Sssssssssimmering...

Okay. Enough, already, Fordham.

You knew what you were getting when you took me. I never made a mystery of it. Hell, you seemed to think it was pretty cool, this little theoretically intergrative multiple-methods thing that I had planned. Then again, maybe you thought I was just kidding or something. Whatever. It's getting old now. Enough with thinking it's funny to say on a regular basis that qualitative methods will never be worth anything in the United States, that it's no good for applied developmental science, that it's not good for anything but a cute way to get ideas for real studies. Empirical ones. Well, sorry, ladies. I'm not backing down. In fact, I'm pretty hot and bothered at this point... this is war.

Today was the ignorant straw that broke the camel. In class, the words came spewing out from another professor, amidst smiles and laughter. "Well, that sort of continental psychology...the stuff that Emily's done... that'll never make it here in the U. S. We're true, hard line, dust bowl empiricists here."

That's it... keep poking the savage. I know where you keep the knives.

Oh, yeah. I'm definitely putting together this qualitative conference next year. They'll have to tie me down to stop me. If I wasn't determined before, I'm damn well ravenous for it now. Fine... I'll bide my time, do my little monkey dance, pick up the change they throw. Then, I'm taking all that change and buying a shiny new qualitative conference. And I will hug it and pet it and love it and call it George. Or Heidegger. No, okay, maybe I'll stick with George.

One huge, imposing paper has been turned in, as of today. Three wait in the wings. The next one is due on Monday, and she's getting cranky because I don't take her anywhere anymore. Come Monday, I'm kicking her to the curb. Besides, there's another one standing right behind her, due Wednesday... she says she can't remember the last time I told her she was pretty, and I never help around the house. Yeah. She's gonna get slapped come Wednesday. As for the third one, she pretty much keeps to herself... sitting in the corner, rocking in place, drooling a little bit, and stroking her shoulder while looking at the ceiling and singing, "i'm not leaving i'm not leaving i'm not leaving i'm not leaving... i'll never te-ell... i'm not leaving i'm not leaving i'm not leaving..." Wow... I really need to lay off on the coffee and the all-nighters.