First, how the hell did that happen? How did it get to be the end of the year? Oy. I'm telling you, the older I get the faster it goes. People in their 90's must just feel like they blink, and boom! Another year gone.
I'm a big believer in resolutions. Not the hokey kind that none of us ever have the intension of keeping, but the real kind that will make me a better person. Truly a better person. A better person, friend, daughter, sister, lover, girlfriend. This year I plan to work on being fearless. On living a fearless life. A wise man once said, "The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself." Sure he wasn't the first person to say it and he had oh, a few nations and several thousand troops standing behind him, but still. I get the meaning. Fear. What would we all accomplish and do if it wasn't such a big part of our lives? Would we have the courage to pursue our hopes and dreams, pursue a new career, the career we really want to pursue? Would we have the courage to say what we want to say to whomever and not worry about their response because, damn, it felt so good to be honest to them, honest to ourselves and how we felt no matter if it is god or bad, just fearless honesty.
Honesty isn't really something I have a problem with, but tact also needs to come into play sometimes, and well, I may be doing away with some of that. I mean, how many of us have been on a date and really wanted to end it hours before we actually did, because it was the polite thing to do? Or, when they asked us if we wouldn't mind going out again, we said, "sure" when we didn't mean that at all, it was just a knee-jerk response. I'll be honest, one of the most refreshing dating moments I've had recently was when I told the guy who was bad-mouthing his ex-wife, that I found it "incredibly unattractive and he was more bitter and cynical than he was giving himself credit for." God that felt great. Or simply been in the company of someone else, co-worker, stranger, and they are just being an idiot about what they're saying. We choose to ignore them and their statements instead of telling them to can it because we don't want to cause trouble, when really they are the ones being the ass.
Tuesday and Wednesday night I had two different dates. Nice enough men, both have asked me out for a second date and I would be glad to go out with either of them again. But, I'm not excited to go out with either of them again. The reason, because the person I wanted each of them to be was, Mr. London. When there was an awkward pause in the conversation, when there was an uncomfortable silence, when I was pulling teeth to try and get another topic on the table, and well simply in general I wanted to be sitting across from him, not them. Therefore, to be fair I need to tell Mr. London how I feel. It isn't fair to me not to.
Since before I was 18 I've wanted to move. I turned down chances to attend college in Atlanta and New York just to name two. Then it was because of family. Now, I keep telling myself it is because of work, honestly it's because of fear. I'm not afraid of finding a job, or a place to live, navigating my way around, but of being able to make friends. A good solid network of friends. Think of how many people you actually go out with, talk to, hang-out with, or who knows you and who you really are. What, maybe one or two out of how many? Think how long you've known that person and how long it took to get to that point. All of mine are right here and I've known Billy my whole adult life and Nick for a couple years. However, if something happens with my job and the proposal falls through, as I still haven't heard and won't for a few more months, then this gal is going to look for a job anywhere and everywhere and I'm going to see where this thing called, life takes me.
Those are just a few fears I hope to conquer this year. Mostly, I just want to learn how to live a fearless life and not have fear be anywhere on the radar. Not on the radar when it comes to seemingly simple everyday things and also when it comes to the bigger not so seemingly simple everyday things.
How about you?
..... and very happy 2007! Be careful out there on amateur night!!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Happy Merry Christmas!
...and to all a good night with someone to spoon!
Okay, so I know it's early, but I plan a boycott of my computer from 3:00 today until sometime next week. Not sure which day the boycott will end so I wanted to get my wishes for love, tenderness, adoration, heavy petting, and (*cough*) presents in today.
I hope it is everything, anything, all that, and then some, and in whatever shape or form you want it to be in, on the Big Day for all of you. Cause, I think you're all the most bestest!
As for myself, I plan to meet with my "mentor" tomorrow morning way too bright and way too early at 10 a.m. I called to remind him of our appointment mere hours ago and well, it was a good thing I did. Yeah, nothing like driving an hour to find...no one there...
Then I plan to boycott anything that has a keyboard and screen attached to it until...as yet to be determined.
I have a, stepping stone present project for the 'rents to finish up that is causing a large mess in my living room, a.k.a library, a.k.a art room a.k.a dining room right now that my vacuum will love and adore me for. Then I plan to leave the said art table up until way past the new year cause I plan to get down and dirty in the paint. (Yes, please take that in any way you wish.)
I have a couple drink dates next week. (I am NOT moving on from Mr. London. I'm just trying to be less cynical and checking out what's around the corner. Cause, who the hell knows. I mean, have you met me? Okay, so you haven't, but play along.)
I have a shitload of manuscripts ready to go to the publishers. C'mon, rejection letters.
I also have a, big ugly comfy couch with my name written all over it and lots of mindless TV coming my way.
Movies. Lots of movies and popcorn in my future, also.
Vodka. Can't forget my love for the fermented potatoes.
And a new year to ring in. Perferably with a man attatched to my lips (or other parts) when I do so.
Oh yeah. I guess I should have mentioned. I have the next several days (14 days (including the weekends), but whose counting?) off from work. And thank god for that, cause this Party Girl is tired. Tired, tired, tired. I am emotionally drained, brain fatigued, and way too cynical for my own perpetualy perky self right now. So, I need a break.
May you all enjoy yours and may Santa be kind to all of you. I've already sent him my, "Oh, please. Do I really need to explain all of that?" letter. I am hoping for understanding, but not forgiveness.
Okay, so I know it's early, but I plan a boycott of my computer from 3:00 today until sometime next week. Not sure which day the boycott will end so I wanted to get my wishes for love, tenderness, adoration, heavy petting, and (*cough*) presents in today.
I hope it is everything, anything, all that, and then some, and in whatever shape or form you want it to be in, on the Big Day for all of you. Cause, I think you're all the most bestest!
As for myself, I plan to meet with my "mentor" tomorrow morning way too bright and way too early at 10 a.m. I called to remind him of our appointment mere hours ago and well, it was a good thing I did. Yeah, nothing like driving an hour to find...no one there...
Then I plan to boycott anything that has a keyboard and screen attached to it until...as yet to be determined.
I have a, stepping stone present project for the 'rents to finish up that is causing a large mess in my living room, a.k.a library, a.k.a art room a.k.a dining room right now that my vacuum will love and adore me for. Then I plan to leave the said art table up until way past the new year cause I plan to get down and dirty in the paint. (Yes, please take that in any way you wish.)
I have a couple drink dates next week. (I am NOT moving on from Mr. London. I'm just trying to be less cynical and checking out what's around the corner. Cause, who the hell knows. I mean, have you met me? Okay, so you haven't, but play along.)
I have a shitload of manuscripts ready to go to the publishers. C'mon, rejection letters.
