1. I have a friend who said if "Friends" were a black show, it would be called "Dawgs." Wassup, dawg? This is the same friend who subversively invented a writer on the spot to counter the cultish, must-be-in-the-know and must-be-serious mono-ethnic culture of "whiters" in a Creative Writing program. She dramatically rolled lemons across the long workshop table as she began to read a poem about lemons. Kidded me about an inappropriate and everlastingly embarrassing crush. Burn me, Kram, burn me. Other funny fragments of poems I remember: lemon tipped ears, made of your wax a thick brew, my fried pajamas, I'll rock you into, I put the cat back. She would walk through the quad collecting fall leaves listening to Al Green. I'm so tired of being alone, I'm so tired of on my own. Long-armed, hair-netted, cigarette-smoked ladies sizzling up melts and fries and serving them up to drunken stragglers in a 24-hour on-campus diner. Late-night giggling girls devouring the greasy fare, not caring if they were out of place. The same friend who knew it was me who wrote that letter to the editor of the campus newspaper about ignorant frat boys in the elevator at the library before she saw my name at the end because of my use of the word "guffaw." She used to high-five me for using SAT words. She rebuked the devil in a drawing to cheer me from absurd infatuation: a Spanish professor nearly thrice my age. Scolded a former suitor, claiming he had "coleslaw stained hands" (on this blog). Red Lobster Ultimate Feast. Discarded bowls of stiff Cream of Wheat and strewn sunflower seed shells. I once gave her some candied sunflower seeds and flavored massage oil (the least scandalous of my offerings) in front of church ladies at her wedding shower. She one-upped me when my time came, though. Good. An age old question, equal parts meta and hilarious: What if there were no hypothetical situations?
2. I have a friend who used to be my husband's Portuguese instructor before I knew he existed. She was my Portuguese instructor, too, from that class I audited that summer before I got lazy and stopped going. An English-language-learner story where I laughed myself to tears: In Brazil, when you order ice cream, the word to use for "scoop" is bola. So, if you wanted two scoops of ice cream? Dois bolas. Well, she learned that words don't always translate directly when she went into Ben and Jerry's and asked for "two balls." Two literature nerds and frequent tea drinkers on my green couch. Among many other things, I learned that my uncle looked like a samba singer she used to have a crush on. Later we drank tea long distance over Skype while we suffered through the academic job market wringer together. We laugh that we both ended up with dark-haired, introverted, bespectacled husbands. This city and this program and this 5-year chunk of my life? She's woven into it. A refreshing constant.
3. I have a friend who ended up committing his whole life to me. A shy guy wearing plaid, band tees and hoodies. Skater punk with freckles and a big heart. He used to be ashamed of being from a small town, couldn't wait to get out. But now he's proud of where he's from. That's what I remember him telling me on our second coffee date. He asked if I wanted to hear him play open mic downtown. Hipster coffee bar with a mini-stage. He plays left-handed, like Jimi Hendrix. My jaw dropped when I saw this shy guy transform into a passionate powerhouse from the first strum. I remember a particular week we spent every single day together. On the last day of that week, we bought guitar tuner batteries from Best Buy and kissed for the first time. Now, I know he likes the toilet paper roll over instead of under. Now, I make omelets for him that fall apart, but he doesn't care. Now, I see glimpses of him as a father. We still laugh about my response to a certain message he sent me on Facebook being nothing more than a single smiley face. I didn't want him to think I liked him.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Chapter 4 Procrastinatory Thoughts
1. We were at the library this past weekend, and there was this Asian guy with a red plaid shirt and khaki pants on who kept walking around and around the library. It was so weird. At about the 4th time he walked by I got super distracted and sort of obsessed with the whole thing and started excitedly texting P about it. (We were sitting in separate areas.) "Did you see this guy? He's just walking around and around the library! What is he doing??" Eventually, at about the 10th time (no lie), I started wondering if maybe there was something wrong with him. I texted P and asked if maybe we should ask if he's okay. The next time the guy walked around, P got up and approached him to ask if he was okay. A minute or so later, P came walking over with a grin on his face to tell me the guy said he had plugged his phone in and was waiting for it to charge and he didn't feel like staying in one place while he waited. Wut? Okay...it was so funny and weird. But then earlier this week, on our way out of the library, we saw him walking around again...wearing the SAME EXACT thing! And P told me he saw him again a day later...STILL wearing the same thing! So weird.
2. Yesterday was our 10-month anniversary. I had a meeting with someone at the department, and on my way back to my library jail cell, I heard P's voice so I stopped by his office to say hi. His office mates were in there, so he came out and chatted for a minute, then I asked him if I could announce to everyone that it was our 10-month anniversary. He was cool with it, so I said, "Hi, everyone, I have an announcement to make...today is our 10-month anniversary!" And everyone was like, "Awww, congratulations, you guys are so adorable," etc. But suddenly, it dawned on me that if I begin a statement with, "I have an announcement to make," one of the top assumptions is that I might be about to announce that I'm pregnant. This realization made me feel strangely powerful.
