I had yet to chose one by 6 pm Friday night.
I am not a procrastinator. I am a little OCD with my papers. They are like the children of my brain or something. So Friday night I'm at the park with Peter and the kids and *bam* I get the idea for my thesis.
It is brilliant--like a revelation from above.
Back at home it is 8:00 and I get on the computer. I am so in my element. I had to get this paper out so I could spend the rest of the weekend in a state of non-hysteria, leaving me plenty of time to revise. I typed madly until 6 am. I know, I haven't stayed up that late (without a screaming baby, anyway) since I was a teenager. A young teenager.
By 3 am I start to think about tomorrow, and I realize I am hungry. By 4 am I realize I am cold. By 5 am I really have to pee. But who cares about food, sleep, clothing, or annoying bodily demands? The keyboard and I are one and I am in the zone. I finally run out of steam at 6 am around page 11.
So, fast forward to this Wednesday. I am a few minutes late. The teacher is passing back our papers. I have been in anxious anticipation of this moment. But I don't get mine back. When I raise my hand to ask why he informs me that because I was late I did not catch that he held three papers back as examples of a good thesis. I feel like an idiot, but am also thinking, this has to be a good thing, right? Unless of course, he lost it or something.
So today, Friday, --FINALLY--I get to see my paper. It is like a sweet reunion. I could scarcely look to see what he had done to it. "A thoughtful self-analysis. A sensitive, careful reading. Final grade 'A'"
I could cry. Am I pathetic? Slam dunk, baby!
But before you consider me overly boastful--my last analysis, which was just a 2-pg deal, was also a source of pride for me. He gave me an "A" and I was elated. As part of the assignment we are supposed to pass out these shorter papers to the rest of the class. So, a few days later I did so and um....yea--he graded it again, this time with an A-.
Apparently it didn't make enough of an impression on him to remember he had already graded it.
While he likely hasn't thought about this latest paper beyond the last minute before he moved on to grade the next one, today I am a happy woman.
So, in light of all this literary theory, is there something Freudian about me wanting to get this thing professionally framed? I'll analyze that one later-- For now I'll just sit back, and bask in the warm light of my temporary success.