I started the week frantically trying to finish the world’s densest book on Hispanic intellectual history ever written and finished it by dragging my worn and battered body to my parents’ house, so I could get good food and a chance to wallow.
Yet another week of grad school is water under the bridge, and I’ve only had, like, two moments of crippling anxiety and only a few instances of the imposter syndrome this week. The shiny glow of the new and unexplored is fading away and I’m left facing the reality of of my life in grad school.
Okay, so maybe “conquer” is a strong word.
But “got through” sounds like I crawled through the mud and only just made it to the end, and that only happened one day, so it seems unfair to let that one day overpower the others.