On Monday I wrote a post here which included the statement
I'm at a critical stage in my life as a PhD. student. You'll hear more about it as the weeks go on, but this is the basic situation. Six to twelve months of productive work on my part, and it's very likely I'll finish my degree well and will be able to land a research and teaching job. Without the hard work, it's likely in 12 months I'll be looking at leaving graduate school without completing my degree.
At the time I wrote that, I'd done a little spade work which included several meetings with my advisor, an assessment of what I've already written (140 pages, maybe half of which is good enough to end up in the final document), started learning EndNote and using it to compile a library / bibliography. Oh, and I'd ordered some books from Amazon.
And, probably most importantly, I'd explicitly asked P for help. Asked him to make sure I spent most of Spring Break working on my dissertation.
Goodness, it's been a while for me, hasn't it?
The reason it's been so long is that I've been delightfully good and obscenely responsible. No really, it's true.
Or it could be I've been remiss about a lot of things including blogging. Lately though, spanking's been on my mind and I've been writing on my personal blog. Paul and I have been having adventures, including a trip to Vegas for Shadow Lane. This meant, among other things, that I got to spend time with fellow PB writers, Bridget and Iris (& M too).
Needless to say, this made me think about a lot of spanking and PB related things.
I'm always sleepy when it's over.Endorphines flood muscles relaxing after tensing through blow after blow. I cuddle with my pillow imagining that it's his chest.
It was just another punishment. And for my customary offense: not going to bed on time. But the circumstances were somewhat ambivalent. I had substantially reduced my melatonin intake Friday night after a weary week under its somnific spell and didn't fall asleep until 6am. When it came time to go to bed on Saturday night upon the conclusion of Saturday Night Live, I didn't really see much point in getting there in a timely fashion. That I got confused about
Daylight Savings Time and mistakenly thought I had an extra hour to spare is quite beside
the point. I slid beneath the sheets well after 2am but didn't fall asleep until after
3…er, 4am. And since I didn't wake up until after 3pm on Sunday afternoon, it seemed silly
to go to bed at 11:30, especially as I didn't even eat dinner until 10:45.