And it’s done.
I fudged the deadline a bit and so am not feeling very good about myself at the moment. Especially since that meant
telling my advisor I had actually mailed it when in fact I was just planning to go to the post office in a couple of hours not being totally upfront with my advisor, and I feel terrible about that.
And then my computer literally ate a paragraph – I’m still not sure how that happened – but I noticed it as I was doing all the nitpicky formatting on my bibliography and proofreading… I realized I had a footnote that just said,
Schmo, p. 45.
And I didn’t have the footnote that said:
Joe Schmo, “This Thesis Sucks,” Journal of Sleep Deprivation 1, no. 1: p. 101.
And since I was basing the bibliography on my first reference footnotes, I didn’t have the bibliography entry that read:
Schmo, Joe. “This Thesis Sucks.” Journal of Sleep Deprivation 1, no. 1: 100-1001.
Which made me wonder. What happened to the first level footnote? And wait a minute, what happened to the paragraph in which the first reference to Schmo’s observations about the effects of too much caffiene on the human nervous system appeared? And why the hell does the Chic*go M*nual of Sty1e use commas in footnotes and periods in bibliographies, except as a way of testing the last nerves in people whose nerves are already shot to hell?
Um, Mr. Computer? Hello? That was an unusually good paragraph. I’d like it back.
I’d also like to retrieve and reconsider the moment when I triumphantly threw the draft, covered with corrections, which contained that paragraph into the fireplace, having entered all the corrections and pressed save. That’s right, having PRESSED SAVE.
Because I’m not a total idiot.
Although if you saw me, at 10 pm, already having sent out an email announcing that I was DONE! and (here comes the lie part) it was in the mail, frantically pawing through the garbage can hoping to find a draft that I had not used as kindling, and wondering why oh why Pili had to eat tuna fish earlier this week because the smell of tuna fish makes me barf and even more so when it’s in the garbage and a couple of days old…
You might very well have thought I was an idiot of the first order.
Reconstructing the paragraph took far longer than it should have. Making sure that nothing else had mysteriously disappeared from my paper took far longer than it should have. Formatting the bibliography and trying to figure out how to footnote various types of documents that are not mentioned in the %#*&%! Chic*go M*nual of Sty1e took far far longer than it should have.
And so I am SURE that the man who saw me, standing in front of the APC machine at the post office at 2 in the morning, trying to figure out how to NOT get something postmarked with a date that showed that it had in fact been mailed a day after the date that I SAID I HAD ALREADY MAILED IT… thought I was A TOTAL IDIOT.
And I am, in fact a total idiot, because when he told me that if you print your postage from your computer at home it won’t show the date, I turned around with my express mail “stamp” that I had just purchased from the machine and went home to see if this was in fact possible.
For the record, it is not possible. And after I spent half an hour debating with myself about whether I should put $14.40 of .39 cent stamps on my express mail envelope instead of the APC thing that had the date on it… and then realized that it would still get postmarked with the WRONG date.
The post office is a pretty spooky place at 3am.
And this, my children, is why you should never tell a lie. Even when you think you are going to make it into a truth in a few short hours.
Please g-d, don’t let this come back and bite me in the ass. Please.
I am a total idiot.
I am a liar.
I am done with my thesis.
It was a day and a half late.
I was not honest about this (except anonymously with the whole frickin’ internet).
I am feeling pretty awful right now.
Sleep deprivation is not a pretty sight.
Big wordpress reveal, coming as soon as I get a few hours of sleep.
Oh, and did I mention that the day all of this crap went down was the day that Pili left the country to do research for three weeks?
1) I must wish a huge and happy birthday to the sweetest, most fabulously wonderful, Piliest of Pilis in the whole wide world. I can’t wait until we’ve lived more of our lives together than without each other. Even if that takes a while, because well – you’re old(er than me). SMOOCH.
2) If you’re not reading the posts over at lesbian family get over there now. I am humbled to be joining a team with such amazing women – and such amazing writers. And I really wish I had done my introductory post first, because now I’m totally intimidated. Kwynne is blogging so brilliantly about “cake batter race theories” and queer parenting. Trista has a fantastic letter to Heather Poe, aka Mrs. Mary Cheney. J. is musing about what it means to be “family.” And Round is thinking about what makes a “real mom.” You don’t even have to be a lesbian! And while you’re at it, go and vote for Polly aka LesbianDad in a tight Best New Blog Race which has been marred by some really nasty homophobic b.s.
3) BLOGGER BLECH: All I can say is that as soon as I am done with this verdamnte project – as for me and my blog we will worship the wordpress. If I haven’t commented on your blog lately it is because a) I am way too busy and stressed and/or b) blogger will not let me.
4) I gave my notice at the job that blows on Monday. It was so unbelievably satisfying. The details of the story are not bloggable, but there was a lot of vindication involved in letting them know that other people like and appreciate me. I will be returning to the Job That Does Not Blow, except with a fancier title, in January.
Back to the Project That Ate My Life. Smooches, Art.