3. Today is St. Patrick's day and I've begun a tradition of wearing a particular lime green dress. My last name is now extremely Irish. I mean, Irish to the max, so I feel this faux-obligation to celebrate my newly-adopted Irish heritage. My husband on the other hand, freckled, red-bearded (when he grows it out) with a super Irish, holiday-appropriate middle name to boot, leaves out of the house fearlessly unadorned in green. I told him that he's not worried about getting pinched because he's one of the ones who commands the pinchers to do his bidding. He's immune to St. Patrick's day pinches by default just for existing. He's a tall undercover leprechaun.
I would surrender a kidney to the black market to get a dissertation-writing machine in my possession. Just hit the "finish" button and be done. Sigh...how did such a lazy girl get this far?
2. Yesterday was our 10-month anniversary. I had a meeting with someone at the department, and on my way back to my library jail cell, I heard P's voice so I stopped by his office to say hi. His office mates were in there, so he came out and chatted for a minute, then I asked him if I could announce to everyone that it was our 10-month anniversary. He was cool with it, so I said, "Hi, everyone, I have an announcement to make...today is our 10-month anniversary!" And everyone was like, "Awww, congratulations, you guys are so adorable," etc. But suddenly, it dawned on me that if I begin a statement with, "I have an announcement to make," one of the top assumptions is that I might be about to announce that I'm pregnant. This realization made me feel strangely powerful.
3. Today is St. Patrick's day and I've begun a tradition of wearing a particular lime green dress. My last name is now extremely Irish. I mean, Irish to the max, so I feel this faux-obligation to celebrate my newly-adopted Irish heritage. My husband on the other hand, freckled, red-bearded (when he grows it out) with a super Irish, holiday-appropriate middle name to boot, leaves out of the house fearlessly unadorned in green. I told him that he's not worried about getting pinched because he's one of the ones who commands the pinchers to do his bidding. He's immune to St. Patrick's day pinches by default just for existing. He's a tall undercover leprechaun.
I would surrender a kidney to the black market to get a dissertation-writing machine in my possession. Just hit the "finish" button and be done. Sigh...how did such a lazy girl get this far?
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Why I'm Feeling Bad Right Now or The Things I Hate
1. I feel like I'm not a good worker. I am not writing my dissertation. I am taking way too long to just finish. Why can't I just sit down and focus and write? I cannot stand how terribly I've procrastinated. It feels like every word I attempt to type is pure garbage. I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be done. I hate that I've put myself in this situation. It is 100% my own fault. I'm already not going to walk in a graduation ceremony. I feel like I don't deserve to walk in one anyway because of how much time I've thrown away, like I don't deserve to celebrate, and I utterly hate it.
2. I know I'm driving my husband crazy. If I were him, I would not want to be with me right now. This is what I hate the most because when I'm in my selfish little whining procrastinatory sad world, it sloshes all over him. I end up making him feel badly for no reason. No reason at all. It's what I hate the most about myself and it's what I desperately wish I could change the most. I really hate seeing other people negatively affected by me. My moods. My absurd ways of conceptualizing things. It's terrible and ridiculous, but it's what makes me feel like he would be better off without me. I hate that I allow this stupid thought to even enter my mind.
3. We're in a position to move together and we want to stay together. We don't want to do the long-distance academic couple thing. We just don't. And we don't have to. He'll be done with coursework and he doesn't have to finish his program on site. But since he's decided to move with me, what that means is that he'll no longer be on assistantship, which means that he'll no longer be a full-time student, which means he won't be eligible for certain grants/awards, which means that he'll be missing out on opportunities that he could benefit from academically and professionally. And it feels really unfair. And I hate it. I don't want to be separated. I don't want to be alone. But I don't want him to be disadvantaged, and I feel really badly about it. I know what he wants is for us to stay together and it's what I want, too. But if we have to sacrifice being together for him to have more opportunities that would help him in the long run...I hate that we're in this position.
4. Whenever I read things that are supposed to help people who have committed their careers to academia (i.e. The Chronicle of Higher Education), it makes me want to scream and cry. It makes me feel like I'm not cut out for this, that I don't have what it takes to be successful. My worst fear is that all of this time, all of this education, all of this dedication will be worth nothing. That it's all an exercise in futility. I almost don't care anymore. It was never my dream to get a PhD and ascend to the upper echelons of the ivory tower. That is not me. All I wanted was to have a satisfying job doing something I'm passionate about. Because what I thought I was passionate about doing before starting this program, at least the circumstances under which I was doing it, was not it. That is the only reason I did this. Because my last job was the job from hell, and I needed a ticket out. I'm being honest. I didn't start a PhD program because it was my dream. I started it because it was a way out. I'm not saying I regret doing this. It was where I needed to be at the time. I furthered my education, connected with a lot of wonderful people (including my husband!), and had great experiences. I don't regret it. But I am too old to be unstable and insecure in my career goals. I am too old to be "finding myself" and "figuring out my passions." That's what I hate. That continued sense of instability that I wanted to be done away with a long time ago.
