Monday, November 13, 2006

 

I'm too stupid to tell you why I'm so stupid

I forgot to uphold my end of the blog-all-month bargain, but in case you didn't think my heart was in it in the first place, here are 2 entries. First: the long-horrendously awaited diss is leaving my house tomorrow forever and this nightmare will be over. It's absolutely cost me my life, and I'll be glad to see the back of it. This time, I won't do it again. They passed the whole thing last May, but then told me to sign up for another semester rather than turn in the final version 2 weeks later.

I told them to shove it up their asses, and they gave me a fellowship for this aforementioned semester. So they continue to call me a "doctor" while simultaneously telling me how bad I suck. It's taken copious amounts of mood-altering substances in order to be bothered by it again, and Mel has done most of the work. It's now in terrible shape, with multiple statements that I was told to include that paint my informants/friends like total assholes and makes some grandiose statement about the world that makes me look...well...stupid.

But perhaps I'm just TOO STUPID to get it. And yes, I refrained from the incredible desire to, instead of adding "why I should be a feminist scholar with unique contributions," include a paragraph on why I'm not a feminist scholar thanks to you people sucking every penny out of my savings as well as my future earning potential, and therefore I'm NOT a feminist scholar; I'm a powerseller.

The whole hoopla hasn't helped the pdd/anxiety AT ALL, let me just tell you.

So off it goes for good, Mel having translated all the revisions desired by the group of people I'll just refer to as "committee," but who in a few weeks will be referred to as "bothered daily by religious crusaders who were sent anonymously to their homes to convert them with glossy magazines about a heaven that resembles a farm."

Comments:
Huh? What? Wow, I am totally lost.
So, are you a doctor feminist or not? Because I have this thing on my toe... ;)
 
They tell me that I am. Then they demand more shit in the mail. I hate them. If I fix the thing on your toe, will you drive to Iowa and let them know who's boss? Oh wait, why bother. They have to live in Iowa!
 
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