I also have a, big ugly comfy couch with my name written all over it and lots of mindless TV coming my way.
Movies. Lots of movies and popcorn in my future, also.
Vodka. Can't forget my love for the fermented potatoes.
And a new year to ring in. Perferably with a man attatched to my lips (or other parts) when I do so.
Oh yeah. I guess I should have mentioned. I have the next several days (14 days (including the weekends), but whose counting?) off from work. And thank god for that, cause this Party Girl is tired. Tired, tired, tired. I am emotionally drained, brain fatigued, and way too cynical for my own perpetualy perky self right now. So, I need a break.
May you all enjoy yours and may Santa be kind to all of you. I've already sent him my, "Oh, please. Do I really need to explain all of that?" letter. I am hoping for understanding, but not forgiveness.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
I said, call me Betty!
I was going to write about "Apocolypto" and how it was a decent movie. How the over- all meaning was good and deep. How materialism and conspicuous consumption destroys a civilization. (Hello, America??) How humanity and revenge will kill a nation, a civiliation. How when the credits rolled I said very audibly, "Good Lord, I'm exhausted." Turning to my girlfriend, "I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner, but I could seriously throw-up right now." Seriously. Lots o' blood. But, that's not any fun. I was way too cynical today. Then I went and saw a bloody movie and well, I'm all happy and hyper, so I called Billy. I thought I would relay the convo. In case you haven't figured it out by now, all of our conversations take place through laughter and I'm pretty sure there are hyenas looking for their mate when we're on the phone.
The conversation started by Billy telling me he got a phone call from a guy he hasn't heard or seen from in 20 years. The guy clearly had alternative motives when he called Billy. Billy wasn't up for it. Why? Because it was after 9 p.m.
PG: Jesus, you are so old.
Billy: I know. 8:59 I would have been all for it. 9, no good. Can't leave the house. I can't leave the house for a geriatric booty-call.
PG: Cause ya got your rollers in? Blowing your nails dry? Have your white bathrobe pulled up to your chin and your face is slathered with cold cream?
Billy: Yes. And call me Betty.
PG: So sad. This is like when I told you I had a date to go bowling and you were excited about the possibility of the bowling alley food. You went on and on about the greasy cheeseburger, pitcher of beer, and cheese balls. And my response was, "...I don't think I would be up for sex after all of that. Jesus. Talk about bloaty and farty. Yeah. No, sex. I can't have, bloaty-after-bowling-sex." And your response was, "Oh, I wasn't even thinking about sex." Which was a clear testament to where your life is right now.
Billy: Oh, yeah. Forgot all about that. Yeah. Sad. It's funnier the second time around though.
Then somehow the conversation merged over to strap-ons. I have no idea how. Or why.
PG: God. I could so get into that. Maybe not in terms of a relationship, but definitely for one night. Oh yeah. (...and drift off into visual...)
Billy: Really. Well, there is a long cold winter coming up.
PG: Oh, yeah. I could SO get out some of my aggression...
Billy: Oh. No. I'm not down for that...
PG: Call me Betty! Call me Betty! I don't care that it's not my name! I said, say it!
Billy: The visual I have right now....
PG: ...Are you on all fours and am I smacking your ass with a riding crop and are you calling me Betty?
Billy: No.
PG: Hmm, well in my head you are. And you like it.
(Side note: My phone makes weird quiefing sounds. It makes this really high-pitched pussy farting noise every now and again and usually when I'm on the phone with Billy.)
PG: I said to call me Betty!! Mistress Betty! I said, quief, bitch. Squeeze out another quief!! Squeeze it out! Squeeze it! Do it! I said, do it! Hey, how do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. "I" before..
PG: "I" before what, "Q-U"? That's a grammar lesson I missed out on.
Billy: Betty.
PG: Martha. I said, "Quief, bitch."
Billy: Is this going to go on your blog?
PG: What do you think? "Apocolypto" or this. Yeah, tough.
Half an hour later...
PG: Hey. How do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. Why? Are you writin' something?
PG: Uh-huh.
Billy: That's a conversation starter. "How do you spell, quief? There wassn't even a, 'hello.'
PG: I said, call me, Betty. Now, quief!
The conversation started by Billy telling me he got a phone call from a guy he hasn't heard or seen from in 20 years. The guy clearly had alternative motives when he called Billy. Billy wasn't up for it. Why? Because it was after 9 p.m.
PG: Jesus, you are so old.
Billy: I know. 8:59 I would have been all for it. 9, no good. Can't leave the house. I can't leave the house for a geriatric booty-call.
PG: Cause ya got your rollers in? Blowing your nails dry? Have your white bathrobe pulled up to your chin and your face is slathered with cold cream?
Billy: Yes. And call me Betty.
PG: So sad. This is like when I told you I had a date to go bowling and you were excited about the possibility of the bowling alley food. You went on and on about the greasy cheeseburger, pitcher of beer, and cheese balls. And my response was, "...I don't think I would be up for sex after all of that. Jesus. Talk about bloaty and farty. Yeah. No, sex. I can't have, bloaty-after-bowling-sex." And your response was, "Oh, I wasn't even thinking about sex." Which was a clear testament to where your life is right now.
Billy: Oh, yeah. Forgot all about that. Yeah. Sad. It's funnier the second time around though.
Then somehow the conversation merged over to strap-ons. I have no idea how. Or why.
PG: God. I could so get into that. Maybe not in terms of a relationship, but definitely for one night. Oh yeah. (...and drift off into visual...)
Billy: Really. Well, there is a long cold winter coming up.
PG: Oh, yeah. I could SO get out some of my aggression...
Billy: Oh. No. I'm not down for that...
PG: Call me Betty! Call me Betty! I don't care that it's not my name! I said, say it!
Billy: The visual I have right now....
PG: ...Are you on all fours and am I smacking your ass with a riding crop and are you calling me Betty?
Billy: No.
PG: Hmm, well in my head you are. And you like it.
(Side note: My phone makes weird quiefing sounds. It makes this really high-pitched pussy farting noise every now and again and usually when I'm on the phone with Billy.)
PG: I said to call me Betty!! Mistress Betty! I said, quief, bitch. Squeeze out another quief!! Squeeze it out! Squeeze it! Do it! I said, do it! Hey, how do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. "I" before..
PG: "I" before what, "Q-U"? That's a grammar lesson I missed out on.
Billy: Betty.
PG: Martha. I said, "Quief, bitch."
Billy: Is this going to go on your blog?
PG: What do you think? "Apocolypto" or this. Yeah, tough.
Half an hour later...
PG: Hey. How do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. Why? Are you writin' something?
PG: Uh-huh.
Billy: That's a conversation starter. "How do you spell, quief? There wassn't even a, 'hello.'
