No, really. This whole "write your Master's thesis in a year" thing? It's great. Just great. So fantastic, in fact, that I can't imagine why US universities don't adopt a similar policy. Just think of all the graduates you could churn out -- and advisors would have a lot less stress, since half of their charges would self-combust before they ever made it to a second meeting!
But I'm not bitter.
I have a meeting with my advisor tomorrow, and I thought it might help me if I reviewed what I'd written to see how it fit together thus far:
It seems I am have been operating under the delusion that what I write actually makes sense. I had to stop editing partway through because my pen ran out of ink. Okay, okay, I really had to stop editing because I started getting into Stressed Overachieving Student Mode, in which I convince myself that I am going to produce the worst thesis in the 800-year history of this university, then promptly spend a lifetime consigned to admin assistant drudgery because I'll never escape my English major past.
So instead of coming up with brilliant questions to ask my advisor, I decided to shave my legs.
Look, they really needed it.
I'm serious. Personal hygiene sort of takes a backseat to EndNote these days.
Tomorrow is another day, and the day after that may be the day I finally manage to type without wincing because the stupid blisters on my palms from my first rowing effort will disappear. (By "rowing," I mean flailing around and almost sinking the boat as the cox looks on in disbelief. Oh, and smacking my potential teammate with the paddle. I mean, oar. I mean, blade. See, it's the terminology that screws me. Well, that and my inability to remember the order in which one physically executes a stroke, thereby providing much entertainment to the semi-professional rowers and fully-intoxicated pub crawlers observing from the riverbanks. At least I can put "incompetent rower" on my CV next to "bewildered graduate student" so people can appreciate the full fruits of my labors.)
