That about sums it up. Thesis turned in. It was supposed to be around 50 pages; mine was 84. IDK. I tried to cut 10 pages and my advisor wouldn’t let me.
I feel like I cut out an organ and gave it to the world and now it’s out there, being my organ, but roaming around in the world, getting dirty, drinking in slummy bars, wearing bad clothes…. Probably I’m also losing my mind.
How many times have I wondered if Whedon was trying to tell us this was actually the reality…? Often. Keep the cell warm, Buff. I’ll be there very soon.