There are precisely thirty-four days until my senior thesis is due.
Notice how calmly I say that. If one didn't know any better, one might think that I were more concerned about the explosion of snow that came tearing out of the sky this afternoon, right after the weather lulled us into a false sense of security with those toasty warm days. But you know better than that, right? I bet you can just tell, intuitively, how the stress is bubbling up; I bet that some subtle sign is giving away just how panicked I really am - like a written eye twitch. I mean, realistically, thirty-four days is not a long time to finish proofreading, revising, formatting, and polishing a hundred and sixty pages of creative and analytical writing. But then again, my advisor keeps telling me that as long as I get a grip on my perfectionist tendencies, I should be able to finish by mid-March.
On the other hand, if I finish too soon (read: before Spring Break), I will be here at school for two weeks by myself, with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and no car. IN ALL THE SNOW. St. Patrick's Day will find me trudging down to the drugstore to buy a six-pack of Guinness before plopping down in front of my roommate's TV and shouting out the lyrics to all the drinking songs I know until "Luck of the Irish" inevitably comes on the Disney channel. Having some stress to occupy my time might be a welcome distraction.
|I wish I had this shiny hat.|
However, on the other other hand (or perhaps the foot?), two weeks to meself with nothing to do means I can stay in the library all day long for funsies, play my music way too loud, and hang out in my room naked for two weeks straight! Except, of course, when I walk down to the drug store for the aforementioned Guinness. Then I'll just throw on a trench coat and run there.
Image via Smirkdirk.