Sigh

It's been a hard week. Instead of doing the more private "there's some trouble in my personal life" that makes everyone think some disaster is about to happen, I'll just tell you: I broke up with my boyfriend. No more details, though.

If you saw me running from the bookfair in tears last week, that's why. I promise, it wasn't over AWP. I'm totally bummed that I missed most of the fun on Friday and Saturday nights because I knew that sad me + free drinks would have been a very terrible combination. Like last night, at Honky Tonk Happy Hour when the guy who was trying to teach me to two step made me cry. I told him it wasn't him, but he was totally being mean about my inability to tell my left from my right.

So, I'm tired this week. Having trouble keeping up with my work and holding it all together and am in general feeling a lot of social anxiety that I haven't let myself feel in a long time. I was looking forward to a weekend of alone time--cleaning, napping, doing homework--but it turns out an old, old friend of mine is in town for the weekend, so I'm going to try to catch up with him for a minute down at Navy Pier (which I've never been to because everyone told me it was a touristy nightmare). After that, I'm turning off my phone and not leaving my apartment (except maybe to do a little laundry) until Monday morning.

Next weekend, I'm off to Ohio for a much needed weekend with family. After that, only three weeks until spring break. I think I'll make it through.

Counterproductive

I have (day)dreams of living a normal life...getting up in the morning, driving to the office, sitting in my cubicle for the next 8 hours, driving home, cooking dinner and watching TV until bedtime. Going on actual dates with my boyfriend instead of just talking on the phone 2 hours a day (some days, not all!) and having something to talk about besides how I'm (not) adjusting to life in Chicago.

I am really, really torn. A couple days ago, I was torn enough to cry for oh, I don't know, about 4 hours straight. Today, I've got that under control, but I'm still feeling really--off.

I'm not a quitter, so even though I have major doubts about the rightness of me being here, I'm in it for the long haul. Unless something more practical and more pleasant somehow hits me upside the head. Hence the title of this post: Counterproductive. This little emotional crisis I'm having is definitely not helping me get stuff done. Not helping me write poems, even though I play the angsty poet card all the time. Not helping me be successful at anything.

I took the MFA path to see if I could really be a writer. And I found out I can. Am I taking the PhD path to find out if I can really be a scholar? Because that's what it feels like, but that's not exactly what I'd intended. Do I really want to teach? Or do I just want the benefits of an academic schedule? These are questions that I am constantly asking myself...and I can't come up with an answer.

Another issue I'm having is that my family is really, really important to me and it is absolutely breaking my heart to be away from them. I thought because I wasn't married and didn't have children that I somehow didn't have roots and could go where ever I wanted. How stupid am I? My home is my parents and my sisters...not northeast Ohio. They used to tease me about what a Mama's girl I was. When I was little, I hated sleepovers because I got homesick. When I went to girl scout camp, I had to sleep next to the troop leaders or I wouldn't sleep at all. Everyone said I would never move away...and I hated it. I hated thinking I was that needy, that dependent. And now I realize they were right. Sure, it's gotten easier since that first week when I was blocking my door with piles because I didn't trust the deadbolt...but it still doesn't feel right.

People are telling me I haven't given it enough time...but in my experience, when something is this hard to adjust to, it's usually because it isn't right.

Alas, like I already said, I'm not a quitter. So nothing is going to change, except now the whole world knows how I'm feeling. That's okay. I'm kind of an open book anyhow.

Dissonance

Tell me what you are
That you wish you were not.
--Margaret Balistreri


I've been wanting to use this as an epigraph for a poem for a while now, but I've never gotten around to it. People tease me for whining, for being self-deprecating all the time, but it seems that sitting down to write this poem is almost more negativity than I can handle. But I'm in a funk today and wanting to wallow in it.

This semester, as my friends and faithful readers already know, has been a tough one. I never quite caught my stride, and now, three weeks from the end, I'm floundering. Worse, I'm having trouble caring about it. I want, more than anything, to spend days and days with my head in a pile of books, with a notebook and a fresh Pilot V5, with a bottle of wine, some sappy music, maybe a cool breeze blowing through the window...in essence, I want to go back to being an MFA student, when the scenario just described was actually considered work. Funny that I've only been done with my program for 4 months and I'm already nostalgic for it.

