Bah! I deride your truth-handling abilities!
There were a few fleeting moments this afternoon where I wasn't too keen on graduate school anymore.
Then I realized that they weren't forcing me to do some complex and evil project that would usurp my soul and make me cry for mercy lest I sucumb to FAILURE. Houghton requires such hanus assignments of their elem. majors during their junior year in the form of an "educational literary project and presentation" ... only that the Grad. class is devoted to only the paper (action research, to be exact) and there is no pants-peeing presentation they invite all Ed. majors and the entire Ed. department not to mention anyone else that may want to come, like family, friends and the president of the college. JUST like they did senior year of highschool and invited the president of the hospital to come see our presentations. In the hospital theatre. Oh, I wanted to die.
So, really, it's a huge f-off paper that will probably make a good attempt at destroying me, but it isn't anywhere near the evil I've been exposed to. And somewhere in there it's going to just become automatic. (I know I have at least 5 more of these in front of me.) Then I'll be spitting out research papers like they are rolls of pizza bread.
And suddenly I can breathe again.
I love grad school.
Again.
Then I realized that they weren't forcing me to do some complex and evil project that would usurp my soul and make me cry for mercy lest I sucumb to FAILURE. Houghton requires such hanus assignments of their elem. majors during their junior year in the form of an "educational literary project and presentation" ... only that the Grad. class is devoted to only the paper (action research, to be exact) and there is no pants-peeing presentation they invite all Ed. majors and the entire Ed. department not to mention anyone else that may want to come, like family, friends and the president of the college. JUST like they did senior year of highschool and invited the president of the hospital to come see our presentations. In the hospital theatre. Oh, I wanted to die.
So, really, it's a huge f-off paper that will probably make a good attempt at destroying me, but it isn't anywhere near the evil I've been exposed to. And somewhere in there it's going to just become automatic. (I know I have at least 5 more of these in front of me.) Then I'll be spitting out research papers like they are rolls of pizza bread.
And suddenly I can breathe again.
I love grad school.
Again.