First, happy happy to my Momma, who today turns 60. This weekend we’ll travel to the mountain in WV with J and J’s motely crew to let our children run wild let our children chase her sheep let our children eat all her food feed our children to the bears party, hike, and bonfire for a weekend. We’ll have our own little Burning Man, with less nudity and more enthusiastic improvised sing-alongs. (Mom, make sure you find them chicken shakes!)
The business of this week, before the pilgrimage to the mountain, is making the revised dissertation a reality. I was pushing for the finished revision deadline to be yesterday, but last night I came to understand one of the mathematical forces driving my progress:
where anticipated deadline = n
and number of days Olympics on TV plus days of the Tour de France = t
and the requisite several days of waffling and worrying = W
actual finish date = n + t + W
Since I’m in an unfamiliar town with few acquaintances and no friends, I have turned, desperately, to the television to keep me company. When we first moved in the Tour was on, and I watched it regularly, developing a decent crush on Marcus Burghardt. Now with the Olympics, I am similarly keeping myself company with the men’s indoor volleyball teams and the track and field competitions. Also, I make the barrista in my local Starbucks make small talk with me.