I am a deluded, deluded human being. I know this. I am celebrity-obsessed and have about 15 other life scenarios created in my many daydreams. Similarly, these also involve many celebrities. Currently I am living in L.A. for a three-month duration while my screenplay gets adapted and I work with Diablo Cody and am best friends with Khloe Kardashian, and practically part of the family. In real life I also still have the ill-fated ambition that one day, somehow, I will be rich. LOADED. So delusional am I in fact that I spend hoooouurs trawling real estate websites for mansions I might like to buy around the world. Fave destinations include, but are not limited to, England countryside, New York's Upper East Side, Paris and its surrounding areas, and Mosman. And I start my searches with a minimum purchase price of $4 million.
Basically what I'm trying to say is, I thought my honours year at uni would be a shitload more easy than it's shaping up to be. Oh sure, I engaged in idle chitchat remarking over how difficult it would be, and emphasising the hard work I would put in to my thesis, etc. However this was mainly into tricking my mum that 5 hours of uni classes a week would still be tough. But I didn't really believe it. I thought I would have shitloads of time to research the shit out of my thesis. Until I attended my two classes yesterday and today.
For ONE of the units of study I have TWO course readers! TWO!!! Do the math. That shit don't work. OH and each one is over 460 pages long. That's almost 1000 pages. Fo realz. As my lecturer noted yesterday, she expects us to engage in a minimum of ten hours reading a week. For that class. Plus a one-hour class presentation (SIXTY MINUTES). Not to mention the class I had today. That one entails a presentation almost every single week, plus the corresponding written work.
Which leaves me next semester to find a spare minute to sleep, breathe and do my thesis.