1. Sign up for an independent study.
2. Halfway through the semester, agree on a reading list (over 40 journal articles, a few books to skim) with the professor. Tell her you'll send her your summary "as you make you progress."
3. Over the next few weeks, read some articles here and there. Maybe 5 or 8 in total. No need to strain yourself.
4. Two to three weeks before the end of the semester, realize that you still have 45 articles to read and summarize, along with all of your other final assignments, and also your 25-hour-a-week job.
5. PANIC.
6. Read furiously.
7. Check clock.
8. You've only read one article in two hours?!?
9. Repeat steps 5 through 8 until you are no longer physically capable of further panic.
10. You need a drink.
11. On Saturday afternoon (your assignment is due Sunday), go hang out with friends from 4 to 9 pm. Drink a glass of wine, or four.
12. Arrive home at 9pm. Did I mention your assignment is due tomorrow? Homework is hard when you're intoxicated, you know.
13. Have a nap til 1am.
14. Wake up, mainline soda, work til the wee hours of the morning.
15. Finish assignment in an exhausted haze.
16. Swear you'll never do this again.
SEVEN MONTHS LATER: Begin again at step 3.
Showing posts with label grad school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grad school. Show all posts
Monday, May 2, 2011
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Imagine Me, Running Up To You, Breathless
Oh Internet! We have so much catching up to do, don't we??
Filling you in on the last month will probably take awhile, so for now I'll just give you the brief version and then I can fill in the blanks over the next few days. Or weeks. Or however long it takes before I forget what it was I promised to tell you. So... let's see, what have you missed?
I (barely) survived the end of my first year of grad school. Don't worry, I've recovered now, but if I were typing this post 2 or 3 weeks ago !T wo_UlD pro0obly luK &L;Ke ThI$. And then after that there would 3 paragraphs of random letters because I would have passed out on the keyboard. But it's cool, I slept for 15 hours and once I could remember my name things really started improving.
I didn't run at all for the second half of April (or the first half of May, for that matter) on account of the thing where grad school almost killed me. But I did sign up to run a half marathon in September. Because... I don't know, I don't understand how exercise works? More on that development later.
After school was over I spent most of the next 2 weeks with Lee hanging out, preparing for his graduation, watching him graduate, helping him pack/sell/throw away all of his things, and driving (20 hours!) to his new home, which is in Texas. Sunday I flew back to North Carolina and it's no big deal, except for that MY BABY IS IN TEXAS AND I'LL PROBABLY NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN AND ok ok I'm calm. Again, I'll have to write a whole separate post about that ordeal because it was exciting and infuriating and - spoiler alert! - turns out you can't pack an entire apartment in one day, in spite of your boyfriend's most optimistic projections.
And that pretty much brings us up to this week, which mostly consists of me starting my summer job (a research assistantship) and settling back into a routine. Woo!
So, what have you been up to?
Filling you in on the last month will probably take awhile, so for now I'll just give you the brief version and then I can fill in the blanks over the next few days. Or weeks. Or however long it takes before I forget what it was I promised to tell you. So... let's see, what have you missed?
I (barely) survived the end of my first year of grad school. Don't worry, I've recovered now, but if I were typing this post 2 or 3 weeks ago !T wo_UlD pro0obly luK &L;Ke ThI$. And then after that there would 3 paragraphs of random letters because I would have passed out on the keyboard. But it's cool, I slept for 15 hours and once I could remember my name things really started improving.
I didn't run at all for the second half of April (or the first half of May, for that matter) on account of the thing where grad school almost killed me. But I did sign up to run a half marathon in September. Because... I don't know, I don't understand how exercise works? More on that development later.
After school was over I spent most of the next 2 weeks with Lee hanging out, preparing for his graduation, watching him graduate, helping him pack/sell/throw away all of his things, and driving (20 hours!) to his new home, which is in Texas. Sunday I flew back to North Carolina and it's no big deal, except for that MY BABY IS IN TEXAS AND I'LL PROBABLY NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN AND ok ok I'm calm. Again, I'll have to write a whole separate post about that ordeal because it was exciting and infuriating and - spoiler alert! - turns out you can't pack an entire apartment in one day, in spite of your boyfriend's most optimistic projections.
And that pretty much brings us up to this week, which mostly consists of me starting my summer job (a research assistantship) and settling back into a routine. Woo!
So, what have you been up to?
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Good News is I Now Make an Almost Perfect Pot of Coffee
Hello there, sweet internet! It's so good to see you again!
Let me tell you how the last few weeks have been for me. TERRIBLE, is how they have been. I mean, I guess they haven't been 100% terrible. There was the day I went to the farmer's market and ate bread and goat cheese in the sunshine, and the weekend my friend Kiki came down and let me show her around town. And the time I ate dinner out with my friend MB and we sat in the parking lot catching up until 3am. That was all pretty awesome. Nevertheless, I have to say that large chunks of the past few weeks have been pretty terrible. Mostly the chunks having to do with school. How to explain? Let's try a little comparison exercise. Last semester, in the Fall, I had the following commitments:
1) Four master's-level classes
2) One or two days a week at my field placement, and
3) A research assistantship that involved very little work.
And it was good. I survived and did quite well until the last two weeks of the semester, and let's be honest: that was pretty much all my fault for procrastinating and putting everything off until the last minute. So when it came time to plan for this semester (Spring semester, the one we are currently in), I decided to challenge myself a little bit, and so I took on the following commitments:
1) Three master's-level classes
2) Another master's-level, seminar-style half-a-class
3) My first doctoral class (That's 5 classes, for those following along at home)
4) One or two days a week at my field placement, and
5) My research assistantship.
(Those last two things are non-negotiable, required sorts of things.) Anyway, all of this sounded totally do-able in theory, but has turned out to be kind of miserable in practice for two reasons. For one, I grossly underestimated the amount of work that this doctoral class was going to require. Work like "read 10 chapters of this unintelligible book by next week" and "hey, what say we just randomly add a whole extra novel to the syllabus?". For two, sometime at the beginning of this semester, my boss apparently suddenly remembered that she had a research assistant. So even though my planning for this semester kind of hinged on maintaining the extremely low level of work she was giving me last semester, she apparently missed the memo and suddenly wanted me to start writing research proposals and building rocket ships and planning assassinations of foreign dignitaries*. All of that being said (because I know reading about someone else's schoolwork is boring as hell), I survived pretty well up through Spring Break, at which point I optimistically set some adorable goals for how I was going to be spending all of my free time for the month of March. Oh, what a fool I was.
*Note to the CIA: That was a JOKE.
What actually happened was that I laid around all of Spring Break, and as soon as it ended I became busier than I have ever been in recent memory. The week right after Spring Break I was doing psychotic things like throwing all-night paper-writing parties in 24-hour diners with free wifi. The next week, things got marginally better, but still pretty terrifying. And so on. So I did not finish my goals for March, not even a little bit. But I'm also not sitting in a corner right now rocking back and forth and weeping, so I'm going to go ahead and call it a draw.
Things are pretty calm right now, but there's another maelstrom of schoolwork coming up fast, so I should really be spending this time getting ahead, rather than reading the entire internet, as I sometimes do. Which is to say, as I have done, more or less all weekend. I'm relieved to find that at this point, the end is so close that I'm hardly even stressed out anymore. I'll live to see May, one way or another, even if I leave a trail of shoddy papers and half-hearted group presentations in my wake.
