Dr. MMK or: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Hate the PhD
July 18, 2005 9 Comments
I have slept only about three hours in the last few days as I struggle to finish a chapter of my so-called doctorate. Being the master procrastinator that I am, I have spent a substantial amount of this time on this very blog as I am doing now … sigh.
I can now announce to all and sundry that I hate my thesis. It is the most loathsome, evil and uncooperative little shit that has ever existed. I have been in a book filled, stuffy room all weekend swearing to it that it better behave or I shall refuse to cooperate should it ever want to be published. Bugger!
I just do not see how I can actually produce 55,000 more words. I keep checking the word counter every two minutes only to find that what I have already written is shrinking as I edit. Oh, the woe of it all. Now what am I to do? Where shall I find nice, thick footnotes?
Then there is this little issue of needing to be original. When I first started this torture it sounded grand; like the type of thing that I had been wishing to do throughout my school life. Well that is all in the past now. The demand for scholarly originality is one of the most fiendish S&M rituals ever invented. How was I to realise that other than exercises in word play that no one cared for and the claim to slivers of meaningless intellectual territory, there is actually very little that the average doctoral student produces? My friends were all in on the joke and I can see their cute little faces sniggering away. “Kima, you belong in grad school” they said in serious we-love-you tones. And I ate it all up, all of it, every single morsel. But I’m not angry, I shall get even by encouraging every unsuspecting sucker I know to sign up for a doctoral programme and then I will seat back and laugh my head off. Hahahahahahahahahaha…
I gave up a good income, free weekends, and vacations for this. How is that for having my head up my a#$^? Well, let me get back to it now. If I never blog again, just know that it is because I have made a solemn pledge to never write another word or read another book. I shall then have become what I now regard as the most blissfully happy creature on earth: illiterate, apathetic, materialistic and suffering from attention-deficit disorder brought on by the sheer amounts of TV and Hollywood films consumed.
Tonight I sleep. Tomorrow, being the great self deluder, I shall no doubt rise with the normal megalomania that has me winning the Nobel by 45 and getting offered dozens of prestigious chairs in philosophy the moment I am done with this chapter.