Mission Impossible

I woke up at 5:30 this morning, mostly due to the whining, sputtering and massive heat-projecting capabilities of my crotchety old radiator. ( I have to add that I find the silver paint and swirly rococo bas relief decoration slapped on this baby amusing in their attempt to disguise the radiator's very obvious presence in the room.)

But I couldn't fall back asleep as I usually do because I became consumed with thoughts of this paper I'm working on. I've arrived at that point of near helplessness, where I've cut and pasted so many times I'm not sure anymore what I'm trying to prove or whether there's any hope left.

I wish I had actually learned to deal with the rigors of revision at any earlier stage in my education, but to be cocky and to the point, there just wasn't any great need for me to learn that skill in order to satisfy the requirements of the system. I managed to do fine even through college simply by giving my papers a quick once-over before handing them in.

And now here I am almost paralyzed by the process. And what really throws a wrench in the whole operation is that these papers are in French. I feel like I can't rely on any instinct I have as a writer anymore. And when you feel like your idea of who you are is based largely on your ability to write, it's more than a little disconcerting to find those instincts unreliable. I'm doing all I can to ignore the voice in my head that's crying, "Abort! Abort!" and to resist the urge to scrap the whole kit and caboodle.

Sigh. Frustration abounds.