Productively Empty

It’s my first (legitimately) free weekend in six months, and it feels weird to be sitting around.

After writing a 4000-word Extended Essay (essentially a mini-dissertation) and a myriad of Internal Assessments across the six subjects I take — from English to Math to Economics — alongside a Theory of Knowledge (epistemology) Essay, I’m finally free for the next few days until I start studying for my mocks.  These works took months to write and rewrite, and now that they’re done I’ve taken a big load off.  But I’m not used to this feeling.

My classmates and I have been waiting to finally finish all our assessments, counting down the days to our final deadline like how we countdown to graduation.  Admittedly, writing the reports feels to be more tedious than actively studying for my exams in May (most of which consist of non-stop essay writing).  And now that I’m finally done with my reports, I thought I’d feel free.  Instead, I feel completely stuck.  Life feels empty, and I don’t know what to make of this.

Part of me is aware that I should be studying for my exams, but I’m still overwhelmed, if not traumatised, by the notions of writing all those crazy assignments that it feels equally strange to be touching my textbooks and attacking the practice papers.  Meanwhile, another side of me is trying to convince me to just take a little break for the weekend, but it makes me guilty to know that I’m probably not studying and wasting my time.  I really don’t know what exactly I should be feeling.

I guess that I somehow really miss the writing.  While it was really irritating and tiring to write those essays, most of which ended up blowing my mind (not sure if they were all completely necessary), I guess I still had fun with it.  I wonder if this is how it’ll be after I graduate from college?  That’s a possibility, but also ahead of its time I suppose.

Either way, I really miss writing and, admittedly, I hate not being able to work so much.  I’ve gotten quite acclimated to constantly revising my essays and reports that they’ve naturally become a part of me, like it’s muscle memory.  It’s crazy, and it’s scary.  What can I do about it, I really don’t know.

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