Thesis Blues....get your big girl pants on and deal.

Today my thesis looks stupid.

Last week, it looked a tad sketchy, a jigsaw puzzle with possibilities, shonky but redeemable.  Today it is uninteresting, pointless and thoroughly misinformed.

It is also messy and chaotic, not in a good way.  If my thesis was a list of directions for someone to get from Auckland to Hamilton, it's taking them via Pakistan.

The only relationship my sentences seem to have with each other is that they co-exist within the same document.

The only thing academic about it is it's sheer incomprehensibility.  

Adding to the general amateurish design, I am using two referencing systems simultaneously due to a computer cock up earlier in the year which I have yet to recover from.


I like theory, but I seem to be drawing on multiple theorists in the most random of ways, throwing them at my thesis like a toddler throwing bread chunks at an overfed duck.

At some point, I believed I actually HAD a point.  That point was quite a few months ago.  My pages are littered with bolded sentences.  Each bolded sentence represents a moment where I thought "oh, that's the point".  Um.  No.  That's just grasping at straws.  Thin short straws.  Final straws.

Frankly, it's not a thesis.  It's a random assemblage of vague mutterings and slip shod ideas held together with the chewing gum of wishful thinking.

I have suspected this for some time, but denial is my happy place.

And so I've kept busy covering my disquiet in lashings of further research.  Procrastination, thy name is further research.

Right now, there is only one thing to be done....

I need to resist looking for a big bucket of sand to stick my head in.

Writing is just bloody hard.

Sometimes you just gotta stick your big girls pants on and deal.






Big.  Hairy.   Sigh.


Tracexx