Friday, May 23, 2008

218. Biologically Incorrect Principle of Graduate School Survival (Graduate Studentisms): Special Brownies and Grant Deadlines

I found in the kitchen last night a special batch of pot brownies. I couldn't help thinking how this epitomizes one vital ingredient towards graduate school survival. I don't do any pot. But nearly everyone around me gets stoned every once in a while. A friend of mine told me how can pot be bad when you ultimately can get your shxt done when smoking it. Alcohol will usually now allow you to function!
I already get ADHD from consuming sugar and I have coffee chronically. One more element towards Biologically Incorrect the movie!

Walking on the Edge of a Mental Cliff:
Making a Friday Grant Deadlines by 2 Minutes!!!

I've spent my Fridays in much better ways. I stayed up till 2am last night. I accidentally slept in till 830 am because my cell phone died, and so went my alarm. I woke up in a panic, and took till 11 to finish the rough draft. I worked and worked and worked, as if I were puking out
years worth of stale Mexican food from my stomachbrain. And then I printed what I could print, given the compounding time I had. And I zoomed to school 10 miles per hour over the speed limit the whole way through. The signals at intersections were horrendously impeding my desperate 80-mile-per-hour train of thought. I parked illegally, and jumped out of the car, pressed the elevator button five times, until the door opened. My cell phone alarm rang in the elevator around the second floor: I had three minutes left. And before I knew it, I was on the 6th floor, greeted by an elder, amused man at the door. I handed him my grant application, with two minutes to spare from the 5 o'clock deadline. And he asked me with a shrewd smile, "So you must be the last one to slip it in time?" I shrugged, "I guess so." Then I smiled, "And if there is any stunt, daredevil, edge-of-cliff-walking in my life, it probably shall only manifest itself with the mental: grant deadlines with seconds to go!" The man, resuming his grin, scanned through the materials, nodded with approval, and shut the office door behind him. I left the Interdisciplinary Humanities Center with a huge sigh of guilty, unfulfilling relief, declaring myself a hypocrite, for all I did was concoct a document my mental xss about all the things I was going to do, not reflect upon all the things I've done. And that is the dilemma of university funding. People dozing off about what they're going to do... and how much, truly, has anyone really done? But I am my own island of principles. I'm determined to make tangible truths out of floating thoughts. Only time--the cumulative effects of my own chugging daily grinds--will let me know whether my boastful ideals become well-received been-theres and done-thats.

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