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___________ Yesterday I told my advisor that I was going to quit school. Me: I don't think I'm Ph.D. material. Her: (Gasp.) Oh no! You're so smart! Me: Well, uh... Her: You're so smart! You're so smart! You're so smart! She told me I was so smart like 45 times. I began to doubt her sincerity. I told her that I didn't like school and that I was going on a big vacation next year and so I couldn't possibly take classes during winter and spring quarters. She said taking a break was probably a good idea, but rather than quitting school outright I should take a leave of absence. blah blah, etc. etc. I talked to her for a long time. I didn't cry, at least. So I'm signing up for two classes for next fall. Plus my thesis, which I will work on this summer and next fall and then file in December. Hopefully. So I was very happy to have finally told her that I hate it here. I'm starving and can't finish what I was going to write about. It was going to be really good, too. I was going to talk all about myself, and how close I was to getting a divorce, and the doomsday clock, and terrible stuff like that. But now I want a burrito, so I'm going home.
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