I hate doing this but I have to.

For the next two or three weeks, barring a miracle, I will be knee fucking deep in finishing my thesis. As it is, intelligencely, academically, personally, and time-wise, I'm spread micrometer thin. On the big List of Priorities, Graduating is number one. Everything else trails reeaaally far behind. To graduate, I need to finish writing my thesis. To finish writing my thesis, I need to concentrate on nothing else EVER, except writing my thesis.

This is how it plays out in my head: its a nighttime football game, flood lights on, fans are screaming, last quarter, the hometown team is down by three, they need to rush 40 yards in the last down to take home the State Championship (i know what you're thinking...whatever. I don't even want to know how I know how to say all that). And me? I'm the Roided-out coach, with his red polo stretched to the max over his insane pecs, screaming at his poor star quarterback:

Coach: "What kind of a man are you!? Did I raise a team of sissies?? GET THAT BALL IN THE END ZONE."
Quarterback: "Coach... we've been running the ball all quarter. We can't get through their defense... we just can't do it. We're exhausted. We need more time..."
Coach: "I don't give a shit!! I don't care what you do to get there! I don't care if you play dirty; if you stab their linebacker with a shiv to move the ball, I accept and encourage it! YOUR ONLY GOAL IN LIFE IS TO GET ME THOSE POINTS. NOTHING ELSE MATTERS."

I also picture him ending that tirade with "OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL BREAK YOUR NECK WITH MY TERMINATOR THIGHS." but I'm not sure whether that makes my point come across better.

Ok, I know the above is full of crazy, but that's where my brain is at right now. I am an exhausted, sweaty quarterback, who just wants to go home and eat Mom's casserole and forget about his failure to take his team to the State Championship. But right now, it doesn't matter how much body mass I've lost in perspiration or how I think most of my groin muscles are ripped like silly putty from the bone. Or how much internal bleeding is going on. Right now, a homicidal Coach is screaming in my face to Get It Done or There Will Be Horrible Consequences. And unfortunately, there is no way out of this last 3:00 minutes of the game. I can't fast forward through it, or pass the responsibility on to someone else. The only course of action is to just forget about everything not in my tunnel vision, to suck it up, and make that play happen. And like Coach is saying, NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.

I mean look at this entry, seriously. I obviously don't even have time left to be sane, let alone to write comprehensive blog entries. So, for the next three weeks, I have to abandon this blog. Because this blog is Mom's meaty casserole and the big screen TV at home. And that shit is just NOT on my radar right now. It can't be. The only thing that is important is the endzone.

So while I feel like opting out of all the activities I like, the ones which make me feel human (writing... painting... responding to emails... speaking to my loved ones... showering...), until I see the receiver jump up and catch that beautiful, arcing, perfect pass, I just have to accept that I will be a shit head and sacrifice whatever needs to be sacrificed to make that happen. And apologize later.

See you at the after-party.


**Sorry this entry is full of football references. I... don't really know why. It must be an academic side effect, I don't know.**