Cliches

When I started my master's, I was past the flower of my youth. Older than dirt, I would fly in the face of convention, take the bull by the horns, and make haste while the sun shines. From the bottom of my heart, I yearned to pull myself up by my bootstraps. I knew that eventually, the cream would rise to the top.

This was a do-it-yourself program, where the student builds each course from the ground up, re-inventing the wheel at every turn, so to speak. It was a hard row to hoe. Well, actions speak louder than words, and by hook or by crook, as time goes by, I bit the bullet and rang down the curtain on the coursework at the very least.

That was when things came to a grinding halt. My thesis topic had less chance than a snowball in hell. It was wide as the ocean and deep as the sea. I had to learn to focus, not spray. But I was more persistent than a dog with a bone, so I put the best face on it, put my shoulder to the wheel, and hung in there.

One of my profs had an axe to grind and I avoided him like the plague. He had a bone to pick and you can bet your boots he was bending the Dean's ear. I was between the devil and the deep blue sea. It went against the grain but I wouldn't let him upset my applecart.

I thought I'd make a clean breast of it with the Dean, but I was clueless. Thinking any port in the storm, I went to air my dirty laundry in the lion's den.

Her hackles were up-I hadn't known she would take exception to the squeaky wheel. Well, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and I was dumbstruck; I seem to have contracted foot-in-mouth disease. She was a force to be reckoned with. She replied that she doubted I could make the grade, and suggested that I shove off.

However, by now my feathered nest was bone dry, and I was determined to give it the old college try. From then on, I gave her a wide berth. Though I wasn't born yesterday, I was wet behind the ears, and didn't know how the academic cookie crumbled.

So I ate humble pie screwed up my courage and hunkered down for one more quarter with this dull-as-dishwater thesis. But I was down in the dumps because this masters was taking donkey's years to complete. I felt as if I was on a slow boat to China. However, I was stubborn as a mule, and I would tough it out until my checkbook was clean as a hound's tooth.

He was a Boston Brahmin, and the salt of the earth from an Ivory Tower out east. He said he came here to be far from the madding crowd.

He continued: "Well, it's better than your last full court press." I'd been damned with faint praise!

I told him, "Between you, and me, and the lamppost, I'm at the end of my tether, and don't give a damn about the Eternal Verities anymore. I need a friend at court in this eleventh hour, I'll eat my hat before I let this masters work become a dead letter. Good, bad, or indifferent, and with all due respect, don't throw the baby out with the bathwater."

Well, you could hear a pin drop. So, he girded his loins and went back to the salt mines.

Time passed, and I hoped no news was good news, but as the world turns, he got back to me in a month of Sundays, and said, "Let's do lunch."

Over breaking bread, he said "I've cut through some red tape, and now you must get a leg up on this final draft. Here and there, you've gone off the beaten path, but since a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, if you just tie up these loose ends, I think it should fly."

This was a lucky break and even though his comments about my thesis cut me to the quick, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'd worked my fingers to the bone, and even though the Iliad (Homer) is Greek to me, by now I would grasp at any straw. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

I noted this back-handed compliment and beat a hasty retreat. After this heart-to-heart, I heaved a sigh of relief. I had said my piece, and gotten it all off my chest. In the dead of the night, by putting my nose to the grindstone, I burnt the midnight oil, tied it up in a ribbon, and got it out the door.

(If cliches are making you yawn, let us totter about the pub looking for some amusement).

Now I had a clean slate, and felt the wind beneath my wings, my head in the clouds, my feet planted firmly on the ground. At the present time, I still can't make head or tail of it.

I'd put my best foot forward, and knew my thesis was the cat's meow. They tried to make short shrift of my diamond in the rough and it's a mystery to me why they didn't lap up my burnt offerings. I paid through the nose with the patience of Job.

Now I offer this Parthian shot. Keep it under your hat, for what it's worth, take my advice-from start to finish, observe the status quo, keep a stiff upper lip, and take this to heart:

If you find your ship sinking,
don't worry, be happy.
You don't need to be in this pickle,
You could go Scot free
Get out of your rut!
'Cause a masters ain't worth a plug nickel.

	Enter your search termsSubmit search form
	Web www.here-be-limerick-poems.com

Please do not forget to attribute to Jeannette Ramirez as author unless otherwise noted. Webmasters, thank you for linking. For the poem count at Here Be Limerick Poems visit our home page.