Exactly two weeks and it's hand-in day. Jesus H. Christ.
Thousands have gone before and managed it, must remember that, must keep saying that. No way in hell I'm the LEAST organised person to ever finish this course. Nor the least able. Far from it.
2 weeks - 336 hours, right? And I'm more than able - and willing - to run on the minimum amount of sleep. Or none, I'd imagine, nearing the end.
Don't ask me how I fell so far behind. But, fuck it, if there's one thing I'm good at it's last-minute, quality cramming. Aoife McCrammy-Ryan. Old habits die hard and I never genuinely expected any less - even if it IS final year, even if it IS the dissertation... It's how I do things. And I've scraped by fine so far.
We'll all do fine. Or, at the very least, we'll all get through it.
And my reward? What I'm most looking forward to? Not the degree I've lost enthusiam for, not a fun-filled summer, not a breather from the weight of work and stress of it all.... No. My brightest light at the end of the tunnel is...
That's right. The night of the 22nd it'll be me, the boy, the Bucky, and the Dropkick Murphys. Win, Lose or Draw; that will be a damn good night.
Hell. Fucking. Yeah.
Goodnight... tomorrow begins the marathon...