Oh! And don't think I've let my failures in March discourage me from setting any new goals. I've already set a goal for April: to get back on the running train (now that the weather is so beautiful!) and start following this training plan again. You may remember it as the one I was using to train for the imaginary 10k last summer, which I dropped like a hot potato once I moved and started school. But now I'm back! Like seasonal allergies! And I'm currently finishing up Week 2. So look out world, the Slow Motion Runner's Club** is coming to a flat, shady, relatively unchallenging road near you!
** I just made this up just now, so currently the Slow Motion Runner's Club (SMRC) consists of only me. But if you want to join, holler at me. I'll make us t-shirts! Or... hats? Maybe we'll just stick with buttons for now.
Let me tell you how the last few weeks have been for me. TERRIBLE, is how they have been. I mean, I guess they haven't been 100% terrible. There was the day I went to the farmer's market and ate bread and goat cheese in the sunshine, and the weekend my friend Kiki came down and let me show her around town. And the time I ate dinner out with my friend MB and we sat in the parking lot catching up until 3am. That was all pretty awesome. Nevertheless, I have to say that large chunks of the past few weeks have been pretty terrible. Mostly the chunks having to do with school. How to explain? Let's try a little comparison exercise. Last semester, in the Fall, I had the following commitments:
1) Four master's-level classes
2) One or two days a week at my field placement, and
3) A research assistantship that involved very little work.
And it was good. I survived and did quite well until the last two weeks of the semester, and let's be honest: that was pretty much all my fault for procrastinating and putting everything off until the last minute. So when it came time to plan for this semester (Spring semester, the one we are currently in), I decided to challenge myself a little bit, and so I took on the following commitments:
1) Three master's-level classes
2) Another master's-level, seminar-style half-a-class
3) My first doctoral class (That's 5 classes, for those following along at home)
4) One or two days a week at my field placement, and
5) My research assistantship.
(Those last two things are non-negotiable, required sorts of things.) Anyway, all of this sounded totally do-able in theory, but has turned out to be kind of miserable in practice for two reasons. For one, I grossly underestimated the amount of work that this doctoral class was going to require. Work like "read 10 chapters of this unintelligible book by next week" and "hey, what say we just randomly add a whole extra novel to the syllabus?". For two, sometime at the beginning of this semester, my boss apparently suddenly remembered that she had a research assistant. So even though my planning for this semester kind of hinged on maintaining the extremely low level of work she was giving me last semester, she apparently missed the memo and suddenly wanted me to start writing research proposals and building rocket ships and planning assassinations of foreign dignitaries*. All of that being said (because I know reading about someone else's schoolwork is boring as hell), I survived pretty well up through Spring Break, at which point I optimistically set some adorable goals for how I was going to be spending all of my free time for the month of March. Oh, what a fool I was.
*Note to the CIA: That was a JOKE.
What actually happened was that I laid around all of Spring Break, and as soon as it ended I became busier than I have ever been in recent memory. The week right after Spring Break I was doing psychotic things like throwing all-night paper-writing parties in 24-hour diners with free wifi. The next week, things got marginally better, but still pretty terrifying. And so on. So I did not finish my goals for March, not even a little bit. But I'm also not sitting in a corner right now rocking back and forth and weeping, so I'm going to go ahead and call it a draw.
Things are pretty calm right now, but there's another maelstrom of schoolwork coming up fast, so I should really be spending this time getting ahead, rather than reading the entire internet, as I sometimes do. Which is to say, as I have done, more or less all weekend. I'm relieved to find that at this point, the end is so close that I'm hardly even stressed out anymore. I'll live to see May, one way or another, even if I leave a trail of shoddy papers and half-hearted group presentations in my wake.
Oh! And don't think I've let my failures in March discourage me from setting any new goals. I've already set a goal for April: to get back on the running train (now that the weather is so beautiful!) and start following this training plan again. You may remember it as the one I was using to train for the imaginary 10k last summer, which I dropped like a hot potato once I moved and started school. But now I'm back! Like seasonal allergies! And I'm currently finishing up Week 2. So look out world, the Slow Motion Runner's Club** is coming to a flat, shady, relatively unchallenging road near you!
** I just made this up just now, so currently the Slow Motion Runner's Club (SMRC) consists of only me. But if you want to join, holler at me. I'll make us t-shirts! Or... hats? Maybe we'll just stick with buttons for now.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Living With No Regrets
Since I was such a huge internet crybaby when Lee and I broke up, I feel obligated to notify the internet now that we're, um... back together? This is great news, of course, but it also makes me feel a little embarrassed and silly to have to announce it, because you can break up with someone and get away with not explaining why, but it's a little harder to break up and then get back together without offering an explanation. At least, that's how it feels to me. Why am I compelled to explain myself? Who knows! Just join me, won't you?
While it's great news(!) that we're back together, Lee graduates in May, at which point he will permanently relocate to Texas in order to get started on his goal of becoming a Big Deal. (Or a Republican, I'm not sure.) Although Texas is kind of a stupid state in general, that in and of itself is not a huge problem. I'm sure a person can learn to love Texas, in the same way that a child learns to love her crazy uncle who is constantly preparing for the apocalypse. The main issue here is the fact that I have recently started a PhD program, and I have approximately four (4) years of graduate school left after Lee moves. Four years of graduate school that must be completed at my university here in North Carolina. Which is roughly 1,000 miles away from Houston. A $400 plane ticket away. Thirteen hours by car, one way.
I know what you're probably thinking right now. This level of long-distance relating is impossible. This is a disaster. We're fools. I know you're thinking it because I've thought all of it myself, as has Lee. It's why we broke up. But the fact remains that life, while livable, just doesn't feel right when we're not together. And I can't seem to get behind the idea of ending a relationship with someone you love when there's still a chance it could work out. There are plenty of stories of couples who carry on in extremely long-distance relationships and manage to make it work and live happily ever after (whatever that means) in spite of it all. Of course, there's also a huge chance that we will crash and burn and it will be quite a spectacle. Either way, it should make for some interesting blog reading, I guess. And either way we're going to go down fighting, with no regrets. Because if there's anything I think it's worth being a fool for, it's this.
So that's that. What's up with you?
While it's great news(!) that we're back together, Lee graduates in May, at which point he will permanently relocate to Texas in order to get started on his goal of becoming a Big Deal. (Or a Republican, I'm not sure.) Although Texas is kind of a stupid state in general, that in and of itself is not a huge problem. I'm sure a person can learn to love Texas, in the same way that a child learns to love her crazy uncle who is constantly preparing for the apocalypse. The main issue here is the fact that I have recently started a PhD program, and I have approximately four (4) years of graduate school left after Lee moves. Four years of graduate school that must be completed at my university here in North Carolina. Which is roughly 1,000 miles away from Houston. A $400 plane ticket away. Thirteen hours by car, one way.
I know what you're probably thinking right now. This level of long-distance relating is impossible. This is a disaster. We're fools. I know you're thinking it because I've thought all of it myself, as has Lee. It's why we broke up. But the fact remains that life, while livable, just doesn't feel right when we're not together. And I can't seem to get behind the idea of ending a relationship with someone you love when there's still a chance it could work out. There are plenty of stories of couples who carry on in extremely long-distance relationships and manage to make it work and live happily ever after (whatever that means) in spite of it all. Of course, there's also a huge chance that we will crash and burn and it will be quite a spectacle. Either way, it should make for some interesting blog reading, I guess. And either way we're going to go down fighting, with no regrets. Because if there's anything I think it's worth being a fool for, it's this.
So that's that. What's up with you?
