Day in the life of the dissertation

In case you find yourself wondering how the dissertation writing is *actually* going, I kept a slightly fictionalized log of my writing today, which represents (as far as I have planned) my last full day of writing before I turn in the LAST FREAKING CHAPTER (tomorrow!!) and turn my eye towards revisions of all the previous chapters, which, whimper. Total page count at the moment: somewhere around 285. Yes, that’s with 12-point font.

So here’s a sample work day in the glamorous, exciting life of the late-stage Ph.D. candidate:

Drop children off at school and babysitter, respectively. Get gas; call husband with astonishing news that $66 was required to fill tank. Husband not at desk.

Come home. Sit. Review what needs to be done on current chapter. Sigh. Divide tasks into “morning job” and “afternoon job.” Answer phone call which involves scheduling birthday party of Child the Younger. Sit again. Begin work. Write furiously for ten minutes, realize that particular article by Bultmann essential for current bit of chapter. Search through three well-organized file boxes for article. Come across approximately 500 other interesting things, only some of which serve to distract from the task at hand. Locate article. Sit. Read. Take call from husband, discuss price of gasoline, various gas stations and their merits and deficits, and the recycling.

Write furiously for twelve minutes. Realize that bit of introduction to other piece of writing needs to be shoehorned into first chapter. Mental note will surely get misfiled. Sigh. Make change, then return to current chapter. Write. Read over notes from bit of argument made in Chapter Two, think for a while, then write more. Total pages now approaching 40, the unofficial goal, but not all topics covered. Grit teeth. Write.

Break for lunch. Go outside to pick up paper. Talk to self gently like a small child: no cheese. Yes protein. Settle on peanut butter and bread, with a very unripe pear on the side. Read the funnies and giggle slightly during lunch.

Get newly downloaded version of “Come on, Eileen” stuck in head. Find iPod, flip through songs, try to eradicate earworm by listening to song. End up with eleven more earworms. Side note: the lyrics to “Rent” are really hysterically funny.

Print out a few pages. Realize too late that stuff has been piled (by trolls, obviously) on top of the printer. Swear. Extract crumpled bits of paper, mess with printer for a while, boggle again that children set the language to Cyrillic, so that any possible cries for help from the printer are unintelligible. Finally get it fixed.

Sit. Write. Pull out extensive notes on previous draft to do revisions, by far the easiest part of the whole thing provided revisions are minor and not deeply organizational. Attempt to decipher notes to self: Why in the name of God do I need to rephrase “As I argue in Chapter Two…”? What could possibly be wrong with that? Miss children.

Remember suddenly that former student is presenting paper at upcoming conference the schedule for which just finally became public. Make mental note to attend his session if possible. Revert to earlier concern about delivering paper at one session, where two hours appear to be devoted to panel of only two papers. This means forty minutes per paper of discussion, which seems wildly optimistic. Should paper be longer than standard twenty minutes? Is “panel” vs. “session” some mystery language which everyone else is privy to? Is it worth emailing chair of panel to inquire?

Must. Focus. On. Chapter. Wait, is that the mail truck? Get mail. Open a few pieces. Send related email. Notice that once again someone else has sent email without benefit of distinguishing between “reply” and “reply all,” which is annoying but also sort of funny. Regroup. Sit. Write. Miss children. Realize that book of sermons necessary for next bit, attempt to locate it. Find book. Reflect that problem is not so much lack of organization, but fact that so many books have brown covers.

Write furiously for 45 minutes. Reflect that losing the book “Dynamics of Faith” is more or less a certainty in any given day. The damn thing is orange! How does this happen? Also, getting back to the person who replied to all, if your name is Joy, maybe “peace” isn’t the best all-purpose sign-off for your email. Peace, Joy. It makes a person want to reply, Hope, Faith.

Sit. Write. Make call to Dissertation Office and explain, in very careful language, that you require an appointment that is basically just hand-holding. Use the word “anxiety” a lot. Blush and feel unashamedly grateful when person on the other end of the phone is encouraging and congratulates you a lot and expresses her certainty that you’re really much, much closer to the Idealized Dissertation Office Standards than you think. Write down the appointment on the calendar and spend a few minutes looking at all of the rest of the stuff that’s scheduled. Which is more fun, an eyebrow wax or a parent-teacher conference?

One hour until pickup of children begins. Chapter (after judicious editing) at a tantalizing 39 pages. Sigh. Read amusing trivia online. Listen to “Come on, Eileen” one more time because it’s much more fun when sung by a woman. Consider getting dog and naming it Talluah. [if this makes no sense, look up the lyrics. They’re fun.]

Finish bits of edits. Print 39 pages, with just enough time left in the work day to do one more read through, make some notes, and plan to edit a semi-final version to turn in tomorrow. *On schedule,* even.

Leave house to pick up kids.