PG: I said, call me, Betty. Now, quief!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
I dust myself off, pick myself up, and get on with life
First, thanks to all. You all are the most bestest!
Second, being a 32 year-old Party Girl, well I don't dilly or dally and I don't waddle for very long. I pick myself up, dust off, and get on with life, cause it's short. Very, very short.
Last week I discovered that I tend to cycle through the stages of grief very quickly. What are there, 7 or 9 stages? Yeah, I went through all of them in a matter of two hours on Monday and Thursday in terms of the thesis. (Fucktard, mentor.) It took me a little longer in terms of Mr. London, but hey, I'm allowed.
I cried all day...all-day... on Friday. Ah, cathartic. Saturday I hit the shopping with The Mom and well, it was good to get out of the house. Saturday night I hit the bottle of wine. (I only had half a bottle. I think that deserves a prize.) Sunday I painted a large canvas, which felt so awesome. I haven't had the time to do anything creative since the summer. Yesterday, I was sort of blah, but I went to see, "In the Pursuit of Happyness." Very good. I recommened it. (Popcorn was dee-lish.) Then I hit the workout, and I painted some more. Ahhhhhh.
Some thoughts:
First, (I'm all about my points today.) Perhaps he didn't ask me to go to London with him for a few reasons:
He knows I have my own life here. He knows I'm waiting to here about my job and I'm going to be applying to grad schools within the next year. Perhaps he thinks it would be selfish of him to ask me to pick-up and leave; to uproot my whole life just for him. It's actually pretty considerate.
Second: We haven't known each other that long.
Third: He is going to be major swamped between now and April. How much time is he going to devote to me? If he asked me to go with him and then we can only see each other once a week or something, how fair is that to either of us? And then on top of it he has asked me to move half-way around the world, but can't see me here?
Fourth: who the hell knows what will happen between now and April. If my past and present is any indication, my life is just complete random randomness. I try to live a good life. I truly believe in karma. I try to live on the good side of karma. Who knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in four months.
I do know I plan to keep him in my life because yes, that's just how I roll.
I also think perhaps the reason I met him was because I always, always fall for the wrong man. Always. The one who makes all the promises, but has no follow-through. The one who says all the things I want to hear, butdoesn't mean any of them. Just a day of rememberance, some highlights this year there has been: Out-of-Towner, The Dick (the guy who was married, but failed to inform me of that.) The guy who smoked pot everyday. The guy who talked horribly about his ex-wife. And on and on and on.... So, maybe he is just to prove to me that I can fall for a good man.
Perhaps I don't need to over think it and just enjoy it and see where life takes me. I truly plan to enjoy the ride.
Another update: Over the weekend, out of nowhere, two guys who I meet previously, but it didn't go any where because my schedule sucked big hairy donkey balls, well, they emailed me over the weekend. They just wanted to say, hello and to see what I've been up to, and would I like to get together some time.
I'm not saying I'm moving on. I'm not saying, Mr. London is out of my heart. I'm simply saying, life is funny and you never know what's going to be around the corner. I'm looking forward to see what awaits.
Second, being a 32 year-old Party Girl, well I don't dilly or dally and I don't waddle for very long. I pick myself up, dust off, and get on with life, cause it's short. Very, very short.
Last week I discovered that I tend to cycle through the stages of grief very quickly. What are there, 7 or 9 stages? Yeah, I went through all of them in a matter of two hours on Monday and Thursday in terms of the thesis. (Fucktard, mentor.) It took me a little longer in terms of Mr. London, but hey, I'm allowed.
I cried all day...all-day... on Friday. Ah, cathartic. Saturday I hit the shopping with The Mom and well, it was good to get out of the house. Saturday night I hit the bottle of wine. (I only had half a bottle. I think that deserves a prize.) Sunday I painted a large canvas, which felt so awesome. I haven't had the time to do anything creative since the summer. Yesterday, I was sort of blah, but I went to see, "In the Pursuit of Happyness." Very good. I recommened it. (Popcorn was dee-lish.) Then I hit the workout, and I painted some more. Ahhhhhh.
Some thoughts:
First, (I'm all about my points today.) Perhaps he didn't ask me to go to London with him for a few reasons:
He knows I have my own life here. He knows I'm waiting to here about my job and I'm going to be applying to grad schools within the next year. Perhaps he thinks it would be selfish of him to ask me to pick-up and leave; to uproot my whole life just for him. It's actually pretty considerate.
Second: We haven't known each other that long.
Third: He is going to be major swamped between now and April. How much time is he going to devote to me? If he asked me to go with him and then we can only see each other once a week or something, how fair is that to either of us? And then on top of it he has asked me to move half-way around the world, but can't see me here?
Fourth: who the hell knows what will happen between now and April. If my past and present is any indication, my life is just complete random randomness. I try to live a good life. I truly believe in karma. I try to live on the good side of karma. Who knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in four months.
I do know I plan to keep him in my life because yes, that's just how I roll.
I also think perhaps the reason I met him was because I always, always fall for the wrong man. Always. The one who makes all the promises, but has no follow-through. The one who says all the things I want to hear, butdoesn't mean any of them. Just a day of rememberance, some highlights this year there has been: Out-of-Towner, The Dick (the guy who was married, but failed to inform me of that.) The guy who smoked pot everyday. The guy who talked horribly about his ex-wife. And on and on and on.... So, maybe he is just to prove to me that I can fall for a good man.
Perhaps I don't need to over think it and just enjoy it and see where life takes me. I truly plan to enjoy the ride.
Another update: Over the weekend, out of nowhere, two guys who I meet previously, but it didn't go any where because my schedule sucked big hairy donkey balls, well, they emailed me over the weekend. They just wanted to say, hello and to see what I've been up to, and would I like to get together some time.
I'm not saying I'm moving on. I'm not saying, Mr. London is out of my heart. I'm simply saying, life is funny and you never know what's going to be around the corner. I'm looking forward to see what awaits.
Friday, December 15, 2006
life is funny- in a not so hilarious way
Life and how it unfolds is also all about timing. I always seem to be on the wrong time. I always seem to be running about 15 minutes late.
This is an update on my love life and also on my thesis. The thesis part will be short.
Okay, so I haven't been talking about my love life recently and here's why, because it has been going too well to write about. I didn't want to talk or write about it because truly, wow. I met the most wonderful man (notice, not a guy) a little over six weeks ago. He is: smart, funny, successful, a blast to be around, a laugh a minute, he has follow-through and doesn't play games. He actively listens and asks questions, he knows how to carry on a conversation and talks with me for hours about everything and anything. He's easy to be with. Completely opposite in the way I think, he's a left, I'm a right brainer, but it doesn't matter. This relationship is like breathing, so easy, don't need to think about it, it just is. I am totally myself. I'm not trying to jinx it, ruin it, or fuck it up in any way, shape or form. I truly, truly enjoy being with this man. On top of all of that he absolutely repects me and he isn't trying to simply get me into bed, fuck me, and kick me out, he actually really wants to get to know me. Me, as a whole person. Wow. Yeah, girl moment. Color me so impressed, and twitterpatted.
