His novel is roughly the size of my (unfinished) undergraduate thesis. Did you know those things were only supposed to be about 20 pages?

. . . which is why I teeechnically shouldn’t have graduated the honours program.  I meant to finish it, I really did, but I had to go talk to the dean with it only 25% complete and the end of the year fast approaching.

N: I have a ton more research and notes for my thesis, but I don’t think I can finish it in time — I’m only on page 50 and I still have about three times more to say.

D: (visibly blanching) You know this is undergrad, right?  Write your book on your own time.  Just give me what you have so far and I’ll look over it.

N: But it’s all from different chapters!  And I don’t have all the appendices yet!

D: (facepalm).

So he called it done and let me graduate.  I’m not well.  It’s not even a recent thing; I distinctly remember an all-night panic attack over an essay on kangaroos for kindergarten.  In my defense, three sentences seems like a lot more at 6, and I did draw a very nice kangaroo and nearly got all my d’s and b’s facing the right way.

Am I oversharing?  It’s been a long day.