5. I want to have a baby and I want to wait to have a baby at the same exact time in equal amounts. But I'm afraid to wait. I'm not getting any younger, and the very idea of fertility treatments makes me feel sick. When is the perfect time to have a baby? When is the perfect time to make any kind of change, any kind of life-altering decision? There isn't one. We don't have a perfect set of circumstances awaiting us at a perfectly appointed time in the indeterminate future. It just doesn't exist, and I wish I could rid my mind of that absurd idea. All we have is now. All we are given is today. And I have been terrible at being thankful for today, living in today, doing the best I can today. The one thing I obsess over is the one thing I have no control over: how things will play out in the future. It's a shameful waste of time and energy. It's a relationship-drainer. I know it, but I can't seem to help myself, and I absolutely hate it.
2. I know I'm driving my husband crazy. If I were him, I would not want to be with me right now. This is what I hate the most because when I'm in my selfish little whining procrastinatory sad world, it sloshes all over him. I end up making him feel badly for no reason. No reason at all. It's what I hate the most about myself and it's what I desperately wish I could change the most. I really hate seeing other people negatively affected by me. My moods. My absurd ways of conceptualizing things. It's terrible and ridiculous, but it's what makes me feel like he would be better off without me. I hate that I allow this stupid thought to even enter my mind.
3. We're in a position to move together and we want to stay together. We don't want to do the long-distance academic couple thing. We just don't. And we don't have to. He'll be done with coursework and he doesn't have to finish his program on site. But since he's decided to move with me, what that means is that he'll no longer be on assistantship, which means that he'll no longer be a full-time student, which means he won't be eligible for certain grants/awards, which means that he'll be missing out on opportunities that he could benefit from academically and professionally. And it feels really unfair. And I hate it. I don't want to be separated. I don't want to be alone. But I don't want him to be disadvantaged, and I feel really badly about it. I know what he wants is for us to stay together and it's what I want, too. But if we have to sacrifice being together for him to have more opportunities that would help him in the long run...I hate that we're in this position.
4. Whenever I read things that are supposed to help people who have committed their careers to academia (i.e. The Chronicle of Higher Education), it makes me want to scream and cry. It makes me feel like I'm not cut out for this, that I don't have what it takes to be successful. My worst fear is that all of this time, all of this education, all of this dedication will be worth nothing. That it's all an exercise in futility. I almost don't care anymore. It was never my dream to get a PhD and ascend to the upper echelons of the ivory tower. That is not me. All I wanted was to have a satisfying job doing something I'm passionate about. Because what I thought I was passionate about doing before starting this program, at least the circumstances under which I was doing it, was not it. That is the only reason I did this. Because my last job was the job from hell, and I needed a ticket out. I'm being honest. I didn't start a PhD program because it was my dream. I started it because it was a way out. I'm not saying I regret doing this. It was where I needed to be at the time. I furthered my education, connected with a lot of wonderful people (including my husband!), and had great experiences. I don't regret it. But I am too old to be unstable and insecure in my career goals. I am too old to be "finding myself" and "figuring out my passions." That's what I hate. That continued sense of instability that I wanted to be done away with a long time ago.
5. I want to have a baby and I want to wait to have a baby at the same exact time in equal amounts. But I'm afraid to wait. I'm not getting any younger, and the very idea of fertility treatments makes me feel sick. When is the perfect time to have a baby? When is the perfect time to make any kind of change, any kind of life-altering decision? There isn't one. We don't have a perfect set of circumstances awaiting us at a perfectly appointed time in the indeterminate future. It just doesn't exist, and I wish I could rid my mind of that absurd idea. All we have is now. All we are given is today. And I have been terrible at being thankful for today, living in today, doing the best I can today. The one thing I obsess over is the one thing I have no control over: how things will play out in the future. It's a shameful waste of time and energy. It's a relationship-drainer. I know it, but I can't seem to help myself, and I absolutely hate it.
Monday, March 07, 2016
Fly Away, Kentucky Bluebird
Something about sitting across from my husband trying to get work done in a coffee shop that prompts me to go into mind wandering mode.