The frustrating thing is that I thought being a part-time comp instructor would allow me to continue in that way, but it hasn't--at all. I'm more stressed out now--and not in a boy, this is challenging, I hope I get it done and get it done well kind of way--than I've been in a long time. Probably since I was working full time and taking 3 classes. Teaching comp challenges me in ways I would prefer not to be challenged: dealing with disrespectful students, trying to engage those who have already checked out, trying to inspire and advise people who just don't give a f***. I hope, with every fiber of my being, that teaching creative writing and lit will be better, because if not, I am setting myself up for a life I don't want.

Things in my personal life are stressful these days too, but at least I'm not apathetic about that. I won't get into details, but lets just say that there was crying involved and, for the first time ever, I've used more minutes/text messages than my cell plan covers. Don't worry--it's nothing serious, just drama. Some of the drama is good, some of the drama is resolved, but all types of drama leave me exhausted. Drained. I'm wanting to spend time with friends and family but also feeling empty of fuel for socializing and bonding.

And then there's the PhD stuff. It's finally become a reality that I will be leaving home soon. Earlier, it was just this vague idea--a day dream almost--that someday I would go away to study. Being in Chicago last week made me realize that someday is just a few months down the road. I know I've been cryptic about the decisions ahead of me, so I'll summarize by saying that UIC is the only school that has offered me everything I want, but I'm waitlisted at two other places--two places that aren't quite so urban and overwhelming--and I'm not really ready to say yes to UIC yet. But I will have to be on Tuesday. (Oh! Tax day. Crap!) My crystal ball says that's where I'll end up, and a lot of people are recommending it. It's another one of those things that I'm just not sure if it is going to be stressful (negative spin) or challenging(positive spin).

I'm excited for the next stage in my life but I'm frigging terrified. And when I'm scared, I shut down. Probably the reason I haven't been blogging much (besides that I'm busy), the reason I haven't done my taxes yet, the reason I'm never caught up on class plans or grading, the reason I don't answer emails immediately anymore... You get the idea.

Well. I didn't realize I was going to have so much to say. And now I have to go try to force myself to get something done.

Oh Dear

I can't decide if it is a good thing that break is almost over or not.

I didn't finish half of what I wanted to. This either means I am going to be on a procrastination-induced work binge this weekend, or I am going to start the semester much less prepared than I had hoped.

Either way, I'm a little annoyed with myself, but am starting to accept the fact that I put too much on my to do list and I need to chill once in a while.

Break has been rough--between the evil uvula virus and my post-graduation funk (not to mention the migrating sticky keys on my laptop--today it's "r" yesterday it was "j"), I have been rather unpleasant to be around, even for myself. That's bad, isn't it, when you get sick of yourself?

You may have noticed that I'm already slipping up on my resolution. but I haven't done much poetic this week, and I don't think anyone wants to read text-book reviews here. That's what I've been doing: reading text books. I'm on a mission to make my classes more structured. This is admittedly for my benefit more than my students', since I've been somewhat disorganized in my teaching methods this past year and disorganization stresses me out.

So I'll be heading to the office shortly to turn in my syllabi for copies, even though the syllabi are not as in-depth as I had imagined. They're just the usual: requirements and due dates.

I'm a little anxious about the transition from TA to part-timer. I have no idea what it's going to be like to teach 3 classes--how much time I'm going to spend prepping and grading, how often I'm going to tell one class the same thing and forget to tell the other class completely, if I'm going to learn 60 students' names as quickly as I learned 20... And most importantly, am I still going to like teaching when I do it all day, every day?

Maybe it's the weather. The whole world is gray.

Weirdo

I haven't left my house in days. Since Wednesday, I think. A little weird, I know. I'll blame part of it on being sick, since I really was in bed for most of the day on Wednesday and Thursday. But what's my excuse since then? I've got everything I need here. An over-stocked fridge and freezer, my laptop, the 104 books I need to read, cold medicine and cough drops, and my roommate and his girlfriend if I get lonely. (And C. even bought me orange juice yesterday...the one thing I didn't have and she brought it to me!)

My roommate and his girlfriend. It is so strange to share living space with people for the first time in 4 years. I go back and forth between loving it and hating it. It's nice to have built-in company sometimes, to have someone to share the pot of coffee with, someone to ask "what's missing from this sauce?" or "Does my hair look stupid like this?" and Michael knows that even when I'm being a raging bitch, all it takes to calm me down (usually) is a hug. But then there's the bad part--the I-just-woke-up-and-don't-want-to-talk-to-anyone mornings when someone else is in the shower or on the couch exactly where I wanted to be, the inevitable couple spats that I have to hear, and the fact that being a loner and a single girl living with a very social couple starts to make me wonder...is there something wrong with me? They go out, like, every day! and if they don't go out, they have friends over. Don't they need to be alone, ever? I don't get it. But they're probably thinking the same--or worse--about me. Doesn't she have any friends? Why is she in her room 18 hours a day? Poor thing, nobody likes her.

