I "finished" my manuscript. I thought I would feel happier about it. There is this book and I've been working on it for every waking and unwaking moment for the past three years and now I have printed it and stuffed it into a binder. There it is. On my desk. The fruit of my labors.
So why does it feel sad? Not even relief. Now I just have more panic about it than ever before. What if my committee doesn't sign off on it? What if I don't graduate? Worse, what happens when I do and I have to sit in my office all day and be a writer for a living??? What if my brain dries up and I run out of things to say?
I have decided the best solution to this feeling is to make some mac n cheese, eat chocolate, and watch South Park until my brain disengages from the state it is in. I will emerge when I can form a coherent thought.