We're spending the first part of our Spring Break ("break." Ha. More like week to work without teaching and going to class, which for me, is just a regular old week to work since I'm currently not teaching or taking classes) in our future temporary home base. I suppose I can say what state it's in without any weirdos who may read my blog that I don't know showing up at our front door. Kentucky. (No, we haven't had any fried chicken yet, either.)
We're looking at houses/apartments/townhomes, checking out churches, meeting with colleagues, doing all of these things that are somehow making me feel melancholy, because they are all signs of the one constant in all of our lives, the inevitable, change. Transition. Getting used to another way, another place, another social landscape, another mode, another set of responsibilities.
I'm happy. I am. We are blessed to have this opportunity. That I was offered a job. That P is finishing coursework so that we can stay together. Things have worked out for us so far, so what makes me think they won't continue to work out?
But I can't seem to get over these feelings of uncertainty and instability.
I was determined to finish my dissertation in time for a May graduation, but I think I'm going to push it back to the summer. I don't plan to spend the entire rest of my summer writing the blasted thing, but it'll give me time to wrap it up without feeling rushed. Here's the rub: My institution got rid of summer graduation ceremonies about a year or two ago, so that means that I won't walk. They allow summer graduates to walk in December, but by that time...nah. I'm honestly not bummed about it, but I'm afraid other people might be. Seriously, though, just finishing is going to be my celebration, on everything. If people want to get together with me to have a party or something, let's do it. But I'm not going to spend beaucoup money on robes and regalia and go through the whole pomp and circumstance of a graduation. Again. Lord, this would be graduation number 4.
And then there's ye olde baby on the brain. I wouldn't mind waiting. I really wouldn't. But I'm turning 34 this month. Even though I've thankfully inherited those amazing negroid genes that keep me from cracking (you know what they say...), they don't necessarily apply to the baby making apparatus. We're talking about going full utero starting in the fall. Which, fingers crossed, would translate into a little curly-haired bundle of joy next summer. Which would mean that I'd spend the better part of my new job as a knocked up bundle of raging hormones. Sigh.
My husband is a patient, loving man. Homeboy must love me forreal for real. I would have gotten tired of myself a long time ago and been like girl, if you start crying over inexplicable stuff one mo' gin... I'm trying to picture myself as a reasonable, sensible, kind man trying to figure out what to do while his high-strung wife is sitting there weeping as if someone just told her Nutella was a carcinogen. Ugh. Get it together, now. Put on your big girl panties. You can do it.
We're spending the first part of our Spring Break ("break." Ha. More like week to work without teaching and going to class, which for me, is just a regular old week to work since I'm currently not teaching or taking classes) in our future temporary home base. I suppose I can say what state it's in without any weirdos who may read my blog that I don't know showing up at our front door. Kentucky. (No, we haven't had any fried chicken yet, either.)
We're looking at houses/apartments/townhomes, checking out churches, meeting with colleagues, doing all of these things that are somehow making me feel melancholy, because they are all signs of the one constant in all of our lives, the inevitable, change. Transition. Getting used to another way, another place, another social landscape, another mode, another set of responsibilities.
I'm happy. I am. We are blessed to have this opportunity. That I was offered a job. That P is finishing coursework so that we can stay together. Things have worked out for us so far, so what makes me think they won't continue to work out?
But I can't seem to get over these feelings of uncertainty and instability.
I was determined to finish my dissertation in time for a May graduation, but I think I'm going to push it back to the summer. I don't plan to spend the entire rest of my summer writing the blasted thing, but it'll give me time to wrap it up without feeling rushed. Here's the rub: My institution got rid of summer graduation ceremonies about a year or two ago, so that means that I won't walk. They allow summer graduates to walk in December, but by that time...nah. I'm honestly not bummed about it, but I'm afraid other people might be. Seriously, though, just finishing is going to be my celebration, on everything. If people want to get together with me to have a party or something, let's do it. But I'm not going to spend beaucoup money on robes and regalia and go through the whole pomp and circumstance of a graduation. Again. Lord, this would be graduation number 4.
And then there's ye olde baby on the brain. I wouldn't mind waiting. I really wouldn't. But I'm turning 34 this month. Even though I've thankfully inherited those amazing negroid genes that keep me from cracking (you know what they say...), they don't necessarily apply to the baby making apparatus. We're talking about going full utero starting in the fall. Which, fingers crossed, would translate into a little curly-haired bundle of joy next summer. Which would mean that I'd spend the better part of my new job as a knocked up bundle of raging hormones. Sigh.
My husband is a patient, loving man. Homeboy must love me forreal for real. I would have gotten tired of myself a long time ago and been like girl, if you start crying over inexplicable stuff one mo' gin... I'm trying to picture myself as a reasonable, sensible, kind man trying to figure out what to do while his high-strung wife is sitting there weeping as if someone just told her Nutella was a carcinogen. Ugh. Get it together, now. Put on your big girl panties. You can do it.
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