I feel like a three-day-old helium balloon--you know, the kind that still has a little float to it but mostly just hovers over the floor?
I'm done for the semester. I'm done with one academic year of PhD coursework, of living in Chicago, and I. am. exhausted. I could sleep for a week.
There is still so much to do: a manuscript to finish and submit, a poetry syllabus to write and a course packet to develop, a litany of other projects of various importance, and, of course, the inevitable spring/end of the academic year cleaning. 1000 photocopies to separate into Keep, Toss, or Recycle piles. Reorganizing the bookshelves to find homes for the 30-some new books I buy every semester. Laundry and vacuuming and dusting and everything else that just doesn't seem important when you're trying to balance grading with reading with writing papers with being a poet with having friends and blowing off steam.
Yes, I know most of my readers are academics. I'm preaching to the choir. It's just...
It's just that this year was harder. This year, I didn't have any of the usual comforts to fall back on. I couldn't smoke my stress away. I couldn't drive to Mom and Dad's on the weekends for good food and moral support. There were no familiar faces in the hallways, no office doors that were always open with friendly professors waiting inside. This year, every little thing felt new, and hard, and scary. And did I mention I'm exhausted?
I'm trying to put it all together. And hopefully that will happen soon, because I'd like to start enjoying my summer. But right now, I'm feeling kind of hung-over, like I just got done with a 9 month long bender. So, what's the solution? Hair of the dog? Greasy food and good conversation? Take two advil and get back to work? I just can't seem to get moving.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
As you might have noticed from the photos below, I am not currently in Chicago. After a hellish week of paper finishing, I headed back to OH for a friends wedding, and I'm sitting in my parents' spare bedroom right now burning CDs for my drive back in the morning. My car is filled with Ohio groceries and miscellaneous stuff I hate to buy in the land of 10% sales tax. When I get back, I'll be finishing up my grading for the semester, and then, who knows? All I do know is that I won't have to write another paper for several months, and that makes me very happy. I will write poems, read books that don't have anything to do with theory or rhetoric, and allow myself to catch up with the whirlwind that has been my life since this time last year when I hit the road for my summer of BBQ glory.
Oh, yeah, did I tell you I'm now 1/5th done with my PhD? I survived the first year!!
I may as well be chipping my term papers into stone, it's taking so damn long.
Why is the process of writing something academic so much less rewarding than writing something creative? Even the cover letter I wrote today was more fun than these papers.
There are 11 days left in the first year of my Ph.D. I guess it ain't all bad.
It's days like this that I miss my old apartment in Cuyahoga Falls the most. Spending one of the first warm Saturday mornings of the year on the porch with a cup of coffee and a book (I'll leave the cigarettes in the past, thank-you-very-much) would be truly ideal. Having Michael, my nephew, come out to distract me every now and then, but then going to work on his senior design project in the garage with ESPN on in the background would be really nice too. Alas, I'm here in Chicago where my porch is not big enough for a table, and besides, there's this crew working on the building (and has been every nice day since I moved in) that make all kinds of noise and debris, thus making it impossible to spend any time on my tiny balcony.
This is why I have plans to go to my friend Shelly's house a little later on--Shelly has a deck. Also, Shelly thinks that if we work on our papers in the same place at the same time, I'll be able to help her focus. But Shelly lives in Bronzville, which will take me an hour on the el to get to, and it is supposed to rain. I might just bail on Shelly. If I had a car, I'd so be there. But the commute...
Maybe to Bar on Buena. They probably will open the windows (which are the size of garage doors) today. That would be almost like sitting outside.
Or maybe I'll just stay here, where all my books and papers are, where I have a freezer full of food I've already paid for, where I have instant coffee and my favorite mug. The sliding glass door is already open, the birds are chirping, I'm drinking coffee...I guess there's nothing wrong with where I am.
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Today I'll be focusing on my paper for Proseminar--the Political Economy course. The one that really pissed me off at the beginning of the semester. I mean, I'm getting a PhD in English, writing a creative dissertation, and I'm forced to study the Political Economy? What the...? But then I started getting into some of it. Rather, I started getting riled up about the way theorists are describing working class people, and I found my way into the class. So now, I'm trying--emphasis on trying--to write a paper that deals with working class identification / values / discourse as they relate to (or contradict) working class theory. I don't really know if I have the theory chops for this project, but I'm going to give it a shot. And the strange thing is, I'm way, WAY more excited about writing this paper than I am about writing the paper for my contemporary poetry course. So hopefully today is a good, productive, intellectually satisfying day. Maybe I'll learn something.
I learned the most amazing thing today. If you start working on a paper a couple of weeks before it's due, you can take a break when you hit a wall. You don't have to just keep at it even when your brain has turned to mush.
