Wednesday, September 18, 2013

On nearly failing Mr. Bologna's gym class

It didn't seem possible, but there it was: another email about a blink-and-you'd-miss-it formatting problem with my dissertation. Not something mentioned in the last round of edits, but maybe alluded to? Something about how I needed to fix the problems and do X, but phrased in such a way as it seemed likely that doing X was what would solve the problem. Maybe (definitely!) I ought to have phoned the office then, but I thought I'd made all the changes, or else obviously I'd have called to check. But anywayEverything seems to be sorted out such that I don't need to make a special trip into the city just to deal with this, but that's not to say there wasn't a moment of panic when I saw the email pop up from the Office of Your Dissertation is Formatted Wrong.

This brings ABD to a new level. I can understand never really getting going with a project, or finding a job elsewhere and not seeing the point of getting the degree, or just generally something coming up between the qualifying exam and the defense. But if what stands between me and the doctorate is that two lines of the title page are incorrectly spaced, I think I'm a walking don't-go article.

In other news, my high school called to let me know that I did in fact fail Mr. Bologna's gym class, not just for one marking period, but for the whole year, thereby preventing me from starting college. My elementary school has land-line phoned me up to tell me that the remedial handwriting class I was in (which I was; this blog is basically a celebration of typing) hasn't ended. Whichever other anxiety-dream scenarios, those too, while we're at it.

3 comments:

Petey said...

"Everything seems to be sorted out such that I don't need to make a special trip into the city just to deal with this, but that's not to say there wasn't a moment of panic when I saw the email pop up from the Office of Your Dissertation is Formatted Wrong."

You are aware of the never-even-alluded-to, but quite mandatory formatting directive that your dissertation must contain a ratio of commas to semicolons that equals exactly seven to one, right?

"the remedial handwriting class I was in (which I was; this blog is basically a celebration of typing)"

Well, in that case, I can relax in the knowledge that you are well aware that the final draft of your dissertation must be typed on a manual typewriter, right? No electronics permitted.

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"In other news, my high school called to let me know that I did in fact fail Mr. Bologna's gym class, not just for one marking period, but for the whole year, thereby preventing me from starting college."

Disappointing. That will likely disqualify you from getting an internship with Bustle.

(That last note is just so I have an excuse to bring up Lizzie Widdicombe's Bustle piece. Was that the funniest longform humor writing of the past couple of years, or the funniest longform humor writing of all time? It's so well executed that it almost reads as non-fiction...)

Anonymous said...

I still have high school anxiety dreams that I cannot find my locker, I somehow have missed many classes and have assignments and tests to take, etc. Better than having elementary school nightmares since those would involve corporal punishment. Congrats, by the way. JM

Shannon Baker said...

It sounds like an interesting series. I will check it out

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