…and one of those stupid fucking partridges in a pear tree, too…

"This Semester," my new brilliant song, sung to the tune of the ancient Christmas carol "Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas*

two courses
six papers (one of which is thirty pages long)
six PhD applications
one thesis topic
and 32 hours of mindless work per weeeeeeeeeeek

I did it. I did it without slitting any body part or jumping in front of the subway or otherwise going visibly batshit to anyone who doesn’t know me well. I don’t know the permanent toll on my mental health this semester took; hopefully I will bounce back from this just like I bounce back from everything else, but this was definitely the hardest I’ve pushed myself since…well, since ever, really. So I hope I get good grades and get into some of these programs, but if I don’t I should be OK anyway because hard work (and the slightly doughy midsection that comes from it) is allegedly its own reward, etc etc etc. Hard work and whatever trinket I decide to purchase shopping tomorrow on my self-congratulatory shopping errand, natch.

Aaaaaaaaand end self-pitying transmission NOW.

*I know that the words don’t match that song. I’m exhasted and miserable, not stupid. It was a joke. Cyn-i-cism. Yippee.

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