I could have chosen to work on it during the summer holidays, but I felt miserable because I failed, in my opinion, for the first time in my life, and second of all, because, allthough people tell me I'm not a bad writer, writing always makes me feel inadequate. I have a complicated relationship with writing. In my heart there's nothing I'd love more than become a writer; non-fiction, maybe because I feel like I'm too serious and dull to write fiction. On the other hand there's no thing I hate more than having to write.
In a futile attempt to escape writing, I decided to get my degree in translation studies, where - I was told - I didn't have to write a thesis, but had to make a long translation instead. Of course something had to go wrong, and on the first day of the year they told us they had changed the rules. The closer I came to having to write my thesis on postcolonial translation theory, the more I wanted to write on Coetzee. No doubt another attempt to escape, but this time I have to choose what I want to escape more. I hope that this time I'll do more than spend too much money on books the library doesn't have.
I just finished Slow Man, about two hours ago. I don't know what to think and I'm not sure I (dis)like it. So more about that, when I've had some more time to think.