Monday, October 12, 2009
I'm Such An Idealistic Crackpot
If you had asked me 6 months ago what I would consider to be a 'good time' to break up with someone, I would have put "Right at the beginning of graduate school" at around number 26 on my list, below "Just before winning the lottery" and above "While being stabbed." (Number 1 on the list of Good Times to Break Up With Someone: "Uh, never?")
I'm surprised to find out that breaking up right at the beginning of graduate school is actually not that bad. I mean... it's bad of course, because breaking up blows in a serious way, but it's not as bad as I would have expected, given the timing. I mean... I don't know, let's not get sidetracked quantifying how shitty it is. What I'm trying to say is, even though there's no good time, I can think of worse times than this. Grad school so far has been an adventure, for sure. And there's a lot of work, and an insane amount of reading, and it's pretty stressful at times, but occupation-wise I'm SO much happier than I was this time last year. This time last year, I was working a decently enjoyable job that paid well and pretty much left me to my own devices, and I wasn't unhappy by any means, but I wasn't that deep-down satisfied that people say you feel when you're doing something you love. At the time, I thought that maybe my something that I would love was going to be social work, and I was just slowly working my way toward it.
[Let us pause for clarification: social work is a lot of things other than Child Protective Services snatching up people's children and placing them in foster care. I mean yes, sometimes that's what it is, but it's also much more than that. In general, a social worker is someone who's devoted to fighting social injustice, through a variety of means. I just thought you might like to know, for perspective. OK, moving on...]
Obviously, I didn't know a whole lot about social work, but I thought I had an idea of what it stood for, and I thought that it was right for me. I could have started grad school and found out that I totally had the wrong idea and I had made a huge mistake and I was miserable and totally at a loss. But luckily, that's not what happened. I moved here and I started school and I met almost a hundred other people with worldviews, concerns, and aspirations that were eerily similar to my own. (I also had almost a hundred conversations exactly like this: "Where are you from? Oh cool! Me? North Carolina. Where'd you go to undergrad? Sweet. Wake Forest. What are you interested in? Awesome. Child poverty.") Obviously, it's dangerous to only ever associate with people that agree with you on everything, and of course there's a lot of diversity in my class. But there's something just so damn magical about being surrounded by people that understand where you're coming from and share your passion and are looking forward to the same goals as you. It's like... by God, it's like coming home!
(I'll give you a minute to throw up, if you need to. Ready? OK.)
I look around at school and I feel comfortable talking with just about anyone about what I believe and what I want to do with my life. I look around and I see great people with good hearts and amazing aspirations, who can and will change the world for the better. Maybe I should feel that way about people all the time, but the truth is that I don't. I (usually) look hard for the good in everyone, and I really believe that it's there, but it's nice to just be able to see it, right there on the surface, and feel good about people right away. Of course there are one or two people at school that I'm less than warm and fuzzy about: the girl that talks in class as if she's doing everyone a favor by being there, or the one that only wants to be friends with guys, if you know what I mean. But for the most part, I have to keep physically restraining myself from exclaiming "Man, I love you guys!" several times a day. And I'm not even drunk! (Generally.) It's crazy!
Even in class, I sit and I listen and I get straight FIRED UP. I want to stand up and yell Amen! like I'm in church or something. (Not that I'd know what that's like, being a godless heathen and all.) I start thinking that EVERYONE needs to go to social work school, and meet the people I've met, and learn the things I'm learning, and then wouldn't the world just be a better place, and we could all link hands and have a Coke together.
There's no denying that things aren't ideal write now. It's hard to read 7 chapters and write a 5 page essay when in the back of your mind you're reevaluating your life and your priorities and your plans and your dreams. And I've got other things going on, family things, that are sometimes a little worrying and distracting. But school is AWESOME. I'm happy as hell with school, and I can say that if I know nothing else, I know that I'm in the right place, right now. Of course, it's easy to get all het up about social work and social justice when it's all shiny and new, and I'm sure that as time goes on I'll come up against frustration and disappointment and disillusionment, and I'll learn from it. But I see too much raw power in the hearts and minds of the people I'm working with right now, both the brand new students and the people that have been social work workers and scholars for 25 years, to ever passively give up my belief in and my willingness to fight for a better world.
So, uh. That got a little impassioned there at the end, huh? My point isn't just "social work is awesome!" - my point is that every day since mid-August, even the days when I'm unbelievably frustrated or stressed out or depressed or not totally sure where I'm going with all this, I've believed that I'm on the right path, and that makes it so much easier to deal with whatever other bullshit might be thrown at me. I'm going to do whatever I can to hang on to that feeling of peace and happiness, and I sincerely hope that all of you, my tens of thousands of readers, can find it too.
I'm surprised to find out that breaking up right at the beginning of graduate school is actually not that bad. I mean... it's bad of course, because breaking up blows in a serious way, but it's not as bad as I would have expected, given the timing. I mean... I don't know, let's not get sidetracked quantifying how shitty it is. What I'm trying to say is, even though there's no good time, I can think of worse times than this. Grad school so far has been an adventure, for sure. And there's a lot of work, and an insane amount of reading, and it's pretty stressful at times, but occupation-wise I'm SO much happier than I was this time last year. This time last year, I was working a decently enjoyable job that paid well and pretty much left me to my own devices, and I wasn't unhappy by any means, but I wasn't that deep-down satisfied that people say you feel when you're doing something you love. At the time, I thought that maybe my something that I would love was going to be social work, and I was just slowly working my way toward it.
[Let us pause for clarification: social work is a lot of things other than Child Protective Services snatching up people's children and placing them in foster care. I mean yes, sometimes that's what it is, but it's also much more than that. In general, a social worker is someone who's devoted to fighting social injustice, through a variety of means. I just thought you might like to know, for perspective. OK, moving on...]
Obviously, I didn't know a whole lot about social work, but I thought I had an idea of what it stood for, and I thought that it was right for me. I could have started grad school and found out that I totally had the wrong idea and I had made a huge mistake and I was miserable and totally at a loss. But luckily, that's not what happened. I moved here and I started school and I met almost a hundred other people with worldviews, concerns, and aspirations that were eerily similar to my own. (I also had almost a hundred conversations exactly like this: "Where are you from? Oh cool! Me? North Carolina. Where'd you go to undergrad? Sweet. Wake Forest. What are you interested in? Awesome. Child poverty.") Obviously, it's dangerous to only ever associate with people that agree with you on everything, and of course there's a lot of diversity in my class. But there's something just so damn magical about being surrounded by people that understand where you're coming from and share your passion and are looking forward to the same goals as you. It's like... by God, it's like coming home!
(I'll give you a minute to throw up, if you need to. Ready? OK.)
I look around at school and I feel comfortable talking with just about anyone about what I believe and what I want to do with my life. I look around and I see great people with good hearts and amazing aspirations, who can and will change the world for the better. Maybe I should feel that way about people all the time, but the truth is that I don't. I (usually) look hard for the good in everyone, and I really believe that it's there, but it's nice to just be able to see it, right there on the surface, and feel good about people right away. Of course there are one or two people at school that I'm less than warm and fuzzy about: the girl that talks in class as if she's doing everyone a favor by being there, or the one that only wants to be friends with guys, if you know what I mean. But for the most part, I have to keep physically restraining myself from exclaiming "Man, I love you guys!" several times a day. And I'm not even drunk! (Generally.) It's crazy!
Even in class, I sit and I listen and I get straight FIRED UP. I want to stand up and yell Amen! like I'm in church or something. (Not that I'd know what that's like, being a godless heathen and all.) I start thinking that EVERYONE needs to go to social work school, and meet the people I've met, and learn the things I'm learning, and then wouldn't the world just be a better place, and we could all link hands and have a Coke together.
There's no denying that things aren't ideal write now. It's hard to read 7 chapters and write a 5 page essay when in the back of your mind you're reevaluating your life and your priorities and your plans and your dreams. And I've got other things going on, family things, that are sometimes a little worrying and distracting. But school is AWESOME. I'm happy as hell with school, and I can say that if I know nothing else, I know that I'm in the right place, right now. Of course, it's easy to get all het up about social work and social justice when it's all shiny and new, and I'm sure that as time goes on I'll come up against frustration and disappointment and disillusionment, and I'll learn from it. But I see too much raw power in the hearts and minds of the people I'm working with right now, both the brand new students and the people that have been social work workers and scholars for 25 years, to ever passively give up my belief in and my willingness to fight for a better world.
So, uh. That got a little impassioned there at the end, huh? My point isn't just "social work is awesome!" - my point is that every day since mid-August, even the days when I'm unbelievably frustrated or stressed out or depressed or not totally sure where I'm going with all this, I've believed that I'm on the right path, and that makes it so much easier to deal with whatever other bullshit might be thrown at me. I'm going to do whatever I can to hang on to that feeling of peace and happiness, and I sincerely hope that all of you, my tens of thousands of readers, can find it too.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Come, Look Into the Face of Madness
Do you ever do that thing where Something Major is about to happen, but you don't really feel all that anxious about it? But you feel like you ought to feel anxious about it, so instead of feeling anxious about the Something Major, you start feeling anxious about the ramifications of NOT feeling anxious about Something Major? No? Me neither, that's ridiculous.
Tomorrow is my first day of official grad school business. I am remarkably calm. Yet still essentially a nutjob.
Tomorrow is my first day of official grad school business. I am remarkably calm. Yet still essentially a nutjob.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I Don't Even Know Where to Start
I promised my friend MB that I would post a blog today, so that is what I'm doing, even though I don't even know what to tell you guys. There have been a variety of new developments in my life, and I feel like if I tried to fill you in now I'd just get tired and confused and start drooling on myself. HOWEVER, because I love you and you're so BOSSY, I'm going to do my best to bring you up to speed. But I make no guarantees that this post will encompass everything new that has happened since 3 weeks ago when I stopped posting regularly and everyone got really disappointed in me.
Oooook... the first thing I need to tell you is kind of sad, but I just found out about it today so it's fresh on my mind: one of my gerbils has some kind of brain damage. Well, actually, I don't know for sure that it's brain damage, but he's holding his head kind of tilted to one side, and he's walking around like he's drunk or concussed or something. But I googled "gerbil leaning to one side" and wikipedia says that it's probably an inner ear problem and nothing to worry about because he'll... get used to it? They may be right, because he's still eating and digging and gerbiling around like he usually does, so I think this situation is bothering me more than him. I keep standing anxiously over the tank like "Heeey buddy. How ya doin? You wanna start walking in a straight line again, please, because mama finds it unsettling."
This issue is of particular concern to me because in about 30 minutes I'm leaving to go to the airport to fly to Houston for the weekend, and right now my roommate is also out of town, but she'll probably be back before me. So what if my gerbil isn't ok and then he DROPS DEAD while I'm gone and then my roommate comes back and has to cope with a dead gerbil and then she naturally assumes that it's my fault he's dead because I'm neglectful? Or, even if she doesn't assume I'm neglectful, it's still kind of uncool for me to saddle her with the inconvenience of a dead rodent when we've only lived together for a week. What if he's been dead for several days at that point? What if the other gerbil... like... eats him, or something?
... I'm going to stop thinking about this right now, because I don't know whether to cry or throw up.
Also of note is the fact that I moved! I'm still in North Carolina, but in a different city, where Grad School will happen, as I'm sure I've mentioned. My new apartment is pretty sweet, and includes such features as: balcony, roommate, washer/dryer hookups, and more than 2 windows. My last apartment had none of these things, so even though I am taking a serious paycut, I'm still moving up in the world. (For the record, there were windows in my last apartment, but there were only 2. It was on the bottom floor of a building built into a hill. This parenthetical is so boring.) I was really pumped about having a roommate to talk to, but then the day after we moved in, she said, "Oh hey, I'm pretty much going to be gone for the next 3 weeks, see ya!" Which was sad, but also kind of a blessing in disguise, because that means I get 3 more weeks before I have to stop indulging in my treasured pastime of walking/sitting around with no clothes on.
I'm a little embarrassed that my roommate was only here for 2 days before she left again, and all of her stuff is put away neatly, whereas I've had 4-ish days to unpack and there are STILL boxes all over my room. It's no big deal, I just have to keep moving boxes off the bed when it's time to sleep and back onto the bed when it's time to... walk... anywhere. It's alright, though, because at least I put up curtains, so it's not like I'm some kind of savage. Maybe later if I'm feeling generous I'll post some pictures of the new place. Tell me, would you prefer photos with or without boxes? Keep in mind that I lived in my last apartment for 2 years and when I moved last weekend there were 2 boxes in my bedroom that still hadn't been unpacked. So saying you want to see pictures "without boxes" may be equivalent to saying that you want to see pictures "never." Just keep that in mind.
Ok, it's almost time for me to head to the airport, so I need to wrap this up. I promise - I mean, I will try really hard - to update you on my Houston trip as soon as I get back. Also stay tuned for answers to important questions like, "Will grad school turn me into a trembling ghost of the woman I once was?" and "Do you think I should put the clothes hamper in the closet or the bathroom?"
Oooook... the first thing I need to tell you is kind of sad, but I just found out about it today so it's fresh on my mind: one of my gerbils has some kind of brain damage. Well, actually, I don't know for sure that it's brain damage, but he's holding his head kind of tilted to one side, and he's walking around like he's drunk or concussed or something. But I googled "gerbil leaning to one side" and wikipedia says that it's probably an inner ear problem and nothing to worry about because he'll... get used to it? They may be right, because he's still eating and digging and gerbiling around like he usually does, so I think this situation is bothering me more than him. I keep standing anxiously over the tank like "Heeey buddy. How ya doin? You wanna start walking in a straight line again, please, because mama finds it unsettling."
This issue is of particular concern to me because in about 30 minutes I'm leaving to go to the airport to fly to Houston for the weekend, and right now my roommate is also out of town, but she'll probably be back before me. So what if my gerbil isn't ok and then he DROPS DEAD while I'm gone and then my roommate comes back and has to cope with a dead gerbil and then she naturally assumes that it's my fault he's dead because I'm neglectful? Or, even if she doesn't assume I'm neglectful, it's still kind of uncool for me to saddle her with the inconvenience of a dead rodent when we've only lived together for a week. What if he's been dead for several days at that point? What if the other gerbil... like... eats him, or something?
... I'm going to stop thinking about this right now, because I don't know whether to cry or throw up.
Also of note is the fact that I moved! I'm still in North Carolina, but in a different city, where Grad School will happen, as I'm sure I've mentioned. My new apartment is pretty sweet, and includes such features as: balcony, roommate, washer/dryer hookups, and more than 2 windows. My last apartment had none of these things, so even though I am taking a serious paycut, I'm still moving up in the world. (For the record, there were windows in my last apartment, but there were only 2. It was on the bottom floor of a building built into a hill. This parenthetical is so boring.) I was really pumped about having a roommate to talk to, but then the day after we moved in, she said, "Oh hey, I'm pretty much going to be gone for the next 3 weeks, see ya!" Which was sad, but also kind of a blessing in disguise, because that means I get 3 more weeks before I have to stop indulging in my treasured pastime of walking/sitting around with no clothes on.
I'm a little embarrassed that my roommate was only here for 2 days before she left again, and all of her stuff is put away neatly, whereas I've had 4-ish days to unpack and there are STILL boxes all over my room. It's no big deal, I just have to keep moving boxes off the bed when it's time to sleep and back onto the bed when it's time to... walk... anywhere. It's alright, though, because at least I put up curtains, so it's not like I'm some kind of savage. Maybe later if I'm feeling generous I'll post some pictures of the new place. Tell me, would you prefer photos with or without boxes? Keep in mind that I lived in my last apartment for 2 years and when I moved last weekend there were 2 boxes in my bedroom that still hadn't been unpacked. So saying you want to see pictures "without boxes" may be equivalent to saying that you want to see pictures "never." Just keep that in mind.
Ok, it's almost time for me to head to the airport, so I need to wrap this up. I promise - I mean, I will try really hard - to update you on my Houston trip as soon as I get back. Also stay tuned for answers to important questions like, "Will grad school turn me into a trembling ghost of the woman I once was?" and "Do you think I should put the clothes hamper in the closet or the bathroom?"
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I'm Not Dead, I'm Just Useless!
Hi there, internet. I just wanted to drop by and assure you that I am still alive, and to apologize for my continued absence. I got through my last day at work, which was as lovely as a last day of work can be, I imagine, and now I'm in the midst of serious packing-up-my-life, as I'll be moving to Grad School this weekend. I've started thinking of Grad School as a place, a job, and a stage of development, all wrapped up in one. From what I understand, that's probably a pretty accurate idea of it, actually.
In the midst of all the packing, I've also been keeping up with that silly running endeavor I told you about. (At this point I'd like to publicly thank Erin for her offer to be my mentor/partner-in-crime. I think it makes a lot of sense to have a running/biking crime-fighting duo, and as soon as I speak with my agent, I'll get back to you.) For a little while I was actually getting better and faster at running, if you can imagine that. Luckily, due to a series of poor choices (skipping several days of training to go out drinking instead, failing to ice my knee when it first started to hurt, only running when it's 500 degrees outside and the sun is BEATING ME ABOUT THE HEAD the whole time), I appear to have returned to my usual, painfully slow level of running. It's alright, at least I'm comfortable here.
I always say that summer is my favorite season, and that is totally true, with the small exception of the very end of July and the beginning of August. That's when things begin to get unbearably hot and humid in North Carolina, and I start fantasizing about Halloween. (Also: candy!) To illustrate, let me give you a short list of times during which I have determined (from personal experience) that it is not a good idea to run outdoors in NC at the end of July:
1) 11 am
2) 12 pm
3) 5 pm
5) 6 pm
6) Basically any time between sunrise and sunset.
Now that I've shared this knowledge with you, it's time for me to hobble off, dripping sweat, and find a bucket of water to dump over my head. Til next time!
In the midst of all the packing, I've also been keeping up with that silly running endeavor I told you about. (At this point I'd like to publicly thank Erin for her offer to be my mentor/partner-in-crime. I think it makes a lot of sense to have a running/biking crime-fighting duo, and as soon as I speak with my agent, I'll get back to you.) For a little while I was actually getting better and faster at running, if you can imagine that. Luckily, due to a series of poor choices (skipping several days of training to go out drinking instead, failing to ice my knee when it first started to hurt, only running when it's 500 degrees outside and the sun is BEATING ME ABOUT THE HEAD the whole time), I appear to have returned to my usual, painfully slow level of running. It's alright, at least I'm comfortable here.
I always say that summer is my favorite season, and that is totally true, with the small exception of the very end of July and the beginning of August. That's when things begin to get unbearably hot and humid in North Carolina, and I start fantasizing about Halloween. (Also: candy!) To illustrate, let me give you a short list of times during which I have determined (from personal experience) that it is not a good idea to run outdoors in NC at the end of July:
1) 11 am
2) 12 pm
3) 5 pm
5) 6 pm
6) Basically any time between sunrise and sunset.
Now that I've shared this knowledge with you, it's time for me to hobble off, dripping sweat, and find a bucket of water to dump over my head. Til next time!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Just For You, I've Resisted the Urge to Quote James Taylor
Around this time last week I went to visit my future graduate school. I hadn't talked much about it before, just in case I went to visit and did something that made them change their minds (like mentioning about my life-long struggle with procrastination) or they did something that made me change my mind (like bad-mouthing Hugh Laurie). Luckily, the visit went well, I sent in my deposit, and now here I am, stuck wondering what I'll worry about now that that's taken care of.
After work on Tuesday I loaded up my car with half my wardrobe (because, as you may recall, I still had no idea what I was going to wear) and headed out of town. I stayed at Lee's place that night, and after we had hung out for a little while I decided it was time to subject him to a fashion show so that I could figure out once and for all what to wear the next day. After several costume changes, we had decided on an acceptable outfit. We high-fived, I checked the outfit out in the mirror, and promptly had a nervous breakdown. These STUPID PANTS were tooooo biiiiiiiig and whyyyyy couldn't I find something better to wear and OH GOD this was going to go horribly. Or something like that, I'm not sure, I couldn't really hear what I was whining about over the sound of a door slamming in my head as the calm, cool, professional part of my mind just up and left me.
Once I'd dried my tears (because OF COURSE their were tears), I decided that I would feel better if I got out of the apartment for a few minutes, so we headed to the grocery store to get an Apartment Guide. At 11pm. (For the record, I told Lee he could stay behind, but he insisted on coming with me, because he's a trooper. See also: dating me in the first place.) So we went to the grocery store and got the Apartment Guide (for future apartment-searching reference). Then I decided to go on and drive out to the Super Target (by the way: SUPER TARGET!!) because I was convinced that they were open 24 hours, and what better time to go looking for a new outfit for a grad school visit than at midnight the night before? Super Target, in spite of being Super, closes at 10pm, so we had to go back home. Nevertheless, I felt soothed by all the needless driving around.
This is my brain under stress. Look on in awe.
In answer to my previous question (What better time to go looking for a new outfit?), let me tell you this: Super Target may close at 10, but it OPENS at 8am. So, since I didn't have to be at the school until 11, I went ahead and got up at 7:15, got showered and dressed, and went shopping. For some reason, even though Ordinary Target didn't have anything to offer me three days prior, SUPER Target made my dreams come true with the first outfit I tried on. (Also, if you want to get you a pair of those paint-splattered shoes I was flashing around the other day, they still have some at the Super Target. Check it out.)
Also, I bought some earrings and a purse. Because if you're panic-shopping at 8:30 in the morning, why not?
Ok, so what else? The visit! Right. I had meetings with two different professors first. They were very cool. Then I had lunch with two students. They were also outstanding. My only complaint about lunch was that we walked a pretty good distance to where we were eating, and my shoes (just about the only thing I was wearing that I hadn't bought that morning) were mangling my feet the whole way. But no matter! Lunch was delightful. Then I met with the chair of the program and talked about how hard grad school is. (She might have said some other things, but "grad school is hard" is the main message I got there.) THEN I sat in on a class, and the professor was a really nice, intelligent, thoughtful man who looked a little like Henry Winkler. I got to hang around and talk with him after class, but by that time I was a little brain-damaged from all of the thoughtful question-asking and attentive listening, so the conversation wasn't as rewarding as it could have been. And then I was done so I went home and celebrated by eating fried chicken.
And that is my story! Things went so well that I went 4 whole days without worrying about the future... until Monday morning, when I realized that I may end up being the youngest person in my cohort, and/or the only person who doesn't already have some kind of master's degree. So if you need me I'll be over here, concerned about that.
After work on Tuesday I loaded up my car with half my wardrobe (because, as you may recall, I still had no idea what I was going to wear) and headed out of town. I stayed at Lee's place that night, and after we had hung out for a little while I decided it was time to subject him to a fashion show so that I could figure out once and for all what to wear the next day. After several costume changes, we had decided on an acceptable outfit. We high-fived, I checked the outfit out in the mirror, and promptly had a nervous breakdown. These STUPID PANTS were tooooo biiiiiiiig and whyyyyy couldn't I find something better to wear and OH GOD this was going to go horribly. Or something like that, I'm not sure, I couldn't really hear what I was whining about over the sound of a door slamming in my head as the calm, cool, professional part of my mind just up and left me.
Once I'd dried my tears (because OF COURSE their were tears), I decided that I would feel better if I got out of the apartment for a few minutes, so we headed to the grocery store to get an Apartment Guide. At 11pm. (For the record, I told Lee he could stay behind, but he insisted on coming with me, because he's a trooper. See also: dating me in the first place.) So we went to the grocery store and got the Apartment Guide (for future apartment-searching reference). Then I decided to go on and drive out to the Super Target (by the way: SUPER TARGET!!) because I was convinced that they were open 24 hours, and what better time to go looking for a new outfit for a grad school visit than at midnight the night before? Super Target, in spite of being Super, closes at 10pm, so we had to go back home. Nevertheless, I felt soothed by all the needless driving around.
This is my brain under stress. Look on in awe.
In answer to my previous question (What better time to go looking for a new outfit?), let me tell you this: Super Target may close at 10, but it OPENS at 8am. So, since I didn't have to be at the school until 11, I went ahead and got up at 7:15, got showered and dressed, and went shopping. For some reason, even though Ordinary Target didn't have anything to offer me three days prior, SUPER Target made my dreams come true with the first outfit I tried on. (Also, if you want to get you a pair of those paint-splattered shoes I was flashing around the other day, they still have some at the Super Target. Check it out.)
Also, I bought some earrings and a purse. Because if you're panic-shopping at 8:30 in the morning, why not?
Ok, so what else? The visit! Right. I had meetings with two different professors first. They were very cool. Then I had lunch with two students. They were also outstanding. My only complaint about lunch was that we walked a pretty good distance to where we were eating, and my shoes (just about the only thing I was wearing that I hadn't bought that morning) were mangling my feet the whole way. But no matter! Lunch was delightful. Then I met with the chair of the program and talked about how hard grad school is. (She might have said some other things, but "grad school is hard" is the main message I got there.) THEN I sat in on a class, and the professor was a really nice, intelligent, thoughtful man who looked a little like Henry Winkler. I got to hang around and talk with him after class, but by that time I was a little brain-damaged from all of the thoughtful question-asking and attentive listening, so the conversation wasn't as rewarding as it could have been. And then I was done so I went home and celebrated by eating fried chicken.
And that is my story! Things went so well that I went 4 whole days without worrying about the future... until Monday morning, when I realized that I may end up being the youngest person in my cohort, and/or the only person who doesn't already have some kind of master's degree. So if you need me I'll be over here, concerned about that.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Serious Blogger Is Serious
In general, I try to be all light-hearted and ho ho ho over here, because I feel that people would rather read about fun times than serious times. Also, usually when I find myself being overly earnest in real life, I immediately feel embarrassed that I have just vomited my feeeeeelings all over some poor unsuspecting person. I don't want to do that all over the internet, where there's a permanent record of it that the CIA can catalog and add to your permanent record anytime they like. But hey! What the hell! Sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind, especially when you can't think of anything else to write about on your silly little blog, and your imaginary audience is constantly glaring at you and wondering why you even bothered to come out of the dark backwaters of xanga if you didn't have anything good to say anyway.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, serious business. This week's (month's?) serious business is relationships, specifically the future of. This may surprise you, reader, but I have this thing. This thing where I like to feel like I'm in control of my life. I like to know what's going to happen, when, and why, and what I can do about it. I like to know what and who I can depend on, and what and who I can't. I like to be able to plan for things, prepare for things, map them out and make an itinerary. This makes me feel like things are going to be ok. Nothing can go wrong if I have a plan, because the universe will see my plan and obey it.
The problem is that even the simplest plans depend on other people, and other people are often just blatantly uncooperative. Why people don't understand that they must follow my plan first and theirs second, I will never know. This whole thing gets particularly sticky when your life is all entangled with someone else's. I guess you see where I'm going with this.
I tend to take romantic relationships pretty seriously. I've never dated someone without being pretty firmly sure that I could hang out with them long-term. I just don't have the kind of 'que sera, sera' temperament that I think you have to have in order to casually date. When you're always looking forward, trying to plan your life, it gets kind of confusing not knowing who will be there and who won't. This has come up in a pretty infuriating way in the past month or so, since I'm gearing up for another major stage of my life. Up until now, I had a 2-year plan: live in Winston, work at this job, apply to grad school. Now I'm working on a fresh 5-year plan: move to a new town, go to grad school... and that's as far as I've gotten. Grad school is squared away (for the most part - I still haven't officially accepted, because I've still got to go for my grand visit and all), but that's about it. I'm trying to imagine what the next 5 years will look like, because that's how I prepare for major changes, but I'm having trouble. Where will my significant other (you know, old whats-his-face) be for all this? He's done with his higher education at the end of next year, leaving me locked in to my thing for 4 more years while he does... what? I have no idea. Will he move to another city? Another state? Will we see each other more often, or less than ever? Will we break up? Will we get married? If we got married, when would that happen? How could we ever get married if we're going to be spending 4 years in different states? What's the point of continuing a relationship under those circumstances? If we break up, what will it be like being single again, looking for a new sugar daddy in the world of social work? Are there even any men in the field of social work? (Quick internet research confirms that yes, there are men in the field, but there are only 4 of them and 3 of them are middle-aged and married already.) If I'm not dating a successful lawyer, then who will support my unprofitable idealistic whims?
I HATE not knowing. The urge to just KNOW, just so I can feel secure in the knowledge that I know what's in store for me sometimes makes me think crazy things, like: well, he's probably going to move to another state, and we'll never make it through that, so we might as well just go ahead and break up. And I know it's the crazy that makes it sound like a good idea to end a relationship that you're perfectly happy with, and so I remind myself that it's the crazy talking, but then I'm left with... what? The feeling that I just have to wait and see. That I might be investing all this time and energy into something that will just crash and burn, but maybe not until I'm 30 years old and THEN what will I do?
Then I have moments where I go in the complete opposite direction, moments that I'm even more embarrassed by, when I start thinking, you know, maybe you're just a little too independent. If you're this worried about it, maybe it makes sense to act more conservatively. Just do a 2 year Master's program and then you'll be able to stop and see where your relationsihp is before committing to a longer term PhD. Do you really want to sabotage a great relationship by unflexibly sticking to your own goals when you know it could mean the end of a beautiful thing? Would it kill you to compromise a little?
I hate thinking this way. I know deep down that I would never forgive myself if I gave up the chance to go to a great PhD program just because of some guy. Maybe it's a mistake, but I deeply believe that I shouldn't have to compromise my dreams to make a relationship work. I also know that, in reality, all relationships are an investment, and you hope it doesn't fail, but there's always the chance that it will. It's not that I'm some kind of insecure nutjob that's just in a hurry to get a ring on her finger, no matter what the circumstances. It's just that I hate feeling like I'm over here happily plugging away at something when I have no idea what the end result will be. Like maybe I'm involved in the relationship equivalent of that first scene of a scary movie, where everything is bright and sunshine-y and people are going about their daily business to the tune of a cheerful soundtrack, but it's painfully ominous because as the viewer you know damn good and well that this is the last time the sun will shine for the entire movie.
And in spite of my certainty that I have to follow my dreams, come what may, I'm still terrified that one day I'll look back and realize that things might have worked out differently if I'd been a little more willing to slow down and take a detour in the name of love. But if I'm honest with myself, I know that Lee would never allow me to do something like that anyway, and I guess that's Real Love, right there: pushing someone to be who they are, regardless of the consequences.
/serious
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, serious business. This week's (month's?) serious business is relationships, specifically the future of. This may surprise you, reader, but I have this thing. This thing where I like to feel like I'm in control of my life. I like to know what's going to happen, when, and why, and what I can do about it. I like to know what and who I can depend on, and what and who I can't. I like to be able to plan for things, prepare for things, map them out and make an itinerary. This makes me feel like things are going to be ok. Nothing can go wrong if I have a plan, because the universe will see my plan and obey it.
The problem is that even the simplest plans depend on other people, and other people are often just blatantly uncooperative. Why people don't understand that they must follow my plan first and theirs second, I will never know. This whole thing gets particularly sticky when your life is all entangled with someone else's. I guess you see where I'm going with this.
I tend to take romantic relationships pretty seriously. I've never dated someone without being pretty firmly sure that I could hang out with them long-term. I just don't have the kind of 'que sera, sera' temperament that I think you have to have in order to casually date. When you're always looking forward, trying to plan your life, it gets kind of confusing not knowing who will be there and who won't. This has come up in a pretty infuriating way in the past month or so, since I'm gearing up for another major stage of my life. Up until now, I had a 2-year plan: live in Winston, work at this job, apply to grad school. Now I'm working on a fresh 5-year plan: move to a new town, go to grad school... and that's as far as I've gotten. Grad school is squared away (for the most part - I still haven't officially accepted, because I've still got to go for my grand visit and all), but that's about it. I'm trying to imagine what the next 5 years will look like, because that's how I prepare for major changes, but I'm having trouble. Where will my significant other (you know, old whats-his-face) be for all this? He's done with his higher education at the end of next year, leaving me locked in to my thing for 4 more years while he does... what? I have no idea. Will he move to another city? Another state? Will we see each other more often, or less than ever? Will we break up? Will we get married? If we got married, when would that happen? How could we ever get married if we're going to be spending 4 years in different states? What's the point of continuing a relationship under those circumstances? If we break up, what will it be like being single again, looking for a new sugar daddy in the world of social work? Are there even any men in the field of social work? (Quick internet research confirms that yes, there are men in the field, but there are only 4 of them and 3 of them are middle-aged and married already.) If I'm not dating a successful lawyer, then who will support my unprofitable idealistic whims?
I HATE not knowing. The urge to just KNOW, just so I can feel secure in the knowledge that I know what's in store for me sometimes makes me think crazy things, like: well, he's probably going to move to another state, and we'll never make it through that, so we might as well just go ahead and break up. And I know it's the crazy that makes it sound like a good idea to end a relationship that you're perfectly happy with, and so I remind myself that it's the crazy talking, but then I'm left with... what? The feeling that I just have to wait and see. That I might be investing all this time and energy into something that will just crash and burn, but maybe not until I'm 30 years old and THEN what will I do?
Then I have moments where I go in the complete opposite direction, moments that I'm even more embarrassed by, when I start thinking, you know, maybe you're just a little too independent. If you're this worried about it, maybe it makes sense to act more conservatively. Just do a 2 year Master's program and then you'll be able to stop and see where your relationsihp is before committing to a longer term PhD. Do you really want to sabotage a great relationship by unflexibly sticking to your own goals when you know it could mean the end of a beautiful thing? Would it kill you to compromise a little?
I hate thinking this way. I know deep down that I would never forgive myself if I gave up the chance to go to a great PhD program just because of some guy. Maybe it's a mistake, but I deeply believe that I shouldn't have to compromise my dreams to make a relationship work. I also know that, in reality, all relationships are an investment, and you hope it doesn't fail, but there's always the chance that it will. It's not that I'm some kind of insecure nutjob that's just in a hurry to get a ring on her finger, no matter what the circumstances. It's just that I hate feeling like I'm over here happily plugging away at something when I have no idea what the end result will be. Like maybe I'm involved in the relationship equivalent of that first scene of a scary movie, where everything is bright and sunshine-y and people are going about their daily business to the tune of a cheerful soundtrack, but it's painfully ominous because as the viewer you know damn good and well that this is the last time the sun will shine for the entire movie.
And in spite of my certainty that I have to follow my dreams, come what may, I'm still terrified that one day I'll look back and realize that things might have worked out differently if I'd been a little more willing to slow down and take a detour in the name of love. But if I'm honest with myself, I know that Lee would never allow me to do something like that anyway, and I guess that's Real Love, right there: pushing someone to be who they are, regardless of the consequences.
/serious
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Brushing Past the Tumbleweeds, Ignoring the Sounds of Crickets
Oh, dear readers. I have wanted for DAYS to write something, but there is nothing interesting going on in my life. Well, that's not entirely true. I've been really busy at work, busy enough that I feel guilty trying to write a blog post, but now I'm doing it anyway because I LOVE YOU. (All 3 of you.) (You know, it occurs to me that my blog will never have the worldwide following it deserves if I only post once a month. Perhaps I'll think about that some more later.)
Part of what's keeping me so busy at work is trying to write a paper for a journal, and a proposal to talk about said paper at a conference in the fall. If I get accepted to go to the conference (it's the same one I went to in November), then I get a free trip to San Francisco! So, cross your fingers. I have to submit this proposal by the end of the day on Friday, which, if you're keeping track, is tomorrow. This suddenly occurred to me around 4pm yesterday when I realized that I had just wasted half my day... um, looking up apartments near my new grad school. (I could argue that this was important business, but since I'm not moving for another 5 months and I've already read every rental property listing for the area 9 separate times, I have no justification for my behavior.) So then I resolved to get at least a rough draft of the thing done before I left last night, which ended up being at 8pm. Behold, the power of procrastination!
This episode raises some interesting issues, I feel. On the one hand, once I finally made myself work on it, I felt pretty exhilerated. I actually enjoy the process of writing and all that nonsense, which I think bodes well for my grad school experience. On the other hand, my senseless time-wasting turned a normal day at work into a 10-HOUR DAY. So, I dunno. Either I'm perfectly suited for grad school, or I'm DOOOOOOOOMED.
