Neurotic Owl

flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread

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.


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This entry was posted on February 1, 2013 by and tagged , , , , , , .
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