Frustrations? You Bet!
Shit shitty shitting shit shit.
I have spent the last, oh, three hours going over my thesis and have decided that I am quite unhappy. I need to incorporate more theory, which is sort of my thesis mantra, but it's already 70+ pages, and this is supposed to be a thesis not a book. I know, I know, I need to just accept the fact that it doesn't have to be perfect right now, and that I can always make revisions on it in the future for whatever reason, such as peace of mind, publication, or masochism. SOMEONE MAKE ME FINISH IT TONIGHT AND GET COPIES TO MY DIRECTOR AND READER, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT, GOD KNOWS IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME. Wow, I seem to have gone so insane that I'm channeling early Smiths and incorporating them into my post. That reminds me of a recent episode of Degrassi in which the cutter, what's her name?, Ellie, I think, yes, Ellie, anyway, she just finished taking her final and says something to homoMarco along the lines of, "I think I wrote the second essay with White Stripes lyrics." Maybe I should hide Smiths/Morrissey lyrics in my thesis: and then Nero, that handsome devil, rapturously exclaims to Poppaea Sabina, "Please let me get my hands on your mammary glands." Or: after the Messenger's speech to the Queen and Chorus of Persian elders, the Chorus began to chant, "Hang the DJ", speaking, of course, of Xerxes, the autocrat/DJ of Persia.
I've forgotten why I'm writing this...oh, yes, thesis issues. I think I'll go take a shower and think it over. By the way, I think I really have gone insane, let me express it in an equation: Massive Thesis + (David - Nicotine - Alcohol) = Nervous, Anxious, Bonkers, Crave-acious Crazyboy. I actually kind of miss math, you know, for the simple beauty of the equation. There's always one right answer. So simple, its the poetry of social constructions for these things/concepts termed numbers. Most of all, I miss balancing those wonderful Redox Equations from Chem II, so sexy, seriously, so sexy.
I have spent the last, oh, three hours going over my thesis and have decided that I am quite unhappy. I need to incorporate more theory, which is sort of my thesis mantra, but it's already 70+ pages, and this is supposed to be a thesis not a book. I know, I know, I need to just accept the fact that it doesn't have to be perfect right now, and that I can always make revisions on it in the future for whatever reason, such as peace of mind, publication, or masochism. SOMEONE MAKE ME FINISH IT TONIGHT AND GET COPIES TO MY DIRECTOR AND READER, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT, GOD KNOWS IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME. Wow, I seem to have gone so insane that I'm channeling early Smiths and incorporating them into my post. That reminds me of a recent episode of Degrassi in which the cutter, what's her name?, Ellie, I think, yes, Ellie, anyway, she just finished taking her final and says something to homoMarco along the lines of, "I think I wrote the second essay with White Stripes lyrics." Maybe I should hide Smiths/Morrissey lyrics in my thesis: and then Nero, that handsome devil, rapturously exclaims to Poppaea Sabina, "Please let me get my hands on your mammary glands." Or: after the Messenger's speech to the Queen and Chorus of Persian elders, the Chorus began to chant, "Hang the DJ", speaking, of course, of Xerxes, the autocrat/DJ of Persia.
I've forgotten why I'm writing this...oh, yes, thesis issues. I think I'll go take a shower and think it over. By the way, I think I really have gone insane, let me express it in an equation: Massive Thesis + (David - Nicotine - Alcohol) = Nervous, Anxious, Bonkers, Crave-acious Crazyboy. I actually kind of miss math, you know, for the simple beauty of the equation. There's always one right answer. So simple, its the poetry of social constructions for these things/concepts termed numbers. Most of all, I miss balancing those wonderful Redox Equations from Chem II, so sexy, seriously, so sexy.