A long-awaited update (an epic bitchfest)

I haven’t updated this thing for awhile, as some of you have not so nicely pointed out via email.

For the people who actually read my blog, I can assure you that I don’t consider regurgitating my inner-most thoughts and moments from daily life some sort of fad that has already run it’s course – my vanity knows no bounds, duh, so it’s pretty safe to assume that I won’t tire of talking about myself, or at least my thoughts, anytime soon.

It’s just that I’ve had a shitty, super-busy couple of weeks.

For those keeping score at home, I have 25 days to turn in my thesis. And I’m way, way, way behind schedule. There’s a very real chance that I won’t be able to graduate because of this, so I’ve been devoting a fair amount of time to getting the damn paper done.



Now I know what you’re thinking – 25 days is a long ways out to already be stressing. This is a fair point, especially when you consider I’ve made a college career of leaving 20-page papers untouched until about 10 hours before due time.

But to complete this bad boy I have to come up with at least 40 pages of bullshit – and by bullshit I mean thoroughly researched experiments backed up by legitimate and meticulously investigated facts. Needless to say, that’s not really my style.

To make matters worse, I’m not all that interested. The entire point of this thesis is so I can finish the honors program and graduate with Latin distinction – I know, who’d of thunk it, right?

Thing is, I couldn’t care less if the hot doctor from Scrubs had some sort of weird cum laude fetish. I’m not doing this for myself, and I don’t want to do it at all.

So while all the other honors nerds are throwing themselves whole-heartedly at topics they just can’t wait to get to the bottom of, I’m wondering whether trading toilet paper for sand paper would be less or more painful than forcing myself through this daily struggle.

In fact, this post is the product of a 15 minute break during an all-night writing session that I hope leaves me with at least 20 solid and finished pages to turn into my thesis advisor tomorrow.

Let’s consider for a quick second that I was into finishing this lovely little project – I really don’t even have the energy anymore. To be honest, I’m tired.

Those who are familiar with my psychosis understand that for the first four years of college I was a legend of the all-nighter. I pulled 34 all-nighters last fall (yeah, I kept track, and that’s almost one every third day) and I’ve set a personal record of 72 straight hours awake (some alcohol free, others not so much) on several occasions.

Either it’s age or I’ve destroyed by body, but I can’t do that anymore. I’ve tried a couple times this semester and produced some fantastic failures (see my first non-fiction essay, although I still got a B).

So if you decide to tell me I have senioritis, please don’t get angry when I kick you in the groin and/or set up some complex mind game that ends in you questioning whether your parents actually love you.

It’s actually true that I’m not all that interested in class anymore, but that hasn’t changed since I finished my major two years ago when I was a semi-junior (back off, I’m finishing my minor and graduating in four years is like leaving a party at like 9:30). I’m just really busy and I no longer have the energy to make up for my recockulous schedule by sleeping less (which mostly means not at all).

I’m really trying to finish this bastard of a paper, it’s not going so well (it’s one of those things that’s just felt doomed from the start. I knew it was a bad idea in the beginning, but went on anyway for reasons that continue to baffle me.) and now I’m dedicating actual thought to whether some sort of freak ice pick accident (to the foot or something, of course) would create enough sympathy within the honors department to get an A without actually writing a thesis.

I wrote a few weeks ago that I expected all this bullocks was going to give me an ulcer. At the time, I could feel the burning sensation of acid eating its way through the lining of my stomach, which wasn’t all that pressure. Now I’m pretty sure that’s real close to reality – or I have some kind of super exotic stomach worm (do they have those?).

The worst part of all this is that I’m convinced it’s filtering into other parts of my life.

Today my Tolkien class, the one bastion of academic happiness in my life, was a perfect example.

Instead of talking about how Ghan-buri-Ghan’s character is completely a cheap and convenient plot device in “The Ride of the Rohirrim,” we instead spent 20 minutes talking about the pros, cons and history of incest.

That’s right, incest. In class.

And more specifically, brother-sister incest. I’m an only child, so the mere thought of having a sister in general sort of freaks me out.

I can only think that the evil spirit of my thesis is to blame for this phenomenon.

What’s more, I’ve decided to make an attempt to avoid using the f-bomb nine million times so the grandparents can read more of my posts.

The No. 1 rule for writing, at least for me, is to write what you know in a way similar to how you talk. Well my new resolution sort of keeps me from writing like my normal profanity-laced conversation style.

Frankly, it’s really fucking hard.

The latter complaint actually has nothing to do with my thesis, but I thought I might as well throw it out there seeing as I’ve already spent nigh on 1,000 words bitching.

Rant over. I can’t wait until tomorrow at about 4 p.m. when I can crack open a Guinness (late St. Paddy’s celebration), kick back while listening to “Beast of Burden” and pass out for about 14 hours.

Cheers.

Currently Reading: “High Fidelity” by Nick Hornby, “The Lord of the Rings” by J.R.R. Tolkien, “Dreams From My Father” by Barack Obama, “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” by Tucker Max

Line of the Day: “For a while they stood there, like men on the edge of a sleep where nightmare lurks, holding it off, though they know that they can only come to morning through the shadows. The light broadened and hardened. The gasping pits and poisonous mounds grew hideously clear. The sun was up, walking among clouds and long flags of smoke, but even the sunlight was defiled. The hobbits had no welcome for that light; unfriendly it seemed, revealing them in their helplessness – little squeaking ghosts that wandered among the ash-heaps of the Dark Lord.”

Latest movies: Scrubs season 4

From the iPod: “Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones