"If you completed one more upper division course after your Summer course is completed, you could graduate with a Post-Baccalaureate Diploma (PBD) in Arts and Social Sciences. A PBD requires completion of at least 30 upper division units, including at least 15 upper division units in one subject in Arts and Social Sciences (you have completed 19 upper division units in Gerontology)."
So what does that mean? I have to take one more class and then apply for graduate school. That appears to be the way things are shaking down.
At this moment I would still like to *barf* but I have survived without tears (thus far), though I can't guarantee that I and the sauce won't be having a celebration tomorrow night after acupuncture... I know pay to clean the liver and then put the good stuff in, I've got it all figured out.
Actually I got a B- a truly in theory unacceptable grade for me. BUT this is where I have to leave the emotions for a moment. It was my first English essay after 4 1/2 years. I struggled with it - I knew that I didn't like it AND he has indicated it's a flex grade. In other words if I do well on the proposal, paper, presentation and the final - that B- will look more like a healthy B, which isn't an A, but it's not death.... not fabulous. The hope is I can prove that it is an anomaly, a result of being freakishly rusty.
On another note the class I wasn't so sure about taking in the Fall is apparently taught by a fair and lovely lady, interesting. Well the world is a day at a time and I think I need to just re-group and move forward into the wonderful world of this proposal.
I had a look at the program I am interested in and to be honest I'm more interested now - oh of course it has to be that way. However I realized that this week is the FINAL application deadline and while they accept late applications it would be towards the end of the month (July) that I could submit a complete application, that's really late. So while I wait for the current university's adviser to get back to me about transferring credits, it seems the goal is to instead do the following:
1. Work in the Fall - despite the education leave option, train staff and leave job come December. Take a class and work off as much of my previous student debt as possible. Take the GRE.
2. Start Masters program in January - work part-time to cover my living expenses (maybe not the first semester - we'll see).
3. Either continue with the Masters program or apply in the Fall 2011 for other Master's programs. Given that the first Masters program gives me the option of writing a Thesis for 12 credit hours.
There you have it folks more changes and I believe I should be working on my paper/proposal... eek back to that.
I find it hard these days to stay motivated. It isn't that my brain isn't motivated, let's be clear, this isn't a mental health issue, per say, that is to say I know what depression looks like for me, been there been medicated for that... I get exhausted. Plain exhausted. The kind that shuts down your ability to cope, function or rationalize. I call it being stupid-tired, the MCAT did it to me and now work/school post the last two years worth of stress on my body does it to me and I melt. I have meltdowns. Last night was a meltdown until I had the loving of a spastic-ally joy filled little girl named Miss Gertie (Ms. J is her human-momma), you can't have a meltdown when trying to fend of a Miss Gertie hug and tongue kiss (thanks G one more reason no boys are going to want to kiss me now, though on that note good Lord I don't know if many boys have clean mouths these days anyways...). Ms. J fixed me up as best she could, but in the end I still have to come home and shut off the brain that is trying to work in a body that doesn't.
Today was suppose to start my holidays but rather I was up at 6am to call another time zone to get logged into our payroll software so that I wouldn't have to go to work (an hour away) to do the same thing - got that sorted out, went back to bed, only to have at call at 8:30am informing me of another hospital f*ck up and BLERG!! as Ms. J would say. So anyways, I'm playing relay the b*tch-ness with my staff who know that this is all BLERG-ness. So there went my sleep in/attempt to recharge... so anyways that is not the point, holiday starts now... recuperation starts now... sort of, actually I need to make a giant quote map on my floor (don't worry pictures will appear of the beauty).
A question at the moment... a big freaking question, one that will test my ability to figure life out... Ms. J and I were talking about my revelation on Sunday. See here is the deal - a revelation about me for y'all (I can trust you).
There is a seminary school located in the city I live/work in - they offer an Interdisciplinary program which is amazing and I will end up with an Masters degree in the end - it's small classes and it's not a semester (plus) of literally paying to get another Bachelor's degree - which in theory I might be able to transfer credits back to my Bachelor's degree for... From there I can apply in December for graduate school in the US, or just keep going for another year and graduate. Um can y'all see I'm already ready to jump ship? So debt is a huge deal, this school is much more expensive (of course)... anyways. Pray if you pray and I'm going to apparently have to do some typing today and tomorrow and hope I get some answers... Wow the world is changing.
Somewhere this weekend I broke. It's okay. I think there are plenty of moments in my life where I've either stretched myself to the point of bursting, turning to the fragments of popped balloon - useless and indistinguishable from what was, this weekend was not that event. It was rather a slow release, a moment of tears, of recognition, and now it is a moment of a ha! I don't think we get those a ha moments when our brain, hearts even lives are full and pushing at the I must, I will and if I don'ts. That is where I was - I must do better, I will get into graduate school/get a reference and I don't... well I won't consider that, I will just apply EVERYWHERE.
But see for one that doesn't work, because it's an ever amplifying chorus, in which the refrains become chaotic and the symphony of dreams became a painful cacophony of sounds, beating against all that you had hoped for. Rather I had a moment of grace this evening, a realization that even if I don't get into English graduate school, this isn't my last kick at this dream. There is another MA program I can apply for that is local, that will only improve me as a writer, student and as a person. So I will be applying for that program this spring without feeling that it is a second option. I know that there is a purpose to the forward movement in my life - yes I know I will bruise, but I know that there is a purpose to all of this.
I know this all sounds vague, just know that this is all really good, and right now my heart doesn't know how to relay it all to you.
I bruise easily, physically and metaphorically. This week I have managed to survive without physically causing injury to myself, though I will note that my injury from falling in to and then out my suitcase while packing for Portland is still very bumpy and ugly... Anyways not the point.
I think I have mentioned that I offered my proposal to Dr. G this week to be critiqued. I will note that this is the second time in my educational history that I have done such an act, though I have visited at office hours on three other occasions, one of which was in the Chemistry department so I am going to negate that one. So let's just say I don't like asking for help, and I really don't like feeling dumb. I know that being criticized does not mean or make me dumb. However, that is how I feel, so I have spent many many years happy with B/B+/A-'s because that means I didn't have to deal with the uncomfortable nature of my dis-comfortableness with critique. So in the end I got critiqued, actually I was more than that, I was left with basically one sentence from which Dr. G proclaimed go forth and make a 14 page essay. That sentence folks:
"While it is simple to specifically look at the women, for there to be a discussion on their judgment we also need to address the men who lay blame."
Note there was a page written before that sentence.
That is not the worst of the meeting. The worst part, was his response when he found out that I wanted to apply for Graduate school in the field of English. Oooooh... long slow with that pregnant pause on the end, followed by a well you're ahead of the class in preparing, but get on fixing that proposal. Um first what's with the Ooooh, I know that Ooooh, that's the parent Ooooh to the child who suggested seriously that they're going to say go to university when they haven't considered that their regular routine of sleeping in, skipping class and failing to complete assignments excludes them from that option... or some other comparison. $%#)%# x 4 and maybe a little more. This man has never seen my GPA (which is probably a good thing) and here I am being given the Ooooh.
And then I realized something - one there are a bazillion schools in the world. Well maybe not a bazillion, my math isn't fabulous, I blame the sessional I had in Linear Algebra for that, but regardless, if it's meant to be it will happen. And two I have to finish this bloody degree so why the hell not fight it out right? RIGHT? Damn straight!
So now that the vent and the pep talk are over, the song that inspired me to chill out as much as my caffeine influenced body/mind can:
There are distinct moments in my life where I have desired landing lights, blinking neon, a wise oracle or sage in the desert. ANYTHING to point the way towards the right and less painful moments in life. There have been many painful moments. So to me that says I either miss the lights, the oracle or the sage, intentionally ignore them or they aren't there. I am going to go with the they aren't there because I in my lack of trust refuse to see them or interpret anything as directional.
Life now is perfect case in point. My boss decides to give me an educational leave - totally unexpected. My father gets a loan for me - also unexpected. Both allow me to go back to school in September to finish off this degree and get things lined up for graduate school.
However after today's meeting with my prof, I feel exhausted and deflated. And while I could say that it is true my proposal was constructed in a matter of hours while hopped up on cold medication. I should be proud that my un-edited mess didn't result in my tears. However, I feel like in all this my graduate school dream slips further away with every other opportunity to move forward.
So to bed I go, the proposal reconstruction will have to wait until I can get some sleep and coffee into my system.
I am aware I'm making a statement as obvious as the presence of saline in Pam Anderson's chest region. Regardless - it sucks.
Case 1
My PU just finalized a loan to pay off my credit card - my PU who just got everything in the black went red for me - talk about guilt. It's not a free loan - oh no, just he has no interest rate other than grandchild. Yes he directly asked me to provide him grandbabies - what about a son in law first? He's likely to be child like... I did consent to grandbabies - guess I need to get dating. Sigh. Strings attached to EVERYTHING.
