I had to squash a panic attack today in the middle of a conversation when I realised that all this work, failed or otherwise, that I have been doing will eventually have to be written up and put into a thesis. Regardless of the completion or lack therof of such a work, I would still have to start. A thesis, for crissake.
If I get told one more time how important it is to get this stuff I keep getting wrong right, I think I'll cry. I know how important it is. I don't need to have my nose rubbed in the stench of my own failure repeatedly, like a puppy that has taken a dump of the rug.
And, to top it all off, it's time for the house to have its annual inspection.
My thanks go to two very special boys who have tried to hold me together, or at least to give me a soft place to fall. They should know who they are.