Yesterday I sent a non-committal little email to Dr. Advisor asking if he thought he would have time to provide me with some revisions (to my horribly incomplete document) before El Deadline Grande at the end of September and his response was "Sure! I've been really pleased with your progress and I can't wait to take a look."
So now he has it in his red pen happy little hands. And he freaking printed it. He has a paper copy he can take with him on his latest field project.
I kind of hope he opens the door of the truck during landfall and part of it blows away (preferably the parts where I forgot to remove the odd little notes to myself, or the parts where I get all full of myself and ramble on for several pages about something that will turn out to be totally incorrect, or the parts where I include titles on my graphs--the HORROR).
He eschews staples and paper clips in favor of a precarious stacking system, differentiating projects by alternating the orientation of the paper landscape-portrait-landscape-portrait, so there is some hope of, say, my inadequate Historical Research chapter being blown to oblivion all over the Gulf Coast before he has the chance to read it and store away amusing anecdotes about it to share at the department Christmas party.
Good thing I am in such a completely normal emotional state right now because I would hate to start crying when he goes over the revisions with me. That would probably be just as embarrassing as the first time it happened many many years ago when we first wrote a paper together.
Today I will be writing Appendix A: I'm Putting Myself on Bedrest Because I Should Not Be Allowed out in Public