I went to bed at two a.m. yesterday, after finishing the bibliography. It took forever. In the end I could not even see straight and I kept rubbing my eyes: is it Foucault or Faucoult?
Got up at seven to print the whole thing and take it to the binder's. Where I was asked *again!!!* if I was a famous children's book writer. No, I am not. No, seriously, I am BLOODY not. That is someone else with a very similar name. She got married and now she has this combination of name surname, which is almost exactly like mine.
People keep asking me if I am her and when I tell them I am not, they are very disappointed. Sorry to dissapoint you, but I am just me. Not the brilliant genious children's book writer. Meh.
Took the dissy to the post office and after twenty minutes of focused form filling-in and discussing the centrality or periferality (hehe, I know that is not a word) of the destination city the little package was ready to go.
So it left me. Two years of blood, sweat and tears packed in that little package, on its way to conquer the world.
I felt a bit left behind, a bit lonely. What am I supposed to do with all this free time???!?
2008-04-23 @ 20:47