I’ve reached the end of the internet for the day and it is only 8 pm. I should re-read my Results chapter in my thesis to see if it makes sense. But I hate it. I hate it so much that I don’t even want to look at it. It isn’t poorly written. It isn’t wrong or anything. It isn’t even that long. I’ve cut 165 pages down to 37. It was a lot of cutting – made much easier by the fact that I hate it. Hate. And I have only days to get the whole thesis done before I miss the window of this semester. Like maybe 5. It’s killing me. Yesterday, as I was going to pick up Dog from the kennel, where she stayed while I was on a business trip, I realized so very clearly that the knot of constant anxiety in my gut is Thesis related. And I wondered what it would feel like to not have that. I’ve forgotten what it is to not have something huge that is way overdue and that is impossible to work on. Impossible.
I’ll finish it. I will. Tonight I will re-read it and do a half-ass once over and then turn whatever I come up with into my professor. And I’ll try to format the 130 page Appendix that I had to throw all of my research data into so that it is at least readable. I’ll try.
Tonight, after I got home from the gym, some guy visiting his girlfriend’s apartment had parked his van in front of my garage. I don’t even know how many times this has happened. I find it fascinating as it is obviously a garage – with the plain white door and everything. I cannot understand why folk do not see it for what it is. I am going to get a no-parking sign. Because the idiots who park in front of my garage can read… yeah. Sarcasm. Weak sarcasm even.
Anybody want to finish my thesis for me? I do trades!
Last weekend I went to see my woo-woo lady – the one who fixes the things that I break in my body and she let me look through the clothes of her deceased friend and take whatever I wanted. Her friend died six months ago, and her family is just now getting to her apartment and her things. My woo-woo lady offered to help them dispose of some of her things in a responsible manner – as in they want her things to go to people who can use them. This woman had decent taste in clothes, and apparently was perfectly willing to spend large sums on high-end labels. The upshot is that I now have a wardrobe of clothes that I could never afford. Not all of them fit. But she was as tall as me, and for the first time in my life, every pair of pants that I tried on were long enough. Every pair. Most were a little big, but I can deal with that. She had business suits – which is something I’ve needed as I never have the appropriate attire for the City Council meetings and what-not that I’m now expected to periodically attend. I will need to get them tailored. Which will still be infinitely cheaper than if I had bought them myself. I’m actually incredibly thankful for this. I’ve felt so self-conscious about my wardrobe for so long now that I’ve given up on even trying to be attractive. I go for clean. At least not bad-smelling. Not that I’m going to suddenly going to start trying to be all “so pretty!!!” and what not. Too much effort. But at least I don’t have to worry that the stains on my 8 year old khakis are showing.
Thesis. Ok. I will do that now. Cup of tea first. Then Thesis. For Reals. When this thing is over I am going to go get so wasted. It will be epic.
SecondHand Saint 