The Living Thing that is the Thesis

Those who have had the happy circumstance of confining their academic pursuits in coursework, the Author submits, would probably note the lack of eccentricities that are supposed to be compulsory in Academia. It is almost a prerequisite for academics to have some sort of quirk, if not the worst case scenario of having the social skills of a mousepad.

This is increasingly becoming a reality for the Author, where his circle of friends continues to shrink at an ever accelerating pace. This may have something to do with the increasing levels of obnoxity employed in discussions (could this be the Author's quirk?), but in his defence, the Author submits that the rigours of doctoral research has meant that his closest companion be his thesis.

It is interesting how something as tedious as a thesis can quickly gain a life of its own. In one's honours year, the enterprise of thesis writing is often equated with a pregnancy. For nine months, the author witnesses the growth and increasing levels of complexity, the author experiences mood swings and struggles with temptations to break what few bits of china remain in his or her household. The author experiences periodic cravings which are often as varied as they are strange. As the deadline for submission gets closer, the author is left housebound, and is only in the last week forced to spend extended periods of time in a confined room. Much yelling and screaming then follows and then...one hears the cries of the printer approaching the overheating mark as the miracle that is a stapled bundle of 100 pages is brought into the world.
You heave a sigh of relief and sit mesmerised by what you have brought forth, and swear to yourself you would never do it again.

Several years later, the infant that is your honours thesis reaches puberty and blossoms into an idea of a Doctoral thesis.

"Great", the author thinks, "just when I thought I saw the back of it, it comes back and demands attention. No! I will not give in to its pestering".

But pester it does, and before you know it, the the teenager of a thesis idea enters adolenscence in the form of a research proposal, and you then take on the role of parent once again. You then spend the next five years giving in to the whims and fancies of your ever growing child.

Sometimes, Child Services steps in in the form of your supervisor, and tells you that you are bad parent. You then make attempts to spank the adolescent (wondering why you did not spank it into oblivion years earlier) back into shape.

Unfortunately, the opportunity is lost. The thesis is now a fully grown adolescent, brimming with hormones and bursting with the spirit of rebellion. It refuses to budge in the face of your castigations and instead, like the Prodigal son, throttles you and asks you to divest your half of the estate so it can be on its way. Unlike the Prodigal Son however, there will never be the coming to the realisation of its folly. The Thesis will never say come back with its cap in hand and say "I have sinned against heaven and against you". It will say "Turn me into a journal article", and so it shall be. It will say "I like to become a conference topic", and you dutifully give in.

With the Thesis submitted and the Doctorate obtained, one heaves a sigh of relief. But then the author enters academia on a professional basis, where the terms of his contract means that the process must repeat itself again, and again, again, till the Author's retirement or mysterious death, whichever mercifully comes first.

And so here it is, if you want to know why academics bear the potential to be a little strange, it is because he or she is driven to the point of insanity by becoming a proverbial parent. So the next time you come across an academic, think of the cross he or she must bear and be gentle...