The graduate student’s lament

I am a rat sliding scrabbling on a surface of smooth glass;
I am a monster truck in rain, whining mired in sucking mud;
I cannot stretch my jaws round this rubbery balloon bread;
I cannot map my way in this dark with my tiny little penlight —
I think I need to go and ask my advisor for a bit of help.

* * *

Sometimes a bit of bad poetry is just as good as screaming, tearing off your clothes and running up and down the corridors waving your privates at any passing academicians. Because it helps to pin down that certain state of mind just before you crack and go whining/courteously requesting for halp.

(“Halp, halp! ‘Tis as the elder ones told me: the more my absolute knowledge increases, the bigger my relative ignorance gets! For every one thing I understand, I learn of ten I have no clue about at all!”)

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