The Dailies: Dissertation, only one of us got out alive

by alexxxxxandra

I very recently finished my dissertation. It was a 12,000 word experience.

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I am not the best student in the world, but neither am I the worst. I am comfortably in the middle (slightly more towards the bottom). 

The process of my dissertation was somewhat like an abusive relationship. We met, we fell in love. It was a world wind romance; it was beautiful. Candle lit dinners and long nights spent reading each other.

Then I got to the hard part…writing it. We began to spar, we started to bicker. I would say I was going to leave, I would briefly flirt with another subject and say things like, ‘Oh if only I’d done my dissertation on the rise of the Neo-Victorian novel in a Postmodern society’ (or some other bollocks). Eventually though, after a long time away from each other, I would come back to my dissertation.

We would briefly reconcile. We would have powerful sex in which I’d write 1000s of words. The next day I would wake up and I would have forgotten to the set alarm, my dissertation would shout at me from across the room and then I’d realise all the words I’d written were shit and delete them all.

This vicious circle went on for about a month. And then I had 2 weeks to hand the fucker in. Well, our relationship went through every stage possible. I screamed at my dissertation, I told it to go fuck itself, I then came back to it, told it I loved it. Again and again. 

The Thursday before my dissertation was due in on the Monday, I lost my mind. We fell out massively. I was going to leave it, forever. When my Programme Director asked me how my dissertation was going, I shouted back, ‘Fuck everything!’ I then got down on the floor and rocked and moaned. My friends looked on, ambivalent; by this point, they were used to my on/off romance and its various unpleasant fallings out.

Obviously, we made up. No time for candle lit dinners, but we spent hours and hours sorting out our problems. Had one finale fuck. Then I killed that fucker by putting it through a hot glue machine and shoving its body in a box.

Then, much like a real murderer I would imagine, I was in a state of shock and mourning. My hands were shaking, I wanted to cry. But we were done. I was finished with it forever.

 

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