This is a good segue into something else I've been thinking about over the past couple of days. It should surprise no one that it only took about 4 hours for the excitement of being accepted into grad school to wear off and for panic to set in. (Lee refers to this as my very special ability to turn all good things - compliments, good news, candy, ponies - into bad things.) (What the hell does he know, anyway?) The point is: What if this was a terrible mistake? What if I do not have what it takes to be a PhD student? These people are obviously unaware of my Olympic-level procrastination skills. What if I get there and everyone is way smarter and more grown-up than me and I'm in statistics class and they ask me a question and I'm like, "Um... ketchup??" I checked the list of current PhD students, and there are several Asian* names, and I'm pretty sure you know what that means: no one is going to want to copy my homework anymore.
The silver lining to all this is that later, when I was googling "grad school success tips please don't let me fail oh god" I ran across an article about 'imposter syndrome', or the feeling that you're "fooling the world" about your abilities. This is apparently a condition that affects all graduate students and academics at some point or another. The way I see it, this is great news, because if my imposter syndrome is setting in so early on, then I must be way ahead of my peers. At this rate, I'll be writing books and coming up with new ground-breaking theories of social work by my second year of grad school. Take that, Asians!**
*I'm sorry, Asians, I mean no harm. I know that plenty of Asians don't know shit about math.
**But I'm sure the ones at this particular grad school are much, much smarter than me.
Oh, by the way, I started a twitter account, because it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. If you like, you can check it out here.
Part of what's keeping me so busy at work is trying to write a paper for a journal, and a proposal to talk about said paper at a conference in the fall. If I get accepted to go to the conference (it's the same one I went to in November), then I get a free trip to San Francisco! So, cross your fingers. I have to submit this proposal by the end of the day on Friday, which, if you're keeping track, is tomorrow. This suddenly occurred to me around 4pm yesterday when I realized that I had just wasted half my day... um, looking up apartments near my new grad school. (I could argue that this was important business, but since I'm not moving for another 5 months and I've already read every rental property listing for the area 9 separate times, I have no justification for my behavior.) So then I resolved to get at least a rough draft of the thing done before I left last night, which ended up being at 8pm. Behold, the power of procrastination!
This episode raises some interesting issues, I feel. On the one hand, once I finally made myself work on it, I felt pretty exhilerated. I actually enjoy the process of writing and all that nonsense, which I think bodes well for my grad school experience. On the other hand, my senseless time-wasting turned a normal day at work into a 10-HOUR DAY. So, I dunno. Either I'm perfectly suited for grad school, or I'm DOOOOOOOOMED.
This is a good segue into something else I've been thinking about over the past couple of days. It should surprise no one that it only took about 4 hours for the excitement of being accepted into grad school to wear off and for panic to set in. (Lee refers to this as my very special ability to turn all good things - compliments, good news, candy, ponies - into bad things.) (What the hell does he know, anyway?) The point is: What if this was a terrible mistake? What if I do not have what it takes to be a PhD student? These people are obviously unaware of my Olympic-level procrastination skills. What if I get there and everyone is way smarter and more grown-up than me and I'm in statistics class and they ask me a question and I'm like, "Um... ketchup??" I checked the list of current PhD students, and there are several Asian* names, and I'm pretty sure you know what that means: no one is going to want to copy my homework anymore.
The silver lining to all this is that later, when I was googling "grad school success tips please don't let me fail oh god" I ran across an article about 'imposter syndrome', or the feeling that you're "fooling the world" about your abilities. This is apparently a condition that affects all graduate students and academics at some point or another. The way I see it, this is great news, because if my imposter syndrome is setting in so early on, then I must be way ahead of my peers. At this rate, I'll be writing books and coming up with new ground-breaking theories of social work by my second year of grad school. Take that, Asians!**
*I'm sorry, Asians, I mean no harm. I know that plenty of Asians don't know shit about math.
**But I'm sure the ones at this particular grad school are much, much smarter than me.
Oh, by the way, I started a twitter account, because it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. If you like, you can check it out here.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Oh by the way....
I forgot to mention that:
I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
I had just mailed my last application (out of 5, my God) when I got an email from the director of the program requesting that I set up time for her to call and talk to me. Then, yesterday, an hour after I got off the phone with her, I got an email saying that I GOT IN WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
(I hesitate to give any more details about the specific program, because I want to make sure it isn't some kind of hoax. But it's my first choice, so whatever happens from here til August, it's just icing on the cake.)
So now you know. Dreams do come true. You, too, can earn the prestigious right to spend 5 grueling years driving yourself crazy with academia. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
I had just mailed my last application (out of 5, my God) when I got an email from the director of the program requesting that I set up time for her to call and talk to me. Then, yesterday, an hour after I got off the phone with her, I got an email saying that I GOT IN WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
(I hesitate to give any more details about the specific program, because I want to make sure it isn't some kind of hoax. But it's my first choice, so whatever happens from here til August, it's just icing on the cake.)
So now you know. Dreams do come true. You, too, can earn the prestigious right to spend 5 grueling years driving yourself crazy with academia. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Update
Inexplicable crush on Ludacris continues unabated.
Continuing crush on Clive Owen remains totally explicable.
Final grad school application due February 15.
Continuing crush on Clive Owen remains totally explicable.
Final grad school application due February 15.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Whining
First things first: I take it back. Applying to a PhD program doesn't really sound all that fun, actually. Mostly it sounds like a big pain in the ass, especially when I already had everything all prepared to apply to the Master's program, and now I have to write a totally different "personal statement." I've probably already said this somewhere on the internet, but I loathe personal statements. I understand the reasoning behind them, but I hate them SO MUCH. One thing that comforts me about all this is the fact that, if I get into the PhD program, then I get 2 degrees (Master's and a PhD) for the price of one application process. And, by God, the idea of getting this all over with and never having to do it again makes my skin tingle with joy and anticipation. It makes me want to eat a whole package of oreos with a tall glass of whole-fat milk. It makes me want to make sweet love on the top level of my office's parking deck, in the rain, at midnight. It makes me want to buy a Vespa and ride it around town without a helmet. It makes me want to roll around naked in a pile of transcript copies, yelling my undergraduate GPA over and over again.
And all that? Is just at the thought of being finished with the applications. The things I would do if I actually got accepted somewhere are far too racy for the internet (which is saying a lot). Let me just free associate with you for a moment... powdered sugar, chocolate syrup, yard sprinklers, a West Highland Terrier, balloons, batteries, streamers, fire, Ludacris. But I've already said too much. All of this is just my way of telling you that I'm freaking out (again? YES.) about all this. I want to have this nonsense done and out of my hands by the end of the month, so that NEXT month, when people say, "Where are you going to grad school?" I can say, "Oh, I don't know, I applied to [some schools], and I'm just waiting to hear back." And then I can sigh the contented sigh of one who knows that later, she can go home and sit on her couch and read the internet while she watches House and not have to worry about a MOTHER-HUMPING* THING.
*Sorry about that, got a little carried away.
And all that? Is just at the thought of being finished with the applications. The things I would do if I actually got accepted somewhere are far too racy for the internet (which is saying a lot). Let me just free associate with you for a moment... powdered sugar, chocolate syrup, yard sprinklers, a West Highland Terrier, balloons, batteries, streamers, fire, Ludacris. But I've already said too much. All of this is just my way of telling you that I'm freaking out (again? YES.) about all this. I want to have this nonsense done and out of my hands by the end of the month, so that NEXT month, when people say, "Where are you going to grad school?" I can say, "Oh, I don't know, I applied to [some schools], and I'm just waiting to hear back." And then I can sigh the contented sigh of one who knows that later, she can go home and sit on her couch and read the internet while she watches House and not have to worry about a MOTHER-HUMPING* THING.
*Sorry about that, got a little carried away.
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