Bad Food and Good Things
I can’t think about Chinese food without wanting to vomit. I love Chinese. Love it. I ate some veggie lo mein 2 weeks ago, and ever since, the thought of it turns my stomach. Not that it was bad when I was eating it, I just never want to eat it again. And that’s sad. This kid belongs to my husband, hater of ethnic foods. This is a junk food baby. All I want is grease, grease, greasygreasegrease. All the seemingly healthy homemade food that I was given yesterday did nothing for me. I practically had to force the ham, mashed potatoes and broccoli down my throat. My stomach was screaming for a steak sub with perfectly melted provolone on a thick crusty homemade bun. Oh crap. There it goes again.
The bonus of announcing your pregnancy to the world: My advisor just struck a deal with me on my thesis. She has not been in touch with me since November, and I went so far as to write a letter to my department chairperson voicing my frustration and anger. My advisor emailed me over the weekend congratulating me on my new job and fertility, and giving me some story about how she had back surgery and was having a tough time recovering. Seeing as how this is all mostly her fault (ok, it’s a little bit mine, but I don’t live in an academic environment anymore, and I don’t have the resources that I need to finish this the way I want, nor do I have the time, which I’ve been trying to explain to her for the past 2 years) she and my committee came up with a way to finish in the next month. My paper is good as is, and it won’t be published, which is fine with me, because I don’t want anyone reading it. Basically I have to incorporate my theory into a message design class. Then I’m done. Fine. Great. That’s all I wanted. Did I really have to get knocked up to make this happen? And it sounds to me like I don’t even have to present it, which is even better news.
Thank you, fuzzball. You’re my good luck charm. Maybe I’ll buy a lottery ticket tonight. Then you’ll have a college fund and you can go through the same bullshit that I had to and you’ll learn to appreciate your mother in ways you never thought possible.
Dreams.
The bonus of announcing your pregnancy to the world: My advisor just struck a deal with me on my thesis. She has not been in touch with me since November, and I went so far as to write a letter to my department chairperson voicing my frustration and anger. My advisor emailed me over the weekend congratulating me on my new job and fertility, and giving me some story about how she had back surgery and was having a tough time recovering. Seeing as how this is all mostly her fault (ok, it’s a little bit mine, but I don’t live in an academic environment anymore, and I don’t have the resources that I need to finish this the way I want, nor do I have the time, which I’ve been trying to explain to her for the past 2 years) she and my committee came up with a way to finish in the next month. My paper is good as is, and it won’t be published, which is fine with me, because I don’t want anyone reading it. Basically I have to incorporate my theory into a message design class. Then I’m done. Fine. Great. That’s all I wanted. Did I really have to get knocked up to make this happen? And it sounds to me like I don’t even have to present it, which is even better news.
Thank you, fuzzball. You’re my good luck charm. Maybe I’ll buy a lottery ticket tonight. Then you’ll have a college fund and you can go through the same bullshit that I had to and you’ll learn to appreciate your mother in ways you never thought possible.
Dreams.
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