Over Turkey Day week he went to London and Barcelona to give a talk on alternative fuel resources (yeah, he's like super extra mega smart. Whole, PhD, 32 years old, works at local Big State University as a researcher) As a result of this talk, last week he was offered a job at King's College. That's in London. This week he accepted the job and he will be moving to London at the end of April.
Last night we broke up. Why did we break up? Because he doesn't want to lead me on. He doesn't want to fall for me even more. He doesn't want me to get hurt. He doesn't want to be the jerk. He wants me to be a priority, as I should be, but he knows I won't be in the next months. He knows I will get pushed to the side and that's not fair. Not fair to me. Not fair to him because he knows he'll fall for me even more.
I said, "I am truly, truly happy for you. I really am. But, I am also sad for me."
To which he responded, "Yeah. Exactly."
"Life it's all about timing."
"Yeah. Timing."
We agreed to still be friends and keep hanging out with each other in the next months. As friends.
Of course.
As much as I hope and want that to happen, I don't know that I can.
Here's my girl moment: I think you all know me well enough to know how I am in terms of love, relationships, and men. I'm cynical. I am guarded. I've been hurt. I've been lied to and cheated on. I've been chewed up and spit out. When things are going well I will, and have, always fucked it up (on purpose) in some way. I don't fall. I don't become smitten. I am not the girl who goes all girl about a guy.
But, see, here's the thing, he's not a guy. He's a man. A true gentleman. I would absolutely, without hesitation, pick up and move. Move to London. Move half way around the world to be with him. I know, I know. Trust me, I know. But, it's true. If he asked me to move with him, I absolutely would move. Completely and totally irrational makes not a lick of sense, but I can't articulate how calm it makes me. How completely sane it sounds and seems to me.
So, last night as I closed the door behind him, and I really didn't want to close the door. To close it behind him. Because as soon as a door is closed, it's closed. Who knows when and how it will be reopened. If that person will ever appear on the other side again. As soon as the door was shut, I placed my hands on the door and with my forehead against the painted wood, even before I had a chance to bolt the locks, the tears started. They continued well past the point of being in bed and they started as soon as my alarm went off this morning. They've continued since I've been at work. (I knew mascara and contacts were a mistake today.) I'm sure they will flow freely, today.
Timing.
Yeah.
Timing.
Maybe he was supposed to come into my life to let me know there are good men out there. That I can be open and myself and I don't have to be gaurded, I can just be.
Maybe he came into my life to tell me I need to move. Not to London, but when I am finished with school in May I need to forget about this place and pick up and leave. Somwhere, anywhere, but move. I've always thought and known that my personality is too big for this place.
Maybe I don't know why yet.
(Exhale....)
Thesis update: Monday 12/11. I was to defend my thesis at 3:40. My "mentor" called me at 9:45 to tell me it wouldn't pass and it was disorganized. I need to take an incomplete and if I want, he will have another mentor work with me and he is now willing to meet me half way, ect. (Recall that I asked for an incomplete and the week before my thesis was, "good, very good")
Tues 12/12, I leave a message stating I want a new mentor.
Thurs 12/14 He calls me at 1:30 to tell me no one is will to work with me (pause) because of the holiday and winter break. (yeah, thinking he could have put that sentence in front of the other one.) Everyone has now read it and it is, "disorganized, rambling and I don't know how to construct a sentence and my use of grammar is very poor." He is willing to meet me at his office on 12/23 at 10 a.m. to help me on this.
I apologize to everyone who reads this blog for any rambling and disorganization that I have in my posts. I will try to have a better grasp of the English language, soon.
I also guess all of the "A's" I've recieved, as well as being published, as well as the praise I've received over the years, all crap.
Wow, way to kick me. Yesterday I lost all faith in myself. I was going to send several pieces out to the publishers yesterday and I couldn't bring myself to do it, not after I spoke with him. I completely doubted my ability to write. How dare he. Then I had another instructor look at it and she thinks because my page 3 and 4 are weak they then didn't read any further because she doesn't see what he means. So, by last night I was over that. I'll work on it next week and kick it out of the ballpark.
So, broken hearted and doubted myself, my writing, and my education. How was your Thursday?
This is an update on my love life and also on my thesis. The thesis part will be short.
Okay, so I haven't been talking about my love life recently and here's why, because it has been going too well to write about. I didn't want to talk or write about it because truly, wow. I met the most wonderful man (notice, not a guy) a little over six weeks ago. He is: smart, funny, successful, a blast to be around, a laugh a minute, he has follow-through and doesn't play games. He actively listens and asks questions, he knows how to carry on a conversation and talks with me for hours about everything and anything. He's easy to be with. Completely opposite in the way I think, he's a left, I'm a right brainer, but it doesn't matter. This relationship is like breathing, so easy, don't need to think about it, it just is. I am totally myself. I'm not trying to jinx it, ruin it, or fuck it up in any way, shape or form. I truly, truly enjoy being with this man. On top of all of that he absolutely repects me and he isn't trying to simply get me into bed, fuck me, and kick me out, he actually really wants to get to know me. Me, as a whole person. Wow. Yeah, girl moment. Color me so impressed, and twitterpatted.
Over Turkey Day week he went to London and Barcelona to give a talk on alternative fuel resources (yeah, he's like super extra mega smart. Whole, PhD, 32 years old, works at local Big State University as a researcher) As a result of this talk, last week he was offered a job at King's College. That's in London. This week he accepted the job and he will be moving to London at the end of April.
Last night we broke up. Why did we break up? Because he doesn't want to lead me on. He doesn't want to fall for me even more. He doesn't want me to get hurt. He doesn't want to be the jerk. He wants me to be a priority, as I should be, but he knows I won't be in the next months. He knows I will get pushed to the side and that's not fair. Not fair to me. Not fair to him because he knows he'll fall for me even more.
I said, "I am truly, truly happy for you. I really am. But, I am also sad for me."
To which he responded, "Yeah. Exactly."
"Life it's all about timing."
"Yeah. Timing."
We agreed to still be friends and keep hanging out with each other in the next months. As friends.
Of course.
As much as I hope and want that to happen, I don't know that I can.
Here's my girl moment: I think you all know me well enough to know how I am in terms of love, relationships, and men. I'm cynical. I am guarded. I've been hurt. I've been lied to and cheated on. I've been chewed up and spit out. When things are going well I will, and have, always fucked it up (on purpose) in some way. I don't fall. I don't become smitten. I am not the girl who goes all girl about a guy.
