True confessions of a prodigal undergrad

Singing along to: Simon & Garfunkel, Fakin' It

I've spent the entire semester so far hiding from my thesis adviser. This is easier said than done, as I'm taking a twice-weekly class with her, and she lives in the building in which I work. Unfortunately, she cottoned on to my scheme a couple weeks ago, and today I finally dragged myself to her office to discuss the the progress I've made since we met in December.

I have actually made negative progress since that meeting, since I seem to have lost the preliminary bibliography I made months ago. Oops? Luckily it was easy to reconstruct, since I still have all the books on my shelf, where they guilt-trip me every time I sit down to watch Bridezillas. I've gone so far as to put little post-it flags in the relevant passages of some of the books, and I do have ten or so pages on roughly the same topic as my thesis from a paper I wrote last semester.

The above paragraphs explain why I'm frankly surprised that my thesis adviser didn't rip me a new one this afternoon, although we did settle on a brutal writing schedule that will, with luck and a lot of hard work, have me churning out lovingly crafting thirty-five pages of erudite scholarship on "the meanings of the sea in Old English poetry" by... May 4?

I know. I know. The next four weeks will be so awesome that I am jealous of myself.