Woe is me, right? I know. I've had worse living situations before and I know that Michael is more patient with me and my weird habits than most people would be (we're related, he has to be!) and 98% of the time, everything is great. But the 2% always seems bigger.

So, this is my promise to myself...when I move out of here, I will never, never have roommates again. It's too hard to be a hermit when someone is sitting right downstairs.

I guess if I ever get married, we'll have to buy a duplex so I can live on one side and he can live on the other. How romantic.

unrest

The last few days have been very, very strange. Perhaps this is the transition of being Post-MFA settling in. I am tired, as in, sleep ten hours and wish for three more tired. As in, fall asleep at 7 p.m. when normally I'm up until at least 2. Dreams and real life swishing back and forth in my consciousness because I don't usually remember my dreams, but weird things have been "happening" that I don't altogether believe have happened, so they must be dreams.

I am afraid of getting old. Of having a body that doesn't work the way I remember it working. Of having a mind that I believe is working fine but everyone else thinks is turning to mush. I have a long, long time before this fear is realized, but the other day, after sitting at my desk for 10 hours working on PhD applications, my joints were screaming.

I am afraid of not getting into a PhD program. Of getting into a PhD program and not getting a job. Of never, ever being able to pay off my student loan debt. Of being alone because academia will make me leave my family. I've never left home. Will I find a new one when I do?

The sun is shining today, and later, I will go ice skating for the first time since high school. With people who I know but am not close to. People who, for the last four months, I have been paranoid about. In 4th grade, my "friends" kicked me out of their club. Ever since, I've been afraid of being part of a group. Or, of feeling that I'm part of a group but actually only being connected to it by circumstance. It seems normal for women to have distrust for the opposite sex, but I distrust females. With very few exceptions, my girl friends have hurt me in the past much more than any boyfriend ever did.

The summer before my MFA began, my mother had a lung transplant. I knew at that time that my whole life was going to change. I was talking to an old friend one night about how uncomfortable I was with the transition. She began asking me quick-fire questions. Do you want love or money? Are you lonely or alone? Do you want a job or a career? Are you sad or afraid. Sad or afraid? I started crying when she asked me this--I thought I was sad, but I was afraid. I never knew afraid felt like sad.

Today, I am happy and afraid, and I don't know what to do with that combination. My mother's lung transplant and my MFA did change my life. It is exponentially better than it was two and a half years ago. My mother has always been my solid place, but when she was sick, the ground was always slipping out beneath me. She got better and and everything was paved with safety. She got better and so did my relationship with my father. With my sisters, who I used to think of as mother replacements but who I now think of as friends.

Meanwhile, grad school let me try out things I always wanted to try--writing seriously, sending work out for publication: things I only dreamed about while I stole late-night hours from myself to write the poems and stories that occupied my mind whenever I had a quiet moment. Grad school introduced me to people who understand that impulse, who work just as hard as I do to balance time spent writing with time spent in the real world, people who are comfortable with quiet and with thought, but who love boisterous camaraderie also. Grad school afforded me the time to discover what makes me happy and productive: a flexible schedule, time to visit the people who are important to me, time to read and write and explore ideas--not a 9-5 job and a rigid list of what I have to do/am allowed to do. Showed me that teaching is something I enjoy and am good at, that even someone shy and timid can stand in front of a classroom and demand respect. I've always been a hard worker, but Grad School taught me tenacity, how to keep beating down the walls of insecurity or confusion until things work, make sense, fit together. I know who I am now, and what I want, I'm just not sure how to take ahold of it and make it happen.

And so my body and my mind are shutting down, forcing me to sleep through the thoughts that are making me just a tiny bit insane, making me dream about weird, weird things because I don't know how to process them consciously. And I'm confused. I should be calm, content, excited for the next steps I have to take. I should be loving the process of applying to PhD programs because I know I am ready, I know that I can contribute to any English Department who chooses to let me, I know that I am a poet and writing will always be one of the most important elements of my life. So why the anxiety? What, exactly, am I afraid of? Success? It seems so. I'm a fighter...what do I do when things are working? I have a long running love affair with angst. What do I do when angst stops giving me what I need? How do I kick it out of bed when everything else is working?

