Scott Wylan, Eat Your Heart Out
Why is it, that I haven't updated my blog since handing in my thesis? I'm not sure I have a good answer for that, although there might be some truth to be found in this conversation I had on the street with a former professor.
Prof: So are you getting ready to graduate?
Me: Yeah, I'm finishing stuff up. Just finished my thesis. Handed it in today.
Prof: Cool! Are you glad to be done?
Me: Yeah, but not that it's done, I'm not quite sure what to do with my free time.
Prof: It's called post-partum depression, I think. It'll pass eventually.
Me: Heh, something like that.
Prof: Well, good talking to you. I'll see you around
Me: Yup, sounds good. Bye.
Likening a thesis or any work of writing or art to giving birth isn't the most original thing in the world, but damn it, I really don't know what to do now. I mean, I have physiology, but I don't really care about bio classes at this point. I just want my degree, damn it. So this thesis was really the last thing I had to do. And now it's over.
I returned my books, all fifty or so, and now the only physical trace of the thesis is the bound copy that I got to keep. And I'm almost afraid to touch it.
I stress about the potential that there were grammatical errors, and that I didn't footnote enough, and that I might have forgotten to include a source in the bibliography that I parenthetically document in the text, but for all intents and purposes, it's over. I'm moderately concerned about that last part, and also that I might not get the requisite grade I need in order to actually get the honors credit, but there isn't really work involved with that. Just mindless paranoia.
I really am detached from this thing now, and I don't know what to think about it. I was working on this for over six months, really. My proposal went in a year ago, and I was doing (some) research over the summer. This fall and winter, I was literally living and breathing John Milton Studies. Sure, that sounds boring to most people, but I was immersed. I'd wake up wondering if my chapter on the Son of God's formation of subjectivity made any sense. I'd go to sleep trying to remember the name of a critic that wrote some article in Milton Studies. But no more.
Unless I go to grad school for Early Modern Studies, there's basically no reason for me to read Milton Studies or Milton Quarterly or anything like that again. I might go back to Paradise Lost or some of Milton's other stuff, but I don't need to concern myself with the criticism anymore. But the funny thing is, I liked concerning myself with the criticism.
The scariest thing of all? I don't know if baseball and Spring Training is necessarily going to make up for it. I mean, watching a Sox game on NESN or a Mets game isn't going to have the same immediacy and significance of writing a part of my senior thesis. I can live vicariously through Pedro Martinez's arm all I want, but in the end, I don't get anything besides emotional satisfaction out of baseball - that is to say, no money, nothing tangible.
The only thing I can think of to get over it is to keep writing. Short stories perhaps, or just random thoughts in this blog. I need to get over the end of the thesis and just move on to something else. It's hard. So here goes.
Prof: So are you getting ready to graduate?
Me: Yeah, I'm finishing stuff up. Just finished my thesis. Handed it in today.
Prof: Cool! Are you glad to be done?
Me: Yeah, but not that it's done, I'm not quite sure what to do with my free time.
Prof: It's called post-partum depression, I think. It'll pass eventually.
Me: Heh, something like that.
Prof: Well, good talking to you. I'll see you around
Me: Yup, sounds good. Bye.
Likening a thesis or any work of writing or art to giving birth isn't the most original thing in the world, but damn it, I really don't know what to do now. I mean, I have physiology, but I don't really care about bio classes at this point. I just want my degree, damn it. So this thesis was really the last thing I had to do. And now it's over.
I returned my books, all fifty or so, and now the only physical trace of the thesis is the bound copy that I got to keep. And I'm almost afraid to touch it.
I stress about the potential that there were grammatical errors, and that I didn't footnote enough, and that I might have forgotten to include a source in the bibliography that I parenthetically document in the text, but for all intents and purposes, it's over. I'm moderately concerned about that last part, and also that I might not get the requisite grade I need in order to actually get the honors credit, but there isn't really work involved with that. Just mindless paranoia.
I really am detached from this thing now, and I don't know what to think about it. I was working on this for over six months, really. My proposal went in a year ago, and I was doing (some) research over the summer. This fall and winter, I was literally living and breathing John Milton Studies. Sure, that sounds boring to most people, but I was immersed. I'd wake up wondering if my chapter on the Son of God's formation of subjectivity made any sense. I'd go to sleep trying to remember the name of a critic that wrote some article in Milton Studies. But no more.
Unless I go to grad school for Early Modern Studies, there's basically no reason for me to read Milton Studies or Milton Quarterly or anything like that again. I might go back to Paradise Lost or some of Milton's other stuff, but I don't need to concern myself with the criticism anymore. But the funny thing is, I liked concerning myself with the criticism.
The scariest thing of all? I don't know if baseball and Spring Training is necessarily going to make up for it. I mean, watching a Sox game on NESN or a Mets game isn't going to have the same immediacy and significance of writing a part of my senior thesis. I can live vicariously through Pedro Martinez's arm all I want, but in the end, I don't get anything besides emotional satisfaction out of baseball - that is to say, no money, nothing tangible.
The only thing I can think of to get over it is to keep writing. Short stories perhaps, or just random thoughts in this blog. I need to get over the end of the thesis and just move on to something else. It's hard. So here goes.
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