Rennaker (Yeah, he's a Doctor of Philosophy now, which makes the predicament below even more obvious and degrading). And he just texted, asking if he could bring me an Old Fashioned donut. I almost cried. Now, that's matrimonial bliss, people!
• My apartment is only $500 a month, and it's a perfect apartment. I'm serious.
• The BYU Creamery wasn't out of Graham Canyon ice cream last time I went, therefore, I have the comforting knowledge that there it is, deliciously waiting for me in the freezer, at any given moment.
• I'm working on the most personally difficult role  I've ever had (Aldonza in Man of La Mancha) and it's zapping my soul energy, fraying my nearly non-existent nerves, and it's really, really, rewarding.
  
• I'm really good at distracting myself. I find teeny, unnecessary tasks extremely fulfilling and can spend the whole day doing them: copiously dusting my blinds, color coordinating my bookshelf, looking at every green colored item on Modcloth.

Well.

With that nice little list compiled, here's the other thing about my life:

I CANNOT, without exception, concentrate on anything academic right now. 

Big deal, Anna! It's Summer! You don't even have a job! Right? WRONG.

I'm not new to the whole being a student thing. Actually, I haven't stopped being a student for the last twenty years. Straight.

And yet... here, so near the finish line, My brain has turned into an Alex Mack puddle (without the benefit of having its own TV show), my motivation has dried up, and my ambition has retired to a nice Senior Center in Orlando or something.

I am entirely finished with my graduate school coursework, with the pathetic exception of a final exam (don't be fooled by the innocent title-- it's actually a twenty-page essay exam) and a paper (likewise-- don't be fooled) for a class last semester, for which I had to receive an Incomplete grade from an undeservedly magnanimous professor because my brain was starting the liquification process at the time. Oh, and I couldn't get out of bed, except to drag myself to my Les Mis performances, have a couple diet cokes, and then crawl back to bed. For a few months or something. But that's all over! Now that Incomplete work is all due, um, today.

And besides those little things, which feel huge but are, actually relatively small, all I have left is my thesis:

Look at him, all graduated. It makes me sick. JK.
But really, though.

Write it. Defend it. BOOM-- I'm a Master! Everyone else in my program is doing it! But here I am, on my sixth diet coke in the last couple days, puzzling over how to click on the file and open it. Let alone fill it up with words.

Here's what I just texted Jacob:

"...But my soul is cracked! My motivation is malfunctioning. I've lost all my student skills. I am a walrus."

Yeah, I'm not sure what that means either.

Any suggestions, besides Adderall? Because I can literally accomplish nothing all day, and feel totally occupied. 

Hold on, I have to go organize my nail clippers.