18th century studies

This has been a difficult 24+ hours. I don't know the exact length of time because I've been trying to busy myself with all matter of distraction, everything from research on my dissertation to pulling lint off the cat. What's happened is that something hasn't happened. Yesterday my grades were ratified at King's College, except for one. It doesn't have a mark. This happened to a classmate in this particular module (class). As of today, no answer as to what's going on. Of course, the mind reels: will I need to write the essay again? If so how will I do that, with a 15,000-word dissertation to write, not to mention that I'm running out of money and need a job that starts by September. The amount of stress I'm under right now could fill the Hoover Dam if it were H20. On Tuesday I have to see a G.I. specialist here in London because I'm not swallowing normally. When I asked the GP today what to expect, she said there's a chance they may stic...

'You're living the dream,' Dad said over tuna sandwiches in Pt. Pleasant, New Jersey, at his recent birthday-cum-Father's Day bash. I explained it wasn't really a dream, but thank you; he pointed out that I had a goal, a dream, and I had made it happen; I thanked him. I am here in London reading for my M.A. in Eighteenth-Century Studies . Yet, this dream hasn't come without a price. Besides my huge tuition cost (a number that pains me to write here), I started my programme late at King's College London. I'd been on a job in Arlington, Va., and couldn't get out of my lease. I began approximately two weeks late, bringing as much of my stuff with me as I could, along with a cat. I was also bringing some mysterious health disorder(s), some difficulty swallowing and a thyroid nodule deemed 'indeterminate'. Mom accused me of caring more for my education than my health. She wasn't wrong. However, I knew that I'd be on the NHS and in good...