I just got off the phone with my supervisor, who somehow managed to bury the magma of her me-hatred deep enough to award me a seven, the Danish equivalent of a … what? B? Who cares, I PASSED!
This ridiculous assignment has been like a rooftop sniper the last few months, assassinating every good mood and smiletime happyplan. 'What if I have to spend all summer rewriting my Goddamn dissertation?' I thought every time I booked an EasyJet weekend. 'What if my supervisory she-beast postpones my adulthood for another three months?'
Ahhh, I can relax now. Masters Degree Number Two was more of a pain in the ass than the first one, at least administratively, but it got me to Denmark, dammit, and may have actually taught me something. OK, nothing useful, but still.
Sigh, I'm spent. I'm gonna go pop open a cold can of celebration-juice and let this marinate for awhile.