Supercalifragilisticexpeditemythesis

Once upon a time, I had an interesting life. I tossed aside my glamorous L.A. existence and packed it to Paris. I brunched in the mornings, philosophized in the afternoons, and rocked out in the evenings. I plotted revenge against the Baguette Nazi, accompanied my friends to get blood tests for STDs, and avoided anglo bars like the swine flu. I learned how to cure hangovers with Tums, where I could pee in public on the Champs de Mars, which Israeli made the best falafel. I was young, witty, and fabulous.

Then I decided to write a thesis.

Since then, my life, and my blog, have become a wasteland of drudgery, escapism, and guilt. I despise Microsoft word. The Internet has become my mortal enemy. I'm even beginning to resent Barack Obama. (I love you, Barack.) Last week I took the drastic step of cutting myself off from Internet. I have been phasing it back in, but in measured doses. Only for essential activities like thesis-related research, my weekly dose of dooce.com, and craig's list fantasy apartment searches. Finally, I have taken my most drastic measure yet to break myself from the life-sucking claws of Internet: I have banned myself from the Huffington Post. No more, Arianna. No more speed-reading the quick-view news over my morning coffee. No more What did Michelle wear at G8? No more "accidentally" reading the entertainment section before the media and politics sections.
I quit you.

I'm experiencing the normal withdrawal symptoms - despair, anxiety, cautious glee at my newfound freedom, mild twitching. But thesis looks clearer in the light of day than it has in weeks. Ideas are coalescing into paragraphs. Aristotle and George Lakoff are not causing me gastric reflux. And when I lay down at night, I keep writing in my head, in my sleep. Hopefully, this sleep writing will materialize into awake writing, and these paragraphs will materialize into finished chapters. I need my life back. I need my blog to be more interesting than my grandmother's grocery list.