This was my research: The politicization of the masses in New England sea ports between 1773 and 1776. This was cutting edge history. This was the topic journal editors had dreams about, the topic that got me $8,000 for the "Most Noted Undergraduate Research."
In my grant essay, I wrote that studying the past is a way to better understand the present. But the overriding historical need was that my professor's last book was getting trashed, and he was depending on my research to resurrect his arguments.
The school shrink kept upping my dosage and said I would be able to research fine with a little more Prozac. I told the shrink the Prozac gave me spontaneous diarrhea. He told me to sign up for more independent studies so I wouldn't have to worry about crapping in class.
My parents sent me plane tickets to Illinois as expressions of their pride. When I used the plane tickets, I'd have to take extra Prozac to make it through the weekend.
My Dad kept up with on-going debates in the "Journal of Social History" so he could talk to me about my research.
I woke up every morning terrorized that my professor had figured out how far behind I was.
Once I was in the Salem, Massachusetts archives reading the 1773 tax records from the major sea port towns in Massachusetts. I got dizzy. My head spun and I started drooling. I didn't notice the drool at first, because the dizziness scared me. And when I noticed the drool, it was too late because I had already drooled on a page of records, and the curator noticed. I didn't want the curator to scold me, because I had to come back the next day, so I pretended to pass out. This provoked extreme concern and compassion in my fellow researchers and the curator. She lifted my head and wiped the ink from my face, but she couldn't get it all off, so she used lanolin oil and told me to lie down in the shipping records room until I felt better.