Displacement

In the wake of having a Sunday where, in the space of about a half hour, I found out that my mum needs to have surgery, my brother had seen the body of someone who fell/got pushed off a balcony in his apartment building, and my best friend's childhood pet was under threat of being euthanized, I decided that burying myself in work for a while wouldn't be a bad idea.

It's worked surprisingly well, actually. I may not be able to heal my mother's gall bladder, hurry a police investigation, or adopt an animal in need, but I can write a thesis, damnit! Whereas once the idea of writing 10,000 words (none of which were 'Screw Flanders') frightened me, I can now see my random thoughts coelescing into one, big, self-contained paper. Like puzzle pieces, the disjointed sections I wrote over Christmas are slowly linking up in my mind and on my screen. If I can just keep doing what I'm doing, soon all my points will be wrestled into submission and lined up in an orderly, grammatically correct fashion.

If only I had as much control in the real world -- control enough to make order out of the seemingly senseless pain, violence and neglect that is currently happening in the lives of the people I love.