"dull. abysmally dull. a triumph…the dullest of the lot."

so this is it, folks. you saw it here first:

and what is this you’re looking at, you ask?

that right there is the desk of a person who just did her last day’s work on her master’s thesis, thank you very much.
under the sudden looming pressure of an inescapable desire to get the fucking thing done, she drank more caffeine than five people need, drove her girlfriend nuts for a long weekend, and forewent sleep, emailing friends, regular exercise, and food with nutritional content (other than chocolate and the milk in coffee).
but the thing is done, by god, and she is not revisiting a comma of it.
it is done. finished. completed. and will be printed tomorrow to be a (hopefully) cheery surprise for her two professors on thursday when they weren’t expecting it ’til next week.
but that’s what the desk looks like.
why isn’t she there, you ask? why, because she’s busily crawling her way to her bed. which is out of frame.
see? the bed is that green bit over there on the left with a total lack of bibliographies, footnotes, or block quotations. goodnight, folks. that’s all she wrote.
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