Case 2
Asking for help though a sign of a maturity is also a sign that I am not as mature as I would like to be. I don't have the confidence I wish I had or think I should have. Tonight I am meeting with my professor to discuss my proposal for my 15 page paper. This all coming on the heels of what is still my permanent nausea about the last paper. I know that in meeting with him I can be critiqued, become better and grow as a writer. But who likes to be critiqued on something they are passionate about? You can tell me my singing sucks - I am down with that because it doesn't happen in the presence of any mammals lest I burst their eardrums. If you tell me my cooking is horrible I'm likely to impale you with a spatula or something similarly blunt. Even worse talking literature with my professor is like talking to an uber hot dude who hits on you. Your brain while trying to shove out the feeling a camera crew is going to jump out and yell "PUNK'D" or something like that, is also trying to be witty, calm, cool and brilliant. In the end you end up looking like Heidi Montag, expressionless and vacant upstairs, and likely drooling in your Cosmo.
Case 3
As part of Case 1 I have to submit a budget and open all my spending to my PU. Boo I can deal with other people's finances just not my own, I would rather ignore that, thanks. Guess not went you're getting bailed out of the shit hole that started 2 years ago by your ever patient PU.
Case 4
You accept that making a fool out of Mr. Bombastic in your class, just makes you more of bitch in the end, and you're not really down with that. So Mr. Bombastic unless you seriously misstep consider yourself safe.
So months of acupuncture, vitamins and etc have helped keep me healthy for the longest streak of time in the last year. However that streak has come to an anti-climactic end this weekend. I'm wiped, I've had a sore throat/swollen gland issue all weekend. Now you may say well suck it up buttercup. And I would normally agree, HOWEVER, I have decided that I am a weakling of the greatest order when it comes to sore throats. *Flashback*
2 years ago I woke up one morning feeling a little off, I had a productive cough that had appeared overnight. However I went to the gym, felt worse on the way to work and by the end of the day was running a fever and had no voice. I limped home, went to bed and got up worse, but I went to work (wasn't an option not to) I had no voice and between the sweats, coughing and really really sore throat I survived, crawled home and attempted to die. The next morning I got up, stumbled the 4 blocks to the Drug Store loaded up on what I could and walked home. My parents (bless them) called me from Mexico, they had a feeling something was wrong, I could only crying on the phone - no voice. They sent my now boss' wife an RN who patiently let me write everything down, medicated me more, and checked up on me the next day - I was unfortunately worse. I should have gone to the ER, but I am stubborn like that... so three weeks later I was back to normal.
Back in January I had my second visitation with that cold, and March I had the third visitation. Let's just say the minute I get a sore throat/ear with a productive cough alarm bells go off. So thus I am at home, sleeping and trying to get my proposal done in the fog of cold medication.
It is in times like this that I can't wait until I can "force" someone to take care of me.
I have spent the day with no computer and no desire to read Trolius and Cressida which I need to make peace and love with for next Tuesday. I confess I want feed my soul great literature and yes I know somewhere in these slowly reducing stacks of un-read books that I own such literature. But I feel like we need a comic break around these parts and so, I will take you to one of the moments of my life where I feel like life is richest when view from a theatrical perspective. (I will attempt to get this as close to reality - seriously, it's better that way anyways)
Scene: I and CW walking from the Sbucks in one of the local research buildings (aka Dr Young Man Candy Headquarters)
[Walk past construction site on narrow sidewalk]
CW: Why don't you date a construction worker?
S&P: My dad made a comment about me marrying a plumber because they make good money. But I want more than that, I don't want someone who's going to come home crack a beer, scratch his ass and think that is what life is, I'd rather be poor than be without art.
CW: I can see that
[turn corner]
S&P: I don't do manly-men, I am not a manly-man girl
[cue from somewhere behind young apparently single (no ring) geek-chic man in suit to pass from behind - S&P and CW look at each other, LONG deliberate pause]
S&P: No that doesn't work for me either [trying not to bend over laughing]
CW: Ya didn't think so...
I don't know where he came from or why he had to pass me at that moment, but I thought it was hilarious that I would blurt out loud enough for definitely him to hear that manly men don't do it for me.
So there you have it folks, publicly witnessed by more than I am sure wanted to, my declaration that while I would like whoever it is to have more construction prowess than me I am not looking for the next Mike Holmes.
I've been thinking, more than I should, and while my brain is beyond fried at this moment I am going to force it work while I wait for my tater tots (I need a GF carbohydrate in my stomach to soak up the monstrosity of apple, tea and coffee).
