plod

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plod on

To move, progress, or develop at a slow but constant and deliberate pace. John: "Hey Steve, what's new?" Steve: "Nothing much, just been plodding on with my thesis for the last few weeks." My 95-year-old grandfather still makes a point of plodding on to the local shop each morning to catch up with neighbors and friends. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy as the lecture plodded on.
See also: on, plod

plod along

to move along slowly but deliberately. I'm just plodding along, but I am getting the job done. The old man plodded along, hardly able to stand. The movie plodded along putting most of the audience to sleep.
See also: plod

plod away at something

to keep trying to do something. He continues to plod away at writing his novel. It's been three years now. How long have you been plodding away at that book?
See also: away, plod

plod through something

to work one's way through something laboriously. I just plodded through my work today. I had no energy at all. This is certainly a lot of papers to have to plod through.
See also: plod
References in periodicals archive ?
Meanwhile, as he plods his way through what might become a second consecutive lost season, Miller can take comfort in the words of Dodgers general manager Paul DePodesta, who says the organizational brass' hopes for Miller are as high as they were before the trouble began.
Stone, who left what could have been a successful career with the LA police because he would have been fired for drinking on the job, feels lucky to have found the position he holds in Paradise and he plods along, methodically seeking and finding all the clues that add up to family tragedy, child prostitution, and sadness all around.
As the cold-fusion drama becomes fodder for social scientists, research into conventional hot fusion plods toward its long-stated goal of harnessing sun-like fusion reactions to meet future electricity demands.
Meanwhile, ``American Dreams'' plods along on a raft of good intentions and turgid melodrama.
The plods are doing the same thing but forgetting they've got speed guns in their hands, that's all.
But the story drifts so inexorably into cliches about tortured (and torturing) artists and consuming but impossible love that you can't help but become more disappointed as each overwrought new sequence plods on.
Have they got the same plods on the case who are still checking through the fog for Jack The Ripper?