I was hoping for a five page draft, but I ended up with a 13 page outline-ish thing. It's enough to get me through the meeting I have scheduled with the prof tomorrow, and hopefully said meeting will help me get through the wall.
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Speaking of walls, I haven't thought much about NaPoMo for a few days. Not since Saturday, actually. I wouldn't say I'm giving up, but with the semester winding down, I think all of my creative energy is going to be going to these two papers I'm working on. If a draft happens to come to me, I'll post it, but I'm not going to force it. I'd say that the 15 or so drafts I've gotten are a pretty big accomplishment, considering I usually spend a semester coming up with 10-12. There's still, what? 9 days left this month. I could maybe get a few more.
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I am dying to start working on my course materials for Intro to Poetry for the fall, but that just can't be a priority right now. I have decided not to use a text book (unless someone can suggest something that is perfect) which means that I have to compile a course packet. It's going to be lots of fun (and for once, I'm not being sarcastic!). I also might teach a couple of full length collections...but how do you pick?
While I was on the bus Friday, I read 4 articles (approx 100 pgs). Saturday, I read (okay, skimmed) 2.5 books (approx 600 pgs). Sunday I reread two essays from one of the books I skimmed on Saturday (40 pages) and then, well, spent the next two hours reading about 4 pages of a third article. I never managed to finish because words had lost all meaning and my eyes were crossing.
What I learned: My brain cannot hold any more than 700 pages worth of information in any given weekend.
I didn't get any actual writing done, but that's okay because my Monday night seminar is canceled today, so I can do it tonight (and tomorrow). There are few things in the world more joy-inducing than a last minute class cancellation. That's all I have to say about that.
Despite the general discomfort of riding a bus, I love the trip between Cleveland and Chicago because of views like this one. The megabus is a double decker, so the perspective is totally different than in a car and I just can't get enough of it. It's hard to take good pictures, though...
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Anyway. I'm back in my teeny tiny studio after having spent 5 days with my parents in Chatham, hanging out with Mom, playing with Maxi, the river dog (who is in the jumping/biting phase of puppy-hood, which means my arms look like I've been through a shredder), and arguing with my dad about, well, everything. As you can tell from my earlier post, Dad's a republican, and he likes to watch the news. Now that the election/inaugruation is over, I've gone back to my general disinterest in politics, but when I'm around him, I remember why I cared so much about the election, and think maybe I should start paying more attention the rest of the time.
My time in Ohio was not in any way relaxing (despite the fact that I managed to get about 10 hours of sleep each night) because of all the errand running and trying to see folks I hadn't seen since August (apologies to anyone I missed! There's just never enough time!), and trying to keep up with my homework as well (also a major fail). But it was good, nonetheless, to be home, where places and faces are familiar and people know my history. Had a long talk with a prof who's known me since my undergrad days who gave me some really good advice on how to deal with my angst over my new program--and it was advice that someone who hasn't known me for 8 years wouldn't have been able to give, I don't think. Also spent one evening with my bff since 5th grade which was long, long over due.
But now I'm back. And strangely enough, feeling quite at home. I was oddly proud of myself last night for my ease in hailing a cab at Union Station, and also for knowing a couple of different ways to get home if I hadn't felt like taking a cab (but it was 11pm, cold, and I was dragging a giant suitcase, so I did feel like taking a cab). I'll never give up my self-identification as a country-bumpkin or small town girl, but I guess I'm getting pretty good at playing the part of a city girl when I need to. Everyone I saw in Ohio (who were, for the most part, people I hadn't seen since I moved) wanted to know if I liked Chicago...and I feel like a traitor to myself when I want to say yes. So here you go (esp. Brandi & Mary): I like Chicago. I get fed up with Chicago pretty quickly sometimes, but I get fed up with my parents and my sisters, too, and I would lay down in front of a CTA bus for them. I won't deny that the transition has been difficult--exhausting and soul-crushing at times, even--but I'm okay with where I'm at, finally. It only took seven months...
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And that brings me back to the present, and the impetus for this post's title. I made a tiny little dent in my gargantuan to do list for spring break, and now have less than 48 hours until I'm back on campus for Week 11. I don't think it's possible to conquer the to do list in that time, and I'm wondering when my sense of urgency is going to kick in. The problem is that a lot of what I planned to accomplish is based on my own deadlines, not deadlines that anyone will force me to meet. However...if I don't do these things now, they're just going to pile up, and when else am I going to have time? It's 9:24 on Saturday morning and already, I'm procrastinating (is it really necessary to write a blog post this long ever--let alone when I'm swamped?). Twilight is sitting on top of the pile of mail begging me to watch it (even though everyone says it's crap) and I'd really like to spend today lounging around...but class identity (paper 1) and neo-confessional poetry (if there is such a thing) (paper 2) and grading are all calling my name. Blah! I don't wanna.
