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with her antepenultimate breath
Tuesday, 17 May 2005 11:45 amI have this day finished the updating of all the chapters in my thesis. They have been re-written, checked, reformatted, expanded, dilated, compressed, tallied against the bibliography, tested for flaws, plumbed for depth and ruthlessly excised as to unnecessary frills. They are higher, nobler versions of their former selves. They are also within a bibliographic update of being assembled, zipped, compressed, packaged and shunted off to the publishers. Since, however, my bibliography is in, lo, altogether the wrong format, I forsee another day's rather twiddly and repetitive work before said shipment can be made. Am plotting a one-woman crusade against the multiple referencing formats which currently infest the jungles of academia like flocks of psychotically-coloured parrots - noisy, demanding and - and here's the rub - all different. I do not wish to go there. It is a silly place.
Much of the above was achieved in an eight-hour burst of work today, stopping only to refill the boilers with cups of tea. Such a sustained effort was more of a challenge than it might at first appear, owing to another of those happy four-hour nights of sleep. Last night's insomnia was courtesy of a choice selection of my cats, who on three separate occasions chose to start up noisy small-hour squabbles on my bed. There is nothing, and I repeat nothing, that puts the kibosh on a good night's sleep like a cat-fight errupting unexpectedly in the small of one's back. Especially in the middle of an interestingly trippy Firefly dream.
However, I think I gave a particularly good and impassioned lecture on fan fiction today, mostly because lack of sleep tends to cause removal of all sensible restraints. *holds class spellbound with deeply insightful and sensitive analysis of the phenomenon of Orlando Bloom fandom, with special reference to erotic investment and Lord of the Rings fanfic.* I probably couldn't do it again if I tried.
Happy Birthday, Stace, and sorry that my combination of sleep-dep and work-fixation stopped me from joining you in your outing. Me and my hot rum toddy, we're going to bed, now.
Much of the above was achieved in an eight-hour burst of work today, stopping only to refill the boilers with cups of tea. Such a sustained effort was more of a challenge than it might at first appear, owing to another of those happy four-hour nights of sleep. Last night's insomnia was courtesy of a choice selection of my cats, who on three separate occasions chose to start up noisy small-hour squabbles on my bed. There is nothing, and I repeat nothing, that puts the kibosh on a good night's sleep like a cat-fight errupting unexpectedly in the small of one's back. Especially in the middle of an interestingly trippy Firefly dream.
However, I think I gave a particularly good and impassioned lecture on fan fiction today, mostly because lack of sleep tends to cause removal of all sensible restraints. *holds class spellbound with deeply insightful and sensitive analysis of the phenomenon of Orlando Bloom fandom, with special reference to erotic investment and Lord of the Rings fanfic.* I probably couldn't do it again if I tried.
Happy Birthday, Stace, and sorry that my combination of sleep-dep and work-fixation stopped me from joining you in your outing. Me and my hot rum toddy, we're going to bed, now.