To the point, rather than the death (sorry Princess Bride moment), I have been listening to Brooke Fraser's cd on endless repeat as of late for various reason - soothing, good message, and monotone in a good way. There is a line in CS Lewis song, "Am I lost or just less found?" I am trying to make peace with this journey. Trust and the future have yet to clearly go hand in hand in my life. I've had many moments of full force forward movement with equally full force stops. This journey while great in theory, those moments before this class started, and in all those moments that could come. But at this moment I wonder if all this is just me lost somewhere. I can't see that and maybe that is what worries me. This present moment worries me more as it all seems right. Right is so relative in our understandings of our own life never mind how other lives with affect us and vice versa.
So on that note I will say I'm less found, and I hope to keep find more of me, like my back bone and the maturity guts to email my professor and say I need help.... that if you know me is not something I ask for casually.
Okay I have never in my entire school literary career been nervous about an essay. Never, even the shittiest of them all - and trust me there were only three classes like that - one I got a D in because I should have been on medical leave and really could have cared less about and the other two I was told by the pretentious, pole up her ass TA (only two times I had female TA's - I avoided them like the plague after that) that I needed to learn how to write an essay, regardless of what I submitted. It is in those moments where I would like to direct them to the B+/A-/A's I was getting in other classes in the same semester. That is the horrendous part about English. There is the base of grammar and beyond that as simple as it sounds, how we each write an essay is about as different as we all take our caffeinated or decaffeinated beverages. I write in a less technical format. I hate technical, I can do it, I can when I have a tight space I carefully knit, write technically, but normally I don't. In the end those essays don't count at the moment.
So tomorrow I put my literary and future (in general) in the hands of a man I believe is a fair marker, beyond that I need to remind myself that this is not the last hurdle I will have to leap, it is just the most obviously painful one.
Sometimes I wonder if my goals are completely crazy. Like applying for graduate school - I mean I know someone will take me, but well I don't want to just go anywhere... nor is that the right mindset.
But that isn't the point, is the dreaming about the future more important than the achieving of said goals?
I love running - I want to qualify for Boston someday. I know that in theory that is an achievable goal. If I stay healthy and keep training I know that a 4:30 race is feasible for the fall and if I want to run a BQ time before I'm 35, I need to run a 3:40 max which I will acknowledge is a hell of a lot faster than I go these days. But it's not unrealistic, build up the base and then speed up the base miles, repeat and repeat.
Now the issue is while I would love to run a BQ I am so stupidly fascinated with the IronMan which is if you are checking a "marathon distance" in each discipline. Which I acknowledge is something that I don't think I could even consider doing until later in my life when I had a job that was flexible to support 2 hours minimum of daily training.
But I guess the question is as I said before is the dreaming enough of an accomplishment? I know that in asking that out loud I'm trying to quell the doubt about this paper and all that - on that note off to do some reading.
So in an attempt to steer myself away from the blog-o-sphere, this will be in point form
1. Officially gave up on An Orange Tree in Baghdad - really interesting, great book until the last 100 pages. I have dragged myself through the last 3 chapters and called it quits. The book fails to carry the theme of loss and heritage, poetic in some way that the book stalls on the current war - which is what the author points out as the main problem in Baghdad - it's stalled in the violence around it, it will implode rather than moving forward.
2. I have also stopped with Catch 22. I for one would like to know how it's an aclaimed novel and why the hell it's on so many graduate school reading lists. So you get past the complete absurdity of the story, the cavalier approach to war and destruction that bravado/machismo attitudes can cause on a country you have invaded, you can't get past the dryness and the lethargy to which the text moves. I have given this novel 3 months of my life and I only have 100 pages to show for it. Yes that is how unbelievably painful it is.
3. The Bell Jar is lovely - oddly I thought it would be dry and depressing - I mean when you have authors that are prone to suicide - like Ms. Woolfe you get brilliance it seems, but also this tone of sadness/melancholy. In one day 70 pages in, it will likely be done by the end of the weekend - that is my kind of novel.
4. On an unrelated note I have been thinking about my love for country-ish music, maybe because I think it's the only genre that still produces music that in "polite" terms say "NLLL-you, cheating, evil Heart breaker etc" It's like salve and a kiss in the ass for any single girl needing that - so on that note:
PS Love the line, "starting to see everything you lack" Um hell ya, bring on someone new please... NEXT!
Today marked the first day I opened up iTunes on "my" laptop, see it's not mine, it's Ms.J's older Apple. So I don't know maybe I felt like I am "living" in someone else space so why open the cupboards. Well let's just say I think people should open Ms. J's cupboards more often - this pretty lady has some good tunes stored.