So, trying right now, thisverysecond, to motivate myself to stop loafing in my pjs and go to the library (which, by the way, will be at least a 45 minute commute each way) to pick up a couple of key sources (one for each paper), which I then must force myself to read today so that tomorrow I can start my rough drafts. Or something like that. But I just poured a fresh cup of coffee.
Yep, still can't find that sense of urgency I'm looking for.
I found this post card at the coffee shop the other day and absolutely love it. The photographer is Brian M. Heiser, and I might just have to beg him to do my cover art some day. The post card is just about the exact visual representation of my poem "The Orchard".
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Speaking of cover art reminds me of that lonely manuscript that I've been neglecting. Hoping spring break affords me some time to hammer away at it. If not, I will at least do some serious submitting. It's hard to get published when you only send work out once every six months.
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Twilight is at the top of my netflix list. I only get one movie at a time and two a month (which is often more than I have time for) so I'm trying to figure out when the best time to send back the movie I already have will be. If I mail it today, they might get it before Twilight is released. If I wait...all the teenie boppers might get it and start holding it hostage and I won't get it until next month. I'm pretty anxious to see if Edward is more charming on screen than he is in the book (I thought he was kind of a douche-bag, to be honest).
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I don't know if I've ever really blogged about this, but I'm pretty obsessed with my Italian heritage. I'm almost as obsessed with the Bulgarian side of the family (and the suspicion that we might have been gypsies), but that's not the point right now. When I was a kid, I was bummed that I didn't have a cool Italian last name (my mom's maiden name is Morelli, her mother's maiden name is Bentivegna). I was also bummed that I didn't get as good of a tan as my mother, and that my hair wasn't as curly as my sister's. Who knows genetically how "Italian" these things are, but in my mind, there was a one-to-one connection. Vanity aside, I've always loved all things Italian and all things Italian-American (although I admit, I'm not much of a mobster movie buff, and that doesn't quite make sense to me) and recently, Facebook has introduced me to someone who shares my obsessions (Hi Joey!). This is perhaps one of the first Facebook connections with someone I didn't already know that might be somehow productive. We're going to be chatting Italian-American poetry and whatnot and I'm really excited.
I've also decided (almost decided) that I want Italian to be my language requirement for my PhD. I took 4 semesters of Spanish in college, but they don't count because I got a C my 4th semester. I could take a placement test and hopefully remember enough to place me in that 4th semester again, but I think I'd rather start fresh (besides, then I'll be a tiny bit tri-lingual). Now my super-undeveloped plan is to take 2 semesters of Italian next year, then go to Italy next summer (maybe some intensive classes) and start checking out the contemporary poetry scene over there. Maybe do a little translation. Ah, pipe dreams. And credit card debt.
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I'm heading back to Ohio next week for a few days and am worried that I'm not going to get enough work done. I have to take my car to the dealership, go to the dentist, do a bunch of other errands that I can only do in Ohio because I haven't fully transitioned to being an Illinois resident, plus see friends and family...but I have about 18 books to read (that's only a slight exaggeration. It's more like 9), two paper drafts to write, a stack of papers to grade, and all the po-biz stuff I was talking about earlier. Whatever happened to relaxing?
I was sitting outside trying to calm down before class--I was fired up about the lousy feedback I got on that paper last week and anxious about going before the firing squad with the next one--and had just started to cry a little (Press pause for a minute here. I think people who don't cry a lot just don't get this. It's like turning a valve to let some pressure out, that's all. It's not always bc we're sad. Got it?) Okay, so I'd just started to cry a little, and splat! there's bird crap on my brand new jacket.
Bird crap will snap you out of a funk pretty quick if you have any sense of humor at all. And I guess mine is still in tact, because I giggled, got up, went inside to clean it off, and went on with my day.
My presentation was only a little bit painful, and now it's over. But I'm still a little raw about it. And not looking forward to writing my seminar paper for this course if it's going to get the same kind of critique. I'm learning, right? I'll be better next semester.
This reminds me of something I was talking to a friend about while waiting for the train last night. As Ph.D. students, we're in this strange position where some profs treat us like colleagues and others treat us like students. And then there are some who treat us like students but expect us to operate on the same level as colleagues. Eh, this is all getting kind of convoluted, but here's what I'm trying to get at: I'm not as well read as my profs, I'm not as experienced as a teacher, and I've never done a panel presentation where people asked questions to try to implode my argument--and I'd like for someone to teach me, or at least let me know what the expectations are before I'm in water above my head and just barely floating.
I admit, a big part of this is my fault--I don't ask for help until I'm in trouble. But part of that is that I'm usually good at school stuff and don't need help. After I screw up, well, then I know to ask for help, but up until that point, I think I can get by the way I always do.
