I'm back. Sort of.

It's been a while since I last sat down to write something. My blog muttered irritably about neglect, but waited patiently for a new post – while I let myself get lazy and came this close to giving up doing something I so dearly love. I'm back now, though. I can't promise how frequently I'll update, just that I will. Update.

Let's recap then. I moved to Glasgow, Scotland, in September 2009 to do an MSc in Psychology. Because I like torturing myself like that. Three years of a gruelling Bachelors degree wasn't enough; I had to come back for more. Don't get me wrong – I love the course I'm doing. I'm just not sure if I love the work that comes with it. Essay after essay, lab report after lab report, spending all my time in front of my laptop, always researching, always writing, cooped up in the library, the common room of our old building with the creaky floors and stairs, the postgraduate study space that's always invariably missing a few lights... I'm burned out. Stringing together a coherent sentence has become a chore. Forcing myself to re-write every line to sound “academic”, trying to find new ways to inspire myself, failing to set any realistic goals...failing to write...

I'm exhausted. Writing has become a chore. I just cannot string together words to form a coherent thought, let alone put that down as a sentence. I'm losing my love for writing...and slowly losing my love for Psychology. It scares me.

I've realised that I can't do this for much longer. I have three essays due over the next three weeks – following two extensions. Then I have a dissertation to work on. Which is like writing a book, only less fun.

I am not academic. I don't do formal writing.

Writing essays and doing assignments for my Bachelors degree was strenuous, but at least I had the option to do something creative, like make the essay anecdotal, or begin an assignment with a free verse – even in Psychology. My professors found it weird, maybe even amusing. Either way, I did well.

Today I find myself depressed at the very thought of writing. My grades are slipping. It gets worse with each submission.

Essays must be academic – the kind of boring you swore you'd never torture other people with – anything else is just unacceptable.

I get it, really, I do. The course is supposed to provide me with skills that will come in use for my future as a professional in the field. Skills required to read and understand stuffy academic journal articles, maybe even write a few along the way. It's a depressing, sad reality. I have always wondered why authors and publishers write only for a selected audience. I have a friend who argues that any form of casual writing is “unfit” for a professional space. I ask, why the hell not? At the end of the day, it's just communication between two or more people. There should always be a certain level of professionalism – I'm not saying that people should be going to work in shorts and a tee and lounging about with no set times or deadlines. It's the small things. Like writing. But of course, it's unacceptable. If I were to submit my essay tonight written in such a casual tone, I'd probably get a D. Maybe some day, in about a couple of decades, people will start writing like they speak and students of Psychology won't cry at the thought of writing 3500 words for each essay, three essays and three lab reports every semester, plus a dissertation.

Unless the way people speak in a couple of decades is formal and academic-sounding. In which case, I'd ask someone to give them some loose fitting clothes, a drink, and a relaxed environment. Throw in some sarcasm, write like you speak, speak like you're talking to your childhood best friend or gossiping about someone in high school. No one said growing up and going to work had to be boring.

And you wonder why you have no friends outside your professional circle.