My Thesis Ate My Dog. And Princess Lea.

See this guy here? I know EXACTLY how he feels. Here we are, fast approaching the end of the weekend, and I have far less to show for my thesis than I would like. There must be some scientific explanation for my incredible ability to accomplish so little in so much time.

My thesis has effectively devoured what small, pathetic vestiges of a social life I had left. I'm enough of a loner as it is; now the only contact I have with the outside world is either the guy behind the counter at Starbucks ("I'm sorry, I must have heard you wrong, sir; I thought I heard you say 'hextuple' shot latte! Haha! . . . You did?") or the pizza delivery man ("Dude, you again? What are you doing in there?").

I have decided that writing and researching a thesis is very much akin to a job feeding Jabba the Hut, primarily because you shovel inordinate amounts of food/crap into the thing and get so little back (except for the stuff that it vomits and/or burps back out at you. That you get to keep for free). And, of course, there's the oh-so-appropriate parallel created by the fact that if you don't give the thesis enough to eat, it most certainly will eat you.

Such a sad, sad existence, this thesis-life. November 2nd can't get here fast enough. All I can say is thank God for RefWorks, which the university gives us all free access to, and which will also hopefully preserve some small portion of my sanity for me to use once this is all over. If not, well, I trust my family and friends to find the nicest of sanitariums for me.