My old spot no longer exists, years of spills and goodness knows what has lead the wise folks of Library management to change the desks and add linoleum under all of them. So know I sit on a chair just about as uncomfortable as mine at home, however mine at home doesn't permit me to put my legs under the desk... I have no TV, no cleaning or laundry to distract me - just me and this lovely laptop and the occasional ding of the elevator muffled through my head phones. Oddly enough I like the smell of the library, the stale sweet death and decay smell that comes when you combine 70's era carpet, endless volumes of un-used journals, no windows and fear, the insidious smell of the fear. The 6th floor journal peeps are the ones who have this smell as part of their everyday aura - it is them, their need to push forward, that or that's just an engineer sitting behind me trying to sleep that I'm smelling. Anyways I'm off to tip tap type out my outline which I in detail constructed at 12am and most recently on the bus (while avoiding being too obvious in my attempt to see want the 20 something cutie across from me was reading). I think in that statement I just realized why I am single - I care more about books than I do about man meat, and is that really so bad, is it? Well since I have to ask for your permission, I believe it likely is, but anyways - music as there always needs to be music.
I initially had Cathy Nguyen's version, but I love the beat in this version, now this is what you get hyped to type to:
"I was intentionally ignoring it because I need to focus on right now and not some glamourous poverty of grad school in which in my lust for words and bemoaning at the blood spattered from the previous tenants, I bath the walls in yellowing dictionary pages."
But given that I am now writing about Ophelia and the issues with the responses to her death, I figured that this was appropriate....
And while Ophelia didn't have access to Youtube, we can wonder what would have become of her if she had YouTube, because honey this is so your song, there is so much more to you than Hamlet (Laertes and Polonius) while we are at it:
I'm over you, over it, over him, over, over, over, over... right? Let's repeat that again and again and again and until I stop being suprised at your posting of pictures with your drunk ass all over women on Facebook. Stop! For the love of most I hold loosely sacred like butterscotch dipped cones from Dairy Queen. What the hell are you proving other than the high road doesn't have to be that high when the other person prefers to did their own road lower?
PS While I am going for the McPhee hair, I will say that I would smack myself upside the head nevermind Ms. J would likely tackle me if I considered shooting a video of myself to some how prove any boy he was missing out... dude no.
I am not blocked per say I'm actually water logged and sleepy from a very late nap, the kind that make you feel sleepier and icky. Anyways I've been mulling over this article I stumbled over this morning via The Feminista Files - don't ask me how I actually found it from there... The point is it was a man's response to a newish book on the market that is trying to convince women of settling for Mr. I Can Live with You.
I will say that I don't believe that any of us is perfect, despite what EHarmony keeps trying to sell me, relationships take work and they take compromise.
Now, then I think despite the comments that called him a misogynist etc, I think the man is right. See here's the deal, as a woman who also is a Type A, clean/organization obsessed and Gemini, I know that if I settled (which I would have with CEF) I will not put up with that shit for long. Nor should I or my partner - that's the point, it isn't meant to work like that. I know I will either curl up into a ball and more or less attempt to die in one way or another (CEF) or I'll be a ragging bitch complaining about whatever, and in the end even if those things don't happen, I know that like anyone in a loving relationship you learn to fight dirty and the words "I shouldn't have settled for you" "I could get better" etc would for sure come out.
But this isn't about the men - it's about the women. Here is the tough point - there is a difference between unrealistic expectations and settling. It is knowing what you need to be happy and whether that is plain stupid or not. If you need money, abs and all that maybe you need to consider if that it really what you want...
Anyways I have learned that while I have a list, in the end I will know who the person is and meanwhile I am making peace with the occasional night of being acutely aware of the space on the other side of the bed, because that's a hell of a lot better than trying to ignore someone who's always there that you don't want to be there.
Your knight in shining armour is just a idiot (man child) in tinfoil or for those long suffering males out there that damsel in distress is just a conniving gold digger out to use you for all your little honest heart can give...
Yes folks that is the honest truth there, so FYI men, while tinfoil is apparently great for preventing the aliens from reading your brain waves it is not what you construct your armour with. So get on that process of being the person we can lean on because here's the rough part about life, most adult women (except for those in the above statement) can handle everything on their own. Here's the rough part for them (me) we don't always want to, and there are some nights when we are freezing and in need of a cuddle... but I digress.
So yes that there is some kind of short sprint of brilliance because that is all my tired brain is going to give you, the rest is getting saved for my paper - ahhhh eeekk midterm paper....
