My visits to campus become ever more agravating as I desire more and more to be finished. My meeting with my advisor was fine, but dissatisfying too because I left feeling that although we�d talked for well over an hour and I�d plowed through my list of questions, most of them were still unresolved.

I cannot begin to express my frustration at not being able to get any real feedback from him on my chapters. He has asked for a draft of the whole thing from beginning to end, something I should be prepared to give him in a few weeks. But it terrifies me that I�ve had no real commentary on my chapters. He�s been reading them, but responds only in the vaguest of terms. What if, when I dump the whole 600 or so pages on his desk that he tells me it�s a total, irreparable mess? I find this profoundly unnerving. This is not how anyone else I know has worked with a dissertation advisor. He is outwardly encouraging, but I can�t help but feel his lack of interaction on a more detailed level as discouraging. I realize that my emotional connection to this project at this stage means that I am probably not entirely rational in my interpretation of subtext at this particular point in time and I�m trying hard to take what he says at face value, which is positive. But this lack of commentary feeds my self-doubt. What if my writing isn�t worth dealing with?

Part of the discussion was productive, however. I brought up my concern that my presentation of large portions of my project as a constructed narrative � something I find much more palatable to read than the alternative and necessary for my subsequent comparative analysis � are more journalistic than academic in tone. This is partly because I�ve shunted the analysis off to the end when I�ve presented enough information to analyze and partly because I have a near-pathological aversion to the jargon that litters my field. I have little patience for words like �praxis� where �practice� will do. I am equally irked by the academic tendency to turn phrases back upon themselves, like �musical publics� followed by �public musics.� This latter example also exemplifies another terminological problem that I can live with but don�t like to listen to � the repluralization of collective nouns in the interest of multiculturalism or the representation of subcultures. �Musical publics,� for example, is meant to stress multiple audience groups for music, where �public musics� emphasizes that there are different types of public music or music-making. I am perfectly capable of accurately using such terms, of constructing such turns of phrase; I simply don�t want to. But I digress. My advisor quelled my fears in that particular area, suggested that I was worrying about minutia and offered some ways to combat my concerns without sacrificing my literary standards. It�s hard for me to deal with the fact that the way it is written doesn�t seem to really matter.

After our meeting, I headed to a dissertation defense by another of my advisor�s �charges.� I had not met this particular student before and it was startling how similar his voice and demeanor was to my advisor�s. The defense made me feel more confident again, as I could have competently answered almost all of the questions that were asked of him without even having read his dissertation. The professor who asks the scary, incomprehensible questions wasn�t in attendance, though.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle at the outset, as the Dean�s representative (for those unfamiliar with this procedure, a representative from outside the department is assigned to attend each dissertation defense. This is intended to ensure that each department is meeting a university-wide standard.) arrived nearly 45 minutes late and appeared to be sleeping through a good portion of the presentation. After the defender�s initial presentation, it is tradition in our department for each faculty member to ask a question before questions are opened to �the peanut gallery� (grad students and other well-wishers). Each time the moderator looked to call on him, his eyes appeared closed and another was called upon. Finally, when it could be avoided no longer, the dean�s rep was asked for a question, whereupon he sprung to life, much to the relief of everyone in the room.

The defender remained remarkably calm throughout, considering that by beginning before the dean�s rep arrived meant that he could conceivably have had to go through a second defense. But he was the picture of calm.

And now I too, wish to be the picture of calm. I�m planning an evening that involves pajamas, a glass of Scotch, the New York Times crossword puzzle, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez�s Love in the time of Cholera. I�ll probably be asleep two minutes after sitting down.

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