Fear and loathing in Pasadena

It’s happening. I’m beginning to hate my thesis. As much as write, as much as I frustrate myself belaboring the nuance of suggestive but insubstantial assertions, as much as I bear down to squeeze out each successive word and marvel at the genuine scholarship that my impacted genius must surely produce… as much as any of that, I am begin to resent every word, every phrase, and every jargon-laden sentence that I type. This is not helping.


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