Holy smokes! Where have I been? Look at all of this dust. Disgraceful.
Ever see Road Runner from Looney Toons? I’m Road Runner, but mute because I haven’t had the energy to give a half-hearted, “Beep! Beep!” before taking off into the desert. Oh, but that Wile E. Coyote has sure had the time to chase me down. His real name is Research Thesis. His middle name is Father’s Illness. And his last name is Beatles Rock Band. Really. Beating the hell out of poor electronic excuses for my packed away drumset have let me vent frustration, sadness, fear, and concern. Melts everything, including responsibility, right off the chalkboard when one pretends to be Ringo Starr.
The first rough draft of my thesis results is due this Wednesday, and I haven’t even finished the data entry. What possessed me to use such a complex survey is not even worth thinking about right now. Why I bothered to be in graduate school is another issue altogether (a right decision, but one that deserves a bit of doubt given a long history of undergraduate procrastination and insomnia that has abated).
Soggy cereal is worth considering. The cool, bitter, and artificial sweetness of leftover coffee is another — coffee that was supposed to be consumed at around 5:30 a.m., and waited for the morning frost to seep into my bones enough to wake up, pour, and sip. Blessed are house alarms, for their sensitivities and frightening false triggers. I’d rather a false trigger than a real emergency, but I’d rather more a traditional alarm clock that I actually listened to.
