Just when I’m about to throw my hands up in despair over writing and rewriting my damned discussion 972 times and still not getting it the least bit right at all, something comes along to make me feel better.

After all, if a 96-year old man can pull all-nighters and earn his master’s degree, I can write a couple words, right?

(And when I’m done with the latest draft and have sent it off to various people to be torn apart again, I’ll tell you all about Boston.)