I try not regret things. But godDAMN do I ever flirt with regretting the direction I took in my PhD training. I was courted by two very different programs. I almost chose one - then at the last minute thought I wouldn't be satisfied there, so went in the other direction. At times like these, when writing feels like doing algebra because my mind is so tangled round itself that I can't think straight, I wish I had chosen what seemed to me the less interesting path. It was the path of clarity. I could have made it interesting. Had I chosen it, I wouldn't be continually caught up in the incredible, colossal abstraction and obscurity of my writing. That's what PhD school gave me - abstraction and obscurity. So that sometimes when I write I feel like I'm doing word problems in an advanced math class. Like now. Boo, I say. And yet, that seems to be who I am.
In other news, the saga of the cyst/tumour continues - back at the specialist's today. It's no longer shrinking. It's just static. Apparently I'll need to have it out at some point down the road. I didn't clarify what "it" meant - ovary or tumour. I don't care right now - all I care about is abstraction and obscurity. Oh, and then I went for blood tests because of other reproductive-system-related things (that he doesn't think are related but are of a whole other order of problem.) Sigh. This is getting old.