I keep having this dream…it’s one of those anxiety dreams where you’re running around trying to get everything done, and someone keeps throwing a monkeywrench in your shit. They’re either telling you you’re doing it wrong, or you need to do more. Then it gets really blatant and I’m standing in front of a firehose that’s getting turned up, little by little. And the wielder of the firehose is my thesis advisor, with her sweet Newfie accent, saying, “How’s that, then, SJ? Can I turn it up a little more?” My feet start to slide because I’m wearing cheap dress flats.

Okay, so this summer’s not nearly that bad. I think I’m just freaking out because my thesis proposal will be finished today or tomorrow, and I feel like it’s gotten away from me. My advisor has found funding and people for me to interview, but it’s a totally different project now. Suddenly I’m writing a report of my findings, and journal article, instead of a proper thesis. This is actually better, I think, as far as getting into the PhDude club goes, but none of it is what I expected.

I’m okay. I just have to flounder piteously for a minute.

In Other, Non-Neurotic, News

Okay, I’m lame. I missed the sponsor letter deadline thing for the Blogathon. Perhaps I should not have been Blogathonning while up to my hips in school. Anyway. I blogged for Bookaid, and according to the website thirty British pounds “pays for twenty books for the donkey cart.” How can you not love an organization that donates to a Donkey-Bookmobile?

If you like, you can send them your sponsorship directly. There is a mailing address here, and a secure webform through here. You can also see the donkey cart and find out what happens to your hard-earned dough. And you don’t have to say anything about me or the blogathon. And if you don’t do it at all I certainly won’t hold it against you. Or even know.

As penance for my sin of procrastination, I am going to donate ten dollars on my own behalf, har har har. And now I am off to whip myself, right after I don my hairshirt.

“Don:” totally underused. I wonder if you can “don” oven mitts? Bandaids? A bad attitude? “Don we now our bad manners.” Hmm…perhaps I should go back to bed for a while.

Update!

5:57 pm: Started drinking. Say, I can drink cranberry vodkas AND look for citations! Yes, things are looking mush better now. What was I fretting about this morning, anyway? Ooh, er.

Drunken Update!

6:56 pm: It turns out that chickens like tabouleh!