Argh. Last night Miss P of Paris had a melt-down on her history of botany project and now I'm 'helping' her. The ridiculousness of me 'helping' someone with a project in French about botany when my closest relationship with seeds for years has been eating them or picking them out of low-grade reefer is testament to the mental anguish and desperation inherent in bringing a research project to fruition, which I and my erstwhile swollen gall bladder remember all too well. Poor Miss P.
Nonetheless, I'm making an effort, at the same time, to put my doctoral proposal together and grow the set of unbreakable brass balls requisite for asking a series of strangers and institutions for acacademic acceptance, financial support, and a blow job. I thought I'd just throw the third one in as it seems so much more practical than asking for the first two. But you know, my new balls are coming in nicely. I deserve money for spending four years with this idea. The world deserves this idea. And I'm the person to expound this idea. So, there you go.
Back to the fucking botany - what a fucking joke.