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How Your Thesis is Like Your Relationship And Why You Will Fuck Up Both

Widener Library, the location of your late nights...

The first couple of months are rosy. Something about the subject initially caught your interest — a historically -grounded concept of truth, a large but well-proportioned ass. Suddenly, you feel this strange mixture of nervousness and excitement, intimidation and optimism. 

You begin talking about it ALL of the time — in the dining hall over swiss chard, to your roommate while she’s in the shower. You think it’s so sexy how it challenges you, engages you in all of the right ways. There’s just so much there. Between late nights and Late Nights ;) in Widener, you (naive, stupid) let yourself think: “hey, this is actually kind of fun.”

Before you know it, things get serious — maybe too serious. You start sprouting white hairs, and your roommate complains you mutter in your sleep. You begin to realize what you imagined — the ease, the glamour — does quite not align with reality. Most days, things are really monotonous. Somehow, no one informed you that these things demand a lot of fucking work. 

Then there’s the insecurity. You’ve always prided yourself on your stamina, but lately it seems you just can’t last as long as you thought. You reassure yourself that length is less important than quality … right?  

Late one night, you tell it you love it. It does not reply.

Sometimes you get a little tired of your thesis, like when it when you ask where it wants to go for dinner and it says “up you you, honey” even though you KNOW it prefers Thai over Indian. Sometimes you get irritated by its uneven boobs or even more uneven arguments. You find yourself growing resentful. Losing your curiosity. Dreaming about other, more exciting options, like that 100-pager on bail reform or that one redhead in Sociology.

By the time Senior Spring comes around, you both are fully aware that this is a relationship of convenience.  

So you take it for granted. You half-ass it until the ride is over and gain 20 pounds in the process, not to mention a severe case of back acne. And then you cry miserably until graduation, when you have to confront that fact that you will never contribute to anything that substantial or meaningful again in your life.  

 

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