Humiliations Galore

Imagine, having a body you always thought was slim, then waking up one morning to find that size 's' of your underwear won't even make its way around your thighs, and instead of mercifully bursting a seam to allow you to dress in dignity, refuses to stretch full on, and you now have to welcome the day commando, as there is nothing clean in your drawer.
That, ladies and gentlemen, has been my experience as a master's student at Edinburgh.

Don't get me wrong: in class I was brilliant. I could answer every question, guess every analogy, make out every line of hazy 12th c. Middle English, but the papers and the grading system! All my bests efforts at UNC combined would not have allowed me to PASS a single essay at Edinburgh. The first grade I ever got back was a '58' in Latin Paleography, with the instructor adding, 'Thats a very respectable mark.' I had poured hours into that project only to get a 'C' and that was respectable?! The second mark I got back, I poured and poured over researching an essay. My mark? a 50. I barely passed. My main instructor had failed me, but the kind marks of the second marker thought it a bit harsh. But still a 50! To barely pass! Me, who had always gotten straight A's my entire life. To nearly fail. The resounding question in my mind was "WHO DO I HAVE TO SLEEP WITH TO GET AN A IN THIS COUNTRY?!" Now, those of you who know me will laugh as you know I'm as frigid as my mema's 6 foot deep freezer. But still the question remained: what do these people want?

My next essays I received 'respectable marks' again and jumped into the air dancing when I received a 68 - 'just two points from an 'A'. In the throws (or the bowels?) of my dissertation the question I keep facing, is what do they want from me? And will it be good enough?

The best answer I have found is to pretend. Have you ever driven in your car, listening to NPR and pretend that you're giving the answers to the person their interviewing? I can remember doing that in a storm once. "And Dr. Moore, what were the influences of your world changing novel?" "Well, Ira, I can truly say King Arthur and Oscar Wilde were in my thoughts when I composed the pivotal scene..." Anyhow, when I sit down to write my thesis, I pretend I'm as famous as JK Rowling and as brilliant as C.S. Lewis and as alegorical as Dante and forthright as mother, and write like I am somebody and speaking to a room of brilliant scholars, and as stupid as it sounds, it helps. It helps me achieve my most complex sentences and link two- and-two together. It helps me grease those intellectual axels. Sometimes, I even propose a scathing toaste to academics I despise (sort of like Screwtape's toast at the end of the Letters). Speaking of which, I will rant about that next...