I'm trying to turn this into a learning experience instead of what it feels like right now: that I've been slapped on the wrist and and sent to the corner to think about what I've done. I know it's not that personal, but it just feels shitty. So...how do I make that productive? How do I laugh at the bird poop on my jacket and then get to work on my next paper?
That post that just disappeared makes me giggle, but I thought perhaps it wasn't putting my best foot forward, you know? Eh, maybe I'm paranoid.
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Lots to do this week. Another short paper to write (hopefully not at the last minute), another set of papers to grade over the weekend, plus the usual reading and whatnot. I have no idea how I'm going to add writing two 20+ page papers to my already jammed schedule. Less sleep? Less going out (I only do it one, maybe two nights a week)? Less cooking, more takeout? Energy drinks? Less blogging (I hardly ever do that, either)? I don't know...
A friend and I were talking about priorities yesterday, and how we are not our old MFAish writer-selves in this new program. This friend has decided to let coursework drop down in importance so other, more writerly pursuits can have more time.
It seems like there's only two options: skip some of the weekly reading assignments to write, or write less and keep up with the reading. I have a really, really hard time with this. I came to grad school in the first place so that I could stop stealing time from other things for writing. But if I'm going to get my manuscript in the mail come May (my totally arbitrary goal), I need to make some time. If I'm going to do that Big Spring Submission I'm hoping to, I need to make some time. And on top of it all, I think both of the papers I'm supposed to be writing this semester could be a) conference presentations and / or b) the start of my exam lists--so they need some time and thought--not last minute, caffeine induced, muscle-cramping marathon writing sessions.
So: priorities. How to set them, how to stick to them. That's what I'm trying to figure out this week.
And discipline. Following a schedule. Being diligent. Just saying no.
In that spirit, since blogging is not one of my top priorities, I'm off to evaluate my to do list.
Got some new glasses today. Wasn't expecting to get them so quickly, so I'm pretty psyched. No self portraits for now because I'm not wearing any makeup, but let me tell you, these glasses are definitely dorky-chic. Love it.
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It was warm and cloudy when I left today, thunderstorming when I came home. I don't really know what to think of a thunderstorm in February, especially one that literally rattles the glass in my sliding door.
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Ask and ye shall receive, right? On Tuesday, I wrote about wishing that I would a) find someone here at UIC to work with who got what I'm trying to do and b) find a paper topic I'm excited about for this semester. Well, yesterday I got both. Granted, the prof is not a poetry person, so it's not exactly what I was looking for, but he's definitely interested in my working class/rust belt ideas and thinks the paper that I'll be starting for his class will probably turn into an exam list. We had a really productive conversation and I'm feeling so much better about school, insecurities and all.
Thanks to everyone who commented on my last post--it means alot to have your support. One thing I do want to say is that I'm very aware that one never truly reads everything one should, but rational thoughts like that tend to slip my mind when I'm in the middle of a rant. As for asking questions: I'll work on that. : )
I constantly struggle with how personal to get on this blog. My first impulse: totally personal. Then I remember that I'm also hoping to someday use this as a site for self-promotion and think that I should stick to academics and poetry.
Well, that's not very much fun. And while I've never had a ton of readers, I think there's even fewer these days. Is it possible that people actually prefer my whining and introspection? Hopefully, because today, that's what you're going to get.
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I've been sad lately. Sad about my break-up, sad about some other personal relationships that aren't/can't be what I thought/hoped, sad about being away from my family, etc. And what is surprising to me in all of this is learning to distinguish "sad" from "depressed." Having been diagnosed with chronic depression at 21 (and having self-diagnosed years before that), I am programmed to label all bad feelings: Depression. But that's not it. There's a difference between chronic and acute that I never had to learn. Right now, my sadness is directly related to events in my life, in a way that previously wasn't true.
I don't know what that all means, but it's something I'm trying to figure out. There's a lot I'm trying to figure out. Like who the hell I am after this last crazy year. This time last year, I was waiting anxiously to hear back about my PhD apps (I think I might have already heard from UIC, but I'm not sure) and everyone I talked to said they hoped I would end up in Chicago (well, maybe not everyone, but a lot of people) because small town girls like me need to live in a big city once in their lives. What? Says who? Something about being in unfamiliar territory being good for your work--a shock to the senses. Well, I still wonder why Chicago was supposed to be better for that than say, Knoxville, TN, or Tallahassee, FL (or any of the five other places I applied to). I'm way burnt-out on public transportation, smelly homeless people, and cement. Why couldn't I be someplace where a car isn't an inconvenience? Where there's grass in places other than public parks? Where you can actually see horizon once in a while (across the lake doesn't count)?
But back to the original question--how has this past year changed me? I haven't figured that out yet. I'm probably tougher, I guess, street-smarter. A little bit braver. I can do tequila shots without training wheels now, and drink PBR just as fast as anyone else sitting around Lil