I stop lamenting, stop living in my head, and go back to the to do list. Four more applications to finish. When that's done, time to work on next semester's syllabi. After that, finishing my ms so I can start entering contests. And Christmas, less than a week away. Time to be with family, the family that fits together so well, even though we're all a little nutty. Even though Mom and Dad bicker like Ralph and Alice. Even though Carla and I get snarky when we spend too much time together. But I'll sleep on Mom and Dad's couch until we start fighting, and then I'll go home. I'll eat 4000 cookies this week and vegetables next week. I'll drink a bottle of wine and two Advil and wake up feeling fuzzy, but Mom will have made waffles and bacon and a little sugar and grease will cover up the hang over. Before I know it, spring semester will begin and I'll be too busy to worry about PhDs until the envelopes come in the mail. Then the angst can begin again. In the meantime, I have things to do.

Recluse

1. one who lives a secluded, solitary life

2. me

I've been cranky and anti-social all weekend...probably because I'm freaking out about going back to school, but who knows. At least my room is clean and with all the old poem drafts I went through last night, I'll never, ever run out of scrap paper. But I have to snap out of this soon, since next week is going to be super busy and then *poof* I'm chest-deep in my final semester of my MFA. Yikes.

I'm probably the only person who can go to school full time and still need 3 and a half years to finish a masters degree, but for some reason, I feel like it's coming too soon. I seem to have the opposite of senioritis. I just don't want it to end. (Hence the frantic search for PhD programs.)

I talked to one of my old bosses the other day and she essentially offered me a job when I graduate. (She's the one who told me it was okay to quit my day job so I could be a full time student. She's also the one who said it's easier to get back into corporate after a few years away than it is to get back into academia. Easier than I imagned, now!) At any rate, this is exactly the kind of thing I'm afraid of. Even though I don't like the lifestyle of a 9-5er, I did enjoy the work I did--it was very analytical and a little creative and allowed me to do my second favorite thing after writing: making spreadsheets. I know, I'm weird. But all that color coding and sorting and making tabs...it's fun!

Here's the thing. I have a tendency to make choices based on practicality rather than passion, and taking that job offer is way more practical. But I'm sure that I would hate myself in a couple years because I know that corporate life takes too much energy for me to continue writing with any kind of vigor. So, I told her that I would be interested in independent contracting work between programs, but nothing full time or permanent. That way, if for some reason no PhD program wants me, I won't be stuck waiting tables later on. But I'm crossing my fingers that I don't have to go there.

In other news, I'm dying to cut my hair. Most of my life I've been a short hair kinda girl, see:

This picture was taken at a wedding just before I started grad school. So, that means I've been growing it out for about 3 years. And talking myself out of cutting it again for about 2 and a half. I told myself I would let it get long enough to donate to locks of love, but I'm still 2 or 3 inches away and am soo ready to chop this stuff off.

All right, I know no one cares about my hair. Sorry.

Time to go work on that syllabus.

I can't decide between writing a poem about a bodily function or about a room with no one in it. There are others, too, but these keep playing in my mind. I'm also working on one about a trumpet player.

My friends got in a bar fight last night. Who knew a couple of English majors could hold their own against 8 or so other guys? Still stupid, though. When do they grow up?

After class tomorrow, I'm on the first of my two sorta-spring breaks. Week 1 - no teaching, but I still have class on Tues/Thurs. Week 2 - the opposite. This is almost better, especially since I never plan to go anywhere on spring break and because there's no weather to enjoy. (well, I suppose there is always weather. It's just not enjoyable)

I sent some poems out today. Crossing my fingers for good news. My mailbox has been filled with bills and junk for too long. I need to see some SASEs coming home.

I have plenty of poems to write and read tonight. I hope that I don't get sucked into the TV instead.

Random Thoughts Before Bed 2

The papers are graded. The paper on "1937," not any further along than yesterday.

I've decided my sore throat is not the inevitable spring cold. It's from smoking when I'm pretending to be a non-smoker. Back on the healthy-lung band wagon tomorrow.

I need a hobby. One that gets me out of my apartment and shuts my brain off. I was thinking about roller derby until I realized that I could break my fingers, and then how would I type my poems? I haven't been riding in over a month. I should get out to the farm.

I'm hungry, but it's much too late for dinner, and I try to avoid the midnight snacks.

Life seems a little less full when there are no new episodes of Grey's. I can't wait til Thursday.

I. am. tired.