But, see, here's the thing, he's not a guy. He's a man. A true gentleman. I would absolutely, without hesitation, pick up and move. Move to London. Move half way around the world to be with him. I know, I know. Trust me, I know. But, it's true. If he asked me to move with him, I absolutely would move. Completely and totally irrational makes not a lick of sense, but I can't articulate how calm it makes me. How completely sane it sounds and seems to me.
So, last night as I closed the door behind him, and I really didn't want to close the door. To close it behind him. Because as soon as a door is closed, it's closed. Who knows when and how it will be reopened. If that person will ever appear on the other side again. As soon as the door was shut, I placed my hands on the door and with my forehead against the painted wood, even before I had a chance to bolt the locks, the tears started. They continued well past the point of being in bed and they started as soon as my alarm went off this morning. They've continued since I've been at work. (I knew mascara and contacts were a mistake today.) I'm sure they will flow freely, today.
Timing.
Yeah.
Timing.
Maybe he was supposed to come into my life to let me know there are good men out there. That I can be open and myself and I don't have to be gaurded, I can just be.
Maybe he came into my life to tell me I need to move. Not to London, but when I am finished with school in May I need to forget about this place and pick up and leave. Somwhere, anywhere, but move. I've always thought and known that my personality is too big for this place.
Maybe I don't know why yet.
(Exhale....)
Thesis update: Monday 12/11. I was to defend my thesis at 3:40. My "mentor" called me at 9:45 to tell me it wouldn't pass and it was disorganized. I need to take an incomplete and if I want, he will have another mentor work with me and he is now willing to meet me half way, ect. (Recall that I asked for an incomplete and the week before my thesis was, "good, very good")
Tues 12/12, I leave a message stating I want a new mentor.
Thurs 12/14 He calls me at 1:30 to tell me no one is will to work with me (pause) because of the holiday and winter break. (yeah, thinking he could have put that sentence in front of the other one.) Everyone has now read it and it is, "disorganized, rambling and I don't know how to construct a sentence and my use of grammar is very poor." He is willing to meet me at his office on 12/23 at 10 a.m. to help me on this.
I apologize to everyone who reads this blog for any rambling and disorganization that I have in my posts. I will try to have a better grasp of the English language, soon.
I also guess all of the "A's" I've recieved, as well as being published, as well as the praise I've received over the years, all crap.
Wow, way to kick me. Yesterday I lost all faith in myself. I was going to send several pieces out to the publishers yesterday and I couldn't bring myself to do it, not after I spoke with him. I completely doubted my ability to write. How dare he. Then I had another instructor look at it and she thinks because my page 3 and 4 are weak they then didn't read any further because she doesn't see what he means. So, by last night I was over that. I'll work on it next week and kick it out of the ballpark.
So, broken hearted and doubted myself, my writing, and my education. How was your Thursday?
Thursday, December 14, 2006
word origins: "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye"
I LOVE this one:
The saying, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye" is from ancient Rome. The only rule during wrestling matches was no eye gouging. Everything else was allowed, but the only way to be disqualified was to poke someone's eyes out. (Yaou-za!)
(Or, if you get a Red Rider BB Gun then you'll shot your eye out. Had to add that one)
The saying, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye" is from ancient Rome. The only rule during wrestling matches was no eye gouging. Everything else was allowed, but the only way to be disqualified was to poke someone's eyes out. (Yaou-za!)
(Or, if you get a Red Rider BB Gun then you'll shot your eye out. Had to add that one)
inner dork: Satan, The Devil, Beelzebub, Lucifer
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, sinister isn't it?
Have you ever wondered what the difference between, Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, and Lucifer are? No? Well, dammit I have and now I have the answer.
So, did you know....
Satan is the name of God's archenemy in Judaism and Christianity. In Jewish tradition, God did not create this evil being; in Christian tradition, God did. The word frequently means "accuser."
The Old Testament doesn't mention his fall from heaven. In the New Testament, post-fall and proper name now instated, he tried to tempt Jesus into worshipping him and cements his reputation as the personification of evil. (Ta dah!)
The Devil: The one title that comes with a "the" (sounds so important, doesn't it?) is regarded in the Judeo-Christian scheme as a fallen angel. According to Christianity, the Devil tries to lead humans astray from the path toward redemption. The Devil has several meanings including, "adversary" and "slanderer."
Beelzebub: This one first appears in the Old Testament as a Phillistine god in the city of Ekron, southwest of Jerusalem. In Hebrew, the word means "lord of the flies" (yep, just like the book.) By the New Testament, he has in effect merged with the concept of Satan and evolved into the aforementioned Prince of Devils or Prince of Demons.
Lucifer: Lucifer is Latin for "light bearer" or "morning star" (not very sinister sounding, is it? More like hippy children if you ask me.) When the Bible was being translated into Latin, early Christians interpreted a passage from babylonian cuneiform mentioning "Lucifer" as the story of Satan, an angel in high standing who rebelled against God and was tossed from heaven to hell, where he became leader of the demons (cue scary music.)
Class dismissed. Now, go pray.
Have you ever wondered what the difference between, Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, and Lucifer are? No? Well, dammit I have and now I have the answer.
So, did you know....
Satan is the name of God's archenemy in Judaism and Christianity. In Jewish tradition, God did not create this evil being; in Christian tradition, God did. The word frequently means "accuser."
The Old Testament doesn't mention his fall from heaven. In the New Testament, post-fall and proper name now instated, he tried to tempt Jesus into worshipping him and cements his reputation as the personification of evil. (Ta dah!)
The Devil: The one title that comes with a "the" (sounds so important, doesn't it?) is regarded in the Judeo-Christian scheme as a fallen angel. According to Christianity, the Devil tries to lead humans astray from the path toward redemption. The Devil has several meanings including, "adversary" and "slanderer."
Beelzebub: This one first appears in the Old Testament as a Phillistine god in the city of Ekron, southwest of Jerusalem. In Hebrew, the word means "lord of the flies" (yep, just like the book.) By the New Testament, he has in effect merged with the concept of Satan and evolved into the aforementioned Prince of Devils or Prince of Demons.
Lucifer: Lucifer is Latin for "light bearer" or "morning star" (not very sinister sounding, is it? More like hippy children if you ask me.) When the Bible was being translated into Latin, early Christians interpreted a passage from babylonian cuneiform mentioning "Lucifer" as the story of Satan, an angel in high standing who rebelled against God and was tossed from heaven to hell, where he became leader of the demons (cue scary music.)
