(Adam Lambert’s “Whataya Want From Me?” really speaks to my life as a whole right now.)
When last we spoke, our anti-heroine (me) was inwardly agonizing about relationships and post-divorce relationships and being ready to tackle new things and whatnot. This may have predicated a foray into angst, “forever alone” nonsense and abstract “will I never be truly happy until I’m with someone else again?” thinking.
I’m happy to tell you this is not the case, as our anti-heroine faced up to the full brunt of the tasks set before her for these upcoming months…and emotions ran the whole gamut from complete ecstasy to “oh shit.”
Good things first:
After months of research, Dr. LW (my thesis adviser) looked over my bulging folder of notes and gave me the green light to begin writing my thesis prospectus. If you don’t know what that signifies…in order to begin writing a master’s thesis at my university, one needs to go before the Graduate Studies Department (or have one’s adviser go before the GSD) and present the thesis idea. You can’t just haul off and say “This is what I want to spend a year of my life doing”; you need to have more of a plan. Specifically, you need to write a prospectus, which is a statement of interest, a literature review, a statement about what contributions your work will bring to the field of study, what other historians have said, what gaps you intend in filling, and an annotated bibliography of all your sources (thus far) and how they will be useful. If the GSD likes your prospectus, you get the green light to write the damn thing. If they don’t…well, that’s another story, and hopefully one I don’t need to think about right now.
Anyway. This was my response to Dr. LW’s go-ahead:
I totally went and got an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts. Because that is how I celebrate.
Then I went to class. And I got the bad news.
I’ve known all this semester that I had a term paper for Dr. S due. The syllabus said it was due next week, but since the class is half-undergrad, half-grad, and he hadn’t mentioned a damn thing about the paper, and he’d recently been in Asia and pushed back some of our deadlines, I naturally did the stupid thing and assumed that it was going to be pushed back as well.
Ha.
Aha.
Hahahahaha.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
That’s the sort of amateur move that a freshman makes. Maybe an undergraduate junior. Not a last-year grad student.
Rookie mistake.
So the paper is due next Thursday. As in April 18th. As in eight days from now.
How long a paper? Not that long. Just 15-20 pages or so.
The above gif was pretty much exactly my reaction when I realized that my idiotic error was going to result in a metric buttload of stress for myself…but that it’s going to get done, it has to get done, so what’s the use of freaking out?
I already have a topic. My father (the man who instilled a love of history in me so deep that it resulted in borderline obsession) gave me four books from his own personal library that will help in my research. I used my bff Zotero last night to track down some articles and printed them this morning. I have a couple of hours this afternoon to do some work before I have to go check out another apartment…
Oh yeah, the apartment search is in full swing. My parents want their little cottage back (for my sister, who has epilepsy and is disabled), and my (future) roommate S and I have been actively searching for a place for about a week and a half now…
The point of this whole entry? I’m completely swamped on all sides, so to be spending my time lamenting about a relationship that could have been but wasn’t? Would pretty much guarantee that I’m certifiable.
Sign me up for the loony bin.
And just because I think my makeup looked pretty damn good today…I think I’ve come a long way since starting to learn how to apply eyeshadow back in September ’12.
Honestly, Megan 