In a weak, I have nothing to say moment, I sucumbed to Shelli’s charms and put myself up for the interview game. A reminder for those who haven’t seen this before – if you’d like to be interviewed leave a comment and say so. I’ll post questions for the first five to do so, which they will answer on their blogs with the same invitation to be interviewed.
1) What is the hardest thing about living with diabetes?
Geez, ask an easy question, why doncha? How can I choose just one? I have lots of things I hate about living with diabetes – the extra suitcase I need when I travel to carry enough supplies for just-in-case-I-get-stuck-in-a-ditch-on the side of the road in a blizzard for two weeks and the inevitable oh crap I forgot x, y, or z, the diabetes drive-by comments
(an anecdote, because I have to get this one off my chest: said to me last night, on the phone with the director of my graduate program, a somewhat ditzy woman who I genuinely love and respect, “I forget because you don’t look diabetic.” In my iciest tone, “Annabelle (not her real name, by a long shot), tell me then, what does a diabetic look like?” A good conversation ensued, in which I once again educated the world that not all people with diabetes are old, fat, and gangrenous)
Then there’s the moments when I hit the wrong spot and OW OW OW! Or the moments when my blood sugar will not cooperate with what I want to do. Or the lows – at intimate moments, in important meetings, at 3 in the morning. Yeah, all those things SUCK.
But the worst thing overall, which really encompasses all of the above, is its constant hum in the back of my mind. The am I hungry or am I low hum, the should I ask when we’re going to stop for lunch hum, the how many carbs are in that, and should I bother testing when I’ve already eaten half of it, hum. The, do I just pull out my meter and test in front of this person when I really don’t feel like having a Diabetes Conversation? That constant hum separates me from other people. While you’re jumping up and down with excitement at the thought of going to the water park, I’m wondering: how will I carry my supplies with me? Will Smokey be safe? (Also, how many people have peed in that water? Ugh.) I wish I could just be there, in the moment, without this constant buzzing that only I can hear.
2) Have you two “picked” which gender you prefer? Can you just say “the youngest one you’ve got?”
Sure, we’ve picked which gender we prefer. Pili prefers boys and I prefer girls. Babies in Guatemala are generally referred within a week or two of birth, so age doesn’t work as a decision avoidance method. And the wait for boys is less than the wait for girls, so if we say we want whichever comes first, we’re saying we want a boy. So here’s what we’ve lit upon and what our agency has agreed to: We will put our name on both lists. When we get to the top of the boy list, we will be passed over until three months have past. If we have not been referred a girl by that point (which is within the range of possibility, but not the range of extreme probability) we will take whichever comes next, which will probably be a boy. In other words, we’ve found a way to leave it somewhat up to chance. Now I just need to write my damn autobiography, yo, so I can get on to my interview with Vaseline Teeth.
3) Can you share your thesis with us in 25 words or less?
Once again, ask an easy question… My thesis is pretty specific to my work, which is not something I want to get into here. So, in 25 words or less: It has to do with making a content area which is generally seen as developmentally inappropriate for young children more accessible to them. During the discussion with my program director last night, we agreed that if I had not made substantial progress by labor day, I’d do the comprehensive exam option, and just get my damn degree already.
If that hasn’t put you to sleep, email me and I’ll tell you more.
4) Could you start a recipe blog, please? Your food pictures make.me.drool!
Aw, thanks. The comments I’ve gotten lately on my pictures, along with the recent disruption in my daily routine, have been inspiring me to focus some energy again on my photography. I love it when I do it, but am far too insecure about it to hang out my shingle as artist. I don’t think I cook enough to have my own food blog, but I’d certainly hint hint be happy to contribute to someone else’s…
5) As far as the embryos – can you do a “natural transfer” cycle – just stick um in, and add progesterone, and call it a day. ALL the while you are focuing on adoption?
A couple of people have suggested that, and I think it’s worth looking into. Mind you, I’m not the one being poked and prodded, but I think that the parts Pili minds are: a) the suppositories b) the ass shots (both of which are involved in adding progresterone) and c) being probed and medicalized in general. Right now, we’re still agreeing to disagree on what to do next. I’d like to do one more cycle, sometime before referral, and just put all four remaining embryos back, and pray that one of them sticks around long enough to say hi. Pili is still, a) bleeding, and b)not so interested in getting back on the table anytime soon.
Anyone who has more experience with this and can explain why a “natural transfer” FET would be significantly less unpleasant than an unnatural one, please speak up.
The Things I Should Be Doing Instead of Blogging
- Two cover letters for jobs I want
- One cover letter for a job I’m not sure I want. Do I want to be the executive director of an organization that two different people have told me has an extraordinarily dysfunctional board? No, not really, but maybe that means they’ll actually hire me
- Thesis update to my advisor. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than answer my emails immediately? Doesn’t he realize that means I have to answer his email?
- Editing newsletter for a professional organization
- Many phone calls, emails, and writings for my various part-time gigs (see item #1)
What I am doing:
- Otherwise known as procrastinating
- Wishing I lived somewhere where I could get this
- Sending out BIG HUGE congratulations to two bloggers who have gotten good news today
In other news, I have an endo appt. tomorrow morning. I keep forgetting this and then remembering with a jolt. I am not anticipating that it will be especially pleasant.