I’m sorry but I don’t want to see you again, not for a while. You and I have spent countless hours together. We have traveled to Europe and back numerous times. I remember when you were only a happy thought, a twinkle in your father’s eye. You still have the scars from your congenital birth defect: those strange looking backward and upside down quotation marks from when you were conceived in a computer lab at a German university. (What else could I do to pass the time on those cold winter nights?) You’re now all grown up and ready to go off on your own. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. You’ve cost me a bundle in time and money. You’ve crashed my computer more than once. I’ve rearranged your parts, so that at times you looked like a two-year-old’s Mr. Potato Head. Now you’ve been dressed up in your Sunday best pdf, and are on your way to be permanently housed in Ann Arbor, MI. Gone but not forgotten!
Good bye, my son, my Dissertation. I hope to see you again someday . . . preferrably as a book.
J.T. Moger, PhD