What's the point, parents?

I am boarding a ship. This ship has a bipolar captain with a parrot problem and is going to attempt to cross an ocean that is tempestuous on its bad days, and deceptively calm on its good ones. I have a misfit crew that will raise the sails to catch the wind and scrub the decks, but will just as likely be found hanging off the bow, pickled by cheap rum and raucously singing their favourite pirate lullaby in a voice as smooth as sandpaper on the ear. I embark on a journey that could be the cause of a great satisfaction and contribution to society, or could lead to my ruin and destruction.

The elaborate metaphor. The long winded explanation. What I'm trying to say is I am taking on POST GRADUATE RESEARCH. Or should I rather whisper it in hushed tones. Those who have done postgrad research, at masters, doctoral or post-doctoral level, may feel the familiar shiver of apprehension travel down the spine like un unnerving drop of cold water making it's way down to your trousers. Some of you may have witnessed loved ones taking on postgrad research and will have bared witness to the endeavour that it is. Academic research is no easy going Starbucks Salted Caramel Frappucino on a lazy Sunday afternoon. If you are lucky, you are spat out of a gruelling process at the end with only one thing to show: your name on a piece of paper (digital or printed). That's it. Months of your life, possible hair loss, tenuous grip on reality and a caffeine addiction, and all you get is a pat on the head from a judgey panel of middle aged, professional readers who grade you based on how much you agree with them.  

PhD comics - if you can laugh at your own suffering, it makes it that much easier to bare.


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