Friday before last, something happened. It was something I'd spent a lot of last year dreading, avoiding, and concocting elaborate responses involving wire cutters, bogus psychiatric evaluations, and strawberry jam for. I had finally stopped looking over my shoulder and looked instead towards a bright future of nine to five drudgery (or eight thirty to five in my case), traveling the weeks and months spreading before me like a hamster in a wheel, it's cheeks chubby with the spoils of its toil. The treadmill was my life. I had accepted it, and life was, if not good, fair to middlin'.
Then it happened. My past reared its ugly head and forced me to confront the fact that my life as a hamster is in fact a sham. The treadmill was a double edged sword. I was running to get away from it, but staying in the same place all along. My dissertation supervisor emailed me.
What could this dastardly cad want with me? How could he cruelly abandon me for so long, letting me believe our rendezvous in his shabby little office, with its Rembrandt posters, its orange carpeting, and the little birds snaking through every detail - the artwork, the fabric, the verse of James Joyce - ripe with the symbolism of our cursed union, were over! Why, he only wanted a - the dirty words leave an acrid taste in my mouth even as I type them - a progress report!
Progress? You call this progress? One email in almost a year, I thought we had something together! I gave you everything I had! Yes, I discovered my tutor was a typical man, who did nothing but take, take, take, until I had nothing left!
This is really not panning out as a good enough excuse is it? *sigh* At least if I had indulged in some sort of torrid affair with him he'd probably have never emailed me again.
Now, I'm sure you, as grown up, responsible people, with a plan in life, ambitions, motivations, goals, etc. would have done the decent thing and immediately replied to such an email with profuse apologies and essay writing timetables and suggestions for meetings. I however, didn't actually read it until Monday. Then I talked about how I'd do a little work before I contacted him. Then I decided to contact him before I did any work. Then I didn't contact him because I'd have to do some work if I did.
I am ashamed at my lack of industry. But I just feel kind of bla, whatever, about my indifference.
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2 comments:
Not to get too far off subject but did you know if you adjust the clock on your computer backwards, say a day, and then send e-mail...it's interesting. Not saying it works but, who knows, it may be a useful trick.
-David
The things you find out when you're bored eh! I think the poor bloke is used to me by now anyway. (I say poor bloke without the slightest trace of sympathy - I can't stand the pompous ass!)
How are you doing hunny? x
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