I need to go to bed, but my computer and my printer aren’t playing nice together and that means that my behemoth thesis is taking that much longer to print out. I didn’t get any sleep last night and I probably won’t get much sleep tonight either, and it’s all because of an appointment with the urologist that I have tomorrow afternoon. At this appointment I will be asked to provide a second semen sample and it needs to have been at least two days since I last provided such a sample, whether that sample was provided to my wife or the inside of my boxer shorts during a particularly rowdy dream.
Last night I visited by a series of absurdly pornographic sex dreams. It was almost as if my mind and body were conspiring against me. If I hadn’t kept waking myself up, I might’ve had myself an accident and ruined the whole point of me driving all the way up into the boonies of New Hampshire on Wednesday to see this doctor. So, I didn’t get any sleep.
And tonight, you have to add to that stress the stress of having to drop my car off in the morning to get checked out and the stress of having to send off this next draft of my thesis. This is the trouble with Stephanie and I—we do everything all at once.
Needless to say, I’m in a terribly foul mood. The sound of the printer is grating on me. The stack of paper building to my left is calling out to me to rip it up, or burn it, or piss on it. I really loathe this piece of shit now. I’ve been thinking all day about how fucking horrible it is and how I’ve wasted my time and money doing this program over the last two years.
There are eighty-eight pages left to go. If I make it through without bringing the manuscript to the toilet and wiping my ass with it, I’ll be amazed.