- The greatest line ever written in comedy is, “It’s a general store, but it’s also a very specific store.” Thank you, Schitt’s Creek, for this gift.
- My Professional Writing students got a lecture today about hiring discrimination, because our last class ended with them deciding that it “made sense” that top law firms disproportionately hire upper-class men because they “fit well” with the clientele.
- On my way out of the coffee shop this morning, a women who was exiting at a comfortable distance behind me yelled at me to “Let me get out of your way!” She promptly closed the gap between us, wedged herself between me and the door, and let the door close in my face.
- This morning, I was in a thrift store and saw a Raggedy Andy for the first time since 1998. I cried.
- All of my sisters are getting married. Well, 2/5, but it feels like many more. Please enjoy the attached photo of us.
I am an emotionally underdeveloped graduate student. My stay-alive-even-though-i-have-little-to-live-for muscles have not developed the necessary scarring that comes from repeated tearing and healing over time. I went to get my Ph.D. too early. Each muscle tear feels like it’s going to kill me. But, unlike the Big Gym Boy™, I rest not. So, I walk around like a hungover Jack Skeleton. That’s anatomy for you.
I’ll probably die if I keep going like this, so I’ve decided to lay out my options. I will share them with you right now.
- Drop out and have a baby. The most reckless, but also most predictable option. Comes complete with distractions to keep my mind off having thrown away my girlhood dreams. Girlhood dreams return, 12-odd years later, in the form of burning resentment.
- Take a leave of absence. See also: drop out and have a baby.
- Get a post-bacc. I can make 11th graders call me “Dr.” while their parents and my colleagues talk shit about me and my high horse.
- Finish early. The option I picked six months ago, which I recently came to realize is MUCH, MUCH WORSE than you could have imagined. It’s just…just don’t. Just. Don’t. Because now, here I am, losing my GODDAMN mind and writing a BLOG about my FEELINGS and contemplating the relative merits of a future as a HIGH SCHOOL PRINCIPAL.
- Think about this later and open a goddamn book, you moron. No.
All very good options. I couldn’t possibly choose.
Like many a blogger before me, I have taken up the mantel so I can establish some regularity in my life. I considered adult tap dancing classes and, yes, kickboxing. My favorite fantasy is quitting my Ph.D program entirely.
But, I can’t do that. We just got a raise, so I’ve started giving my cat wet food once a day and she’s become too accustomed to stop now.
I can’t promise anything I write will be particularly uplifting. If you came here for #girlboss inspiration, I’ll stop writing so you can close out the tab without disrupting the rest of the class.
Like I was saying, I am merely here to work through my own stunted emotional development, having had my formative adult years stolen from me by a D1 state school with a Lacan problem. If you, too, feel unmoored and unhinged, I raise a glass to you. There’s nothing in it because, like I said, wet food. It’s symbolic.