And... my paper is done. I feel all... empty. Like I had to give a child up for adoption and had it forcibly taken from me in the delivery room.

And it's such an ugly, awkward child. I expected too much from it: I demanded perfection: and now it's going to be scarred for life. Maybe it's suffering from slight mental retardation. It's now sitting in a box with no one to love it.

Well, right. Despite the ridiculous head start I got on it, I finished it as I finish all my papers: I should have read over it five more times. I may have left sentences uncompleted. I got tired of looking at it. So I halfheartedly tied up the obvious loose ends, deleted the sections I wasn't in the mood to complete, and clicked print.

It is nearly 1000 words longer than it was required to be. And yet I said less than half of what I wanted to. I'm sure I left out the best arguments. I keep remembering things I wanted to say and kicking myself.

It is... not the best paper I've ever written. Though I have no objectivity: I know what it might have been, and the reader will not. To the reader, it may seem a logical whole. They perhaps have not even read The House of Mirth. It may seem a very good paper. Or it may not. But I know... it's average. Could have been stronger: what bothers me is not that there could be stronger papers on this subject, but that I could have written a stronger paper on this subject.

I suppose it must be of some significance that I've spent this many entries talking about this paper, and believe me, there are twice as many in my normal diary. I never talk about my papers. But this one -- I invested something in it. I put more time and effort into it than any other -- and I had things to say, worth saying, not just rearranging old thoughts well. Somehow, it feels to me, it has fallen flat.

But! It is done. It is done. I have to give a nothing presentation on it Friday, and my Dutch exam is Monday, but I am now, as far as I'm concerned, free. I can spend the day reading To the Lighthouse in the park. I can take a nap. I can finally -- thank the lord -- take a shower, change my clothes, and clean my room. I must switch out of Paper-Writing Mode -- a difficult transition this time.

I will go have a lovely afternoon. You do the same -- in whatever part of the day it is on your planet.