Class dismissed. Now, go pray.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
just sayin'
I think at the next departmental meeting when they ask, "Does anyone have anything else they want to bring up?"
I'm going to suggest casual sex Fridays.
Whatcha think?
I'm going to suggest casual sex Fridays.
Whatcha think?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
inner dork: hodge-podge
Oh, I do love a good dorking. Today's category: is a complete hodge-podge of things.
Did you know....
The practice of exchanging presents at Christmas started with the Romans.
(And God bless. Wait..that's not right..)
According to ceremonial customs of Orthodox Judaism, it is officially sundown when a person cannot tell the difference between a black thread and a red thread.
(Okay, don't know about you all, but for me the diffrence can be between wearing my glasses and not wearing my glasses, regardless of where the sun is.)
Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.
(I will remember that the next time I eat corn on the cob.)
NERF, as in the football, doesn't actually stand for anything.
(Really? Not even on the purple footballs? Even when they are soaked with water??)
One ragweed plant can release as many as one billion grains of pollen.
(And I feel every. single. one.)
Rats can't vomit.
(Yeah. I don't know. I just thought it was funny. I mean, did it even occur to you that they couldn't?)
The average raindrop falls at 7 MPH
(So, when one hits you on the top of the head and you say, Ouch! now you don't have to feel like a sissy.)
Organized crime accounts for an estimated 10% of the United States national income.
(That is one hell of a garbage business. I'm just sayin'.)
The sale of vodka makes up 10% of Russian government income.
(..and it takes 10% of mine.)
Did you know....
The practice of exchanging presents at Christmas started with the Romans.
(And God bless. Wait..that's not right..)
According to ceremonial customs of Orthodox Judaism, it is officially sundown when a person cannot tell the difference between a black thread and a red thread.
(Okay, don't know about you all, but for me the diffrence can be between wearing my glasses and not wearing my glasses, regardless of where the sun is.)
Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.
(I will remember that the next time I eat corn on the cob.)
NERF, as in the football, doesn't actually stand for anything.
(Really? Not even on the purple footballs? Even when they are soaked with water??)
One ragweed plant can release as many as one billion grains of pollen.
(And I feel every. single. one.)
Rats can't vomit.
(Yeah. I don't know. I just thought it was funny. I mean, did it even occur to you that they couldn't?)
The average raindrop falls at 7 MPH
(So, when one hits you on the top of the head and you say, Ouch! now you don't have to feel like a sissy.)
Organized crime accounts for an estimated 10% of the United States national income.
(That is one hell of a garbage business. I'm just sayin'.)
The sale of vodka makes up 10% of Russian government income.
(..and it takes 10% of mine.)
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
and now the rest of the story
... thesis has been finished.
I sent the final draft at 3:15 yesterday.
Here's why I was so stressed. It had nothing to do with the topic. It had nothing to do with the page requirement. It had everything to do with the fact that I was supposed to be able to pick the mentor of my choosing and have help all through the process. I didn't have any of that. I did the thesis completely and totally on my own. No help.
It started back in September. Email from the head of the English department at Big Name Private College. I was hoping to be able to do a creative project, but no can do. No, problem. I pull a topic out of my ass. "The American Dream in terms of: The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, and Tortilla Curtain." Eh, not bad. Not great, but not bad. I wasn't willing to dive into books I hadn't already read. These I have read to death.
I then go on the, great white futile search for a mentor. See, I've been doing night classes at satellite locations and 99.9% of my professors have been adjuncts. The only full-time person I know, I didn't care for. (This past summer. She missed two weeks out of a five week course. Yeah. That was worth the $1,000.) So, I go with my favorite adjunct instructor. Nick beat me to the punch by literally five minutes. Damn, gay. So, can't have her. I go with option number two, he already has four students and can't take on a fifth. K. I go with option number three. Contemp. lit isn't her dilly-yo. K. Choice four....repeat until you get to six. See. I had nothing...absolutely nothing..to go on in terms of which door I should pick because I didn't know jack or shit about any of these people. Never met any of them. Never taken a class with any of them they also know nothing about me. At this point we're already almost two weeks into it and I'm still without a mentor. I call the dept. head and he tells me, "I'm an Americanist, so I'd be a good choice."
K.
What the hell is an, Americanist? Am I an Americanist, because you know, I'm an American?
Anyway. Finally have a mentor. My sixth choice, but I finally have one. I tell him my paper topic. I'm told, "It's okay, yet fairly obvious." I take out, "Death of a Salesman" and tell him how I am going to proceed. I'm not doing some lame-ass character analysis or anything like that. I'm going to do it in terms of how futile the American Dream is and how it's gone from being about substance and family to being about materialism and how ultimately the Dream consumes a person and can kill them. He likes it. Yay! me.
I proceed to meet all deadlines. However, I'm supposed to meet with my mentor throughout this whole process. I email him to see about getting together. I give him my schedule: work full-time and part-time, taking 16 credits, I work until 5:30 every night and I live 80 miles away from the main campus. Could we meet somewhere half-way or on a Saturday as it would be after 7pm by the time I would be able to meet?
Nope. He wasn't willing to meet half-way. He wasn't willing to meet on a Saturday.
K.
We agreed we would just do this through email and phone.
K.
I meet all deadlines for outlines, sources using, ect.
Then October 10th happened. That was the day I discovered I was in the wrong class, (the Java class) and the class I need to be in won't be offered until Feb. So, I am no longer graduating in December. Or, next week, however, I want to look at it. All ambition, drive, gritted teeth determination, going on all cylinders on six hours of sleep, perpetually perkiness, always optimistic, yet slightly cynical went completely to hell. I was now beyond stressed as this completely screwed everything up. Grad school had to be delayed, getting another part-time job was now going to be virtually impossible, my life was going to have to be put on hold...again, and I had to magically whip $1,000 out of my pretty little boh-tay, and my, "I totally rock and kick-ass because I managed to complete four years of college in two, but more importantly, I just kick-ass," trip to Greece wasn't going to happen. Therefore, I was tired. Tired, stressed, bitter, and my cynical level was at an all new high. Oh, and perpetually perky had flown the coop. As one person put it, "...I remember when you use to be fun." Which got a response of, "Gee, Ass, that didn't hurt my feelings." Yeah.
Moving on.
I sent my "mentor" a very, very rough draft at the end of October, as the final was due December 1st. I heard nothing back.
I sent another pretty schlocky* draft at the first part of November. I heard nothing back.
I then sent Nick a draft to look at a couple days before Thanksgiving to get some feedback on as I was starting to get very irritated with my "mentor."
Nick said, good, but not cohesive in any way.
Yeah, I know.
I was then so sick of trying to work with the schlockyity, schlock, schlock I had that I then started a new 30+ page draft the week after Thanksgiving. Again, finally is due 12/1.. Still no word from my mentor on anything I've sent him.
