It's been over a year in the making.
It's been a source of endless frustration, has caused me to generally distrust academia, and has cost me way more in tuition than I ever thought it possibly could. And on Monday, December 11, it may just be over.
That's right, bitches: I'm tentatively scheduled (again) to defend my thesis. Doing it on a Monday is handy, I suppose — I figure I'll go up to K-town sometime on the weekend, be an intruder in some unsuspecting friend's house for a day or two, perhaps leer lustily at some undergrads (ah, the good ol' days), and do some last-minute preparations for my hour-long grilling by five profs about how I've spent the past year-plus of my life. I envision it starting something like this:
Them: "We read this thesis, and it looks like it was written by a coked-up baboon with a taste for snuff films and underage Thai prostitutes."
Me: "Hey, c'mon now. I'm not a baboon."*
It'll be smoooooooth sailing for the next 60 minutes, I imagine. According to several profs I've talked to, if your thesis gets to a defence that basically means your supervisors feel you're ready for the exam. If you're there, you'll probably pass... assuming you don't constantly make references to your latest "vacation" to Bangkok while winking constantly at your examiners.
So, in conclusion, I might be coming down to Kingston as early as Saturday the 9th. If you'd like to house me for a day or more, let me know; I will return your kind gesture with meals in moderately fancy restaurants, alcoholic beverages, or my unique vocal rendition of the 1982 pop hit "It's Raining Men" by the Weather Girls.
* This is the stupidest, ugliest, smelliest ape of them all, according to Homer Simpson.