I then talk with my mentor and find out he hasn't received anything I've sent him.
Great.
I fax him one of my schlocky drafts. Just a clue: It takes eight minutes and 43 seconds to fax 30 pages. Just lettin' you all know.
He tells me, my research is great, my ideas are great, my writing is shit.
Okay. he didn't say, shit. He did say, my writing wouldn't pass.
I then tell him, no, shit Sherlock.
Okay. I didn't say, Sherlock. I did say, "Yeah, I know. It was a very, very bad draft. I was just showing you my ideas and what I had to see if it was okay."
He didn't seem convinced. I think he thinks I'm an idiot. Oh, and he had no sense of humor. How the hell did I get this guy? Doesn't he know I'm hee-larious?
Anyway. Incredibly long story short. (No. Really. It is much longer than this.) Repeat the parts where he doesn't receive my drafts and I have to fax it, three times.
Repeat this next part at least eight times: He never receives any of my emails or drafts, however, it takes me four-five days before I receive notification by email stating that it didn't go through.
Then there was last weekend: Since he isn't receiving my emails we decide I will email my draft to his home account so he can look at it over the weekend. He calls to tell me he got it and he'll look at it Saturday morning. He'll give me his feedback and I can turn in my final on Monday the 4th. (Deadline was Friday 1st). He called early Saturday morning to tell me his computer crashed and he lost my paper. I didn't get this voice mail until late Saturday afternoon as I had to work. I then sent it to a different email address. He would go into the office on Sunday to get it. He called early Sunday to say, he didn't receive my email. I try a different email addresses. I send two, one with my paper attached, one without it attatched. I call him to tell him his. He is very excited as he received the one without and he anticipates the other with will follow shortly. "Well, see. I sent the one with the attatchment, first."
At this point we're both frustrated. He tells me to fax it to him on Monday, he'll give me feedback, he extends my deadline to Tuesday, but he still wants me to defend it on Thursday.
K. No, pressure there.
He gets back to me Monday afternoon. He likes it. Good paper, here are his suggestions and some changes to make. Great. I'm flying high. Go, me! Then, then, he says something that pushes me over perverbial edge and makes my stress level increase and my heart beat to cardiac arrest levels. "Yeah, I just really wish we had more time to work on this together, to tighten your quotes and such."
I'm sorry. What was that? Ummmmmmmmmm, yeah. I really wish you had found it in your life to make the time to meet me half-way somewhere so you'd know who the hell I was when I go and defend this thing. I wish you would have returned my phone calls, and received my emails so then we would have had more time to work on this together.
Yeah, I didn't say any of that. Instead I say. "Okay. Well. I want an 'A' on this paper." He, of course, can't guarantee that. He, of course, doesn't know how the other members of the department will react to the paper." I hold off from saying, "Um, yeah, Dick, I mean, Todd, no, shit." Instead I say, "Well, yeah, I know that." He wants me to make the changes that day/night and turn it into him the next day and he still wants me to defend it Thursday. (This was Monday, 12/4.) Blood. pressure. so. high. I don't feel this is fair to me. I'm not whining, I'm not bitching. I simply don't think it's fair. I tell him, "I take full responsibility for the emails not getting to you, but c'mon." That, I did say. He has full faith that I can do this. Personally, I think that because he is the dept. head that it will reflect poorly on him if I have to change my defense date, my deadline, or take an incomplete and finish this in the spring. Just a guess, but I'm guessin' I'm right.
I think about it for about 10 minutes. Nope. Not happy. Not fair. This sucks. Plus, I didn't have my laptop that night to be able to work on it at home, I'd have to stay at work. (Which is no big deal. I stay late all the time to finish up papers so I don't have to do it when I get home.) I also was afraid that in my rush to fix the suggestions he had that I would inevitably make more mistakes. I call and tell him this.
Sure, no problem. I can have until Wednesday, change my defense date to Monday, 11th.
I finished my thesis yesterday at 3:15 and emailed it to him. Stress level back to, not even palpable. Perpetually perky always optimistic yet slightly cynical girl has returned. As one person put it yesterday, "It's nice to see you smile again."
Ahhhhhhhhhh.......
I called him yesterday and again this morning to tell him I emailed it and can he please let me know either if he did or did not receive the damn..I mean, great piece, of writing I sent him. I am still waiting to hear from him.
Whatev.
The vodka tasted awesome last night. The cuddle time on the couch was much appreciated as well. And life is back to normal. (Whatever that means.)
Thanks everyone for the cheerleading. It was much, much appreciated!
*Schlocky is Yiddish for, 'el crapo,' which is Spanish for, 'big pile of poo.'
I sent the final draft at 3:15 yesterday.
Here's why I was so stressed. It had nothing to do with the topic. It had nothing to do with the page requirement. It had everything to do with the fact that I was supposed to be able to pick the mentor of my choosing and have help all through the process. I didn't have any of that. I did the thesis completely and totally on my own. No help.
It started back in September. Email from the head of the English department at Big Name Private College. I was hoping to be able to do a creative project, but no can do. No, problem. I pull a topic out of my ass. "The American Dream in terms of: The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, and Tortilla Curtain." Eh, not bad. Not great, but not bad. I wasn't willing to dive into books I hadn't already read. These I have read to death.
I then go on the, great white futile search for a mentor. See, I've been doing night classes at satellite locations and 99.9% of my professors have been adjuncts. The only full-time person I know, I didn't care for. (This past summer. She missed two weeks out of a five week course. Yeah. That was worth the $1,000.) So, I go with my favorite adjunct instructor. Nick beat me to the punch by literally five minutes. Damn, gay. So, can't have her. I go with option number two, he already has four students and can't take on a fifth. K. I go with option number three. Contemp. lit isn't her dilly-yo. K. Choice four....repeat until you get to six. See. I had nothing...absolutely nothing..to go on in terms of which door I should pick because I didn't know jack or shit about any of these people. Never met any of them. Never taken a class with any of them they also know nothing about me. At this point we're already almost two weeks into it and I'm still without a mentor. I call the dept. head and he tells me, "I'm an Americanist, so I'd be a good choice."
K.
What the hell is an, Americanist? Am I an Americanist, because you know, I'm an American?
Anyway. Finally have a mentor. My sixth choice, but I finally have one. I tell him my paper topic. I'm told, "It's okay, yet fairly obvious." I take out, "Death of a Salesman" and tell him how I am going to proceed. I'm not doing some lame-ass character analysis or anything like that. I'm going to do it in terms of how futile the American Dream is and how it's gone from being about substance and family to being about materialism and how ultimately the Dream consumes a person and can kill them. He likes it. Yay! me.
I proceed to meet all deadlines. However, I'm supposed to meet with my mentor throughout this whole process. I email him to see about getting together. I give him my schedule: work full-time and part-time, taking 16 credits, I work until 5:30 every night and I live 80 miles away from the main campus. Could we meet somewhere half-way or on a Saturday as it would be after 7pm by the time I would be able to meet?
Nope. He wasn't willing to meet half-way. He wasn't willing to meet on a Saturday.
K.
We agreed we would just do this through email and phone.
K.
I meet all deadlines for outlines, sources using, ect.
Then October 10th happened. That was the day I discovered I was in the wrong class, (the Java class) and the class I need to be in won't be offered until Feb. So, I am no longer graduating in December. Or, next week, however, I want to look at it. All ambition, drive, gritted teeth determination, going on all cylinders on six hours of sleep, perpetually perkiness, always optimistic, yet slightly cynical went completely to hell. I was now beyond stressed as this completely screwed everything up. Grad school had to be delayed, getting another part-time job was now going to be virtually impossible, my life was going to have to be put on hold...again, and I had to magically whip $1,000 out of my pretty little boh-tay, and my, "I totally rock and kick-ass because I managed to complete four years of college in two, but more importantly, I just kick-ass," trip to Greece wasn't going to happen. Therefore, I was tired. Tired, stressed, bitter, and my cynical level was at an all new high. Oh, and perpetually perky had flown the coop. As one person put it, "...I remember when you use to be fun." Which got a response of, "Gee, Ass, that didn't hurt my feelings." Yeah.
Moving on.
I sent my "mentor" a very, very rough draft at the end of October, as the final was due December 1st. I heard nothing back.
I sent another pretty schlocky* draft at the first part of November. I heard nothing back.
I then sent Nick a draft to look at a couple days before Thanksgiving to get some feedback on as I was starting to get very irritated with my "mentor."
Nick said, good, but not cohesive in any way.
Yeah, I know.
I was then so sick of trying to work with the schlockyity, schlock, schlock I had that I then started a new 30+ page draft the week after Thanksgiving. Again, finally is due 12/1.. Still no word from my mentor on anything I've sent him.
I then talk with my mentor and find out he hasn't received anything I've sent him.
Great.
I fax him one of my schlocky drafts. Just a clue: It takes eight minutes and 43 seconds to fax 30 pages. Just lettin' you all know.
He tells me, my research is great, my ideas are great, my writing is shit.
Okay. he didn't say, shit. He did say, my writing wouldn't pass.
I then tell him, no, shit Sherlock.
Okay. I didn't say, Sherlock. I did say, "Yeah, I know. It was a very, very bad draft. I was just showing you my ideas and what I had to see if it was okay."
He didn't seem convinced. I think he thinks I'm an idiot. Oh, and he had no sense of humor. How the hell did I get this guy? Doesn't he know I'm hee-larious?
Anyway. Incredibly long story short. (No. Really. It is much longer than this.) Repeat the parts where he doesn't receive my drafts and I have to fax it, three times.
Repeat this next part at least eight times: He never receives any of my emails or drafts, however, it takes me four-five days before I receive notification by email stating that it didn't go through.
Then there was last weekend: Since he isn't receiving my emails we decide I will email my draft to his home account so he can look at it over the weekend. He calls to tell me he got it and he'll look at it Saturday morning. He'll give me his feedback and I can turn in my final on Monday the 4th. (Deadline was Friday 1st). He called early Saturday morning to tell me his computer crashed and he lost my paper. I didn't get this voice mail until late Saturday afternoon as I had to work. I then sent it to a different email address. He would go into the office on Sunday to get it. He called early Sunday to say, he didn't receive my email. I try a different email addresses. I send two, one with my paper attached, one without it attatched. I call him to tell him his. He is very excited as he received the one without and he anticipates the other with will follow shortly. "Well, see. I sent the one with the attatchment, first."
At this point we're both frustrated. He tells me to fax it to him on Monday, he'll give me feedback, he extends my deadline to Tuesday, but he still wants me to defend it on Thursday.
K. No, pressure there.
He gets back to me Monday afternoon. He likes it. Good paper, here are his suggestions and some changes to make. Great. I'm flying high. Go, me! Then, then, he says something that pushes me over perverbial edge and makes my stress level increase and my heart beat to cardiac arrest levels. "Yeah, I just really wish we had more time to work on this together, to tighten your quotes and such."
I'm sorry. What was that? Ummmmmmmmmm, yeah. I really wish you had found it in your life to make the time to meet me half-way somewhere so you'd know who the hell I was when I go and defend this thing. I wish you would have returned my phone calls, and received my emails so then we would have had more time to work on this together.
Yeah, I didn't say any of that. Instead I say. "Okay. Well. I want an 'A' on this paper." He, of course, can't guarantee that. He, of course, doesn't know how the other members of the department will react to the paper." I hold off from saying, "Um, yeah, Dick, I mean, Todd, no, shit." Instead I say, "Well, yeah, I know that." He wants me to make the changes that day/night and turn it into him the next day and he still wants me to defend it Thursday. (This was Monday, 12/4.) Blood. pressure. so. high. I don't feel this is fair to me. I'm not whining, I'm not bitching. I simply don't think it's fair. I tell him, "I take full responsibility for the emails not getting to you, but c'mon." That, I did say. He has full faith that I can do this. Personally, I think that because he is the dept. head that it will reflect poorly on him if I have to change my defense date, my deadline, or take an incomplete and finish this in the spring. Just a guess, but I'm guessin' I'm right.
I think about it for about 10 minutes. Nope. Not happy. Not fair. This sucks. Plus, I didn't have my laptop that night to be able to work on it at home, I'd have to stay at work. (Which is no big deal. I stay late all the time to finish up papers so I don't have to do it when I get home.) I also was afraid that in my rush to fix the suggestions he had that I would inevitably make more mistakes. I call and tell him this.
Sure, no problem. I can have until Wednesday, change my defense date to Monday, 11th.
I finished my thesis yesterday at 3:15 and emailed it to him. Stress level back to, not even palpable. Perpetually perky always optimistic yet slightly cynical girl has returned. As one person put it yesterday, "It's nice to see you smile again."
Ahhhhhhhhhh.......
I called him yesterday and again this morning to tell him I emailed it and can he please let me know either if he did or did not receive the damn..I mean, great piece, of writing I sent him. I am still waiting to hear from him.
Whatev.
The vodka tasted awesome last night. The cuddle time on the couch was much appreciated as well. And life is back to normal. (Whatever that means.)
Thanks everyone for the cheerleading. It was much, much appreciated!
*Schlocky is Yiddish for, 'el crapo,' which is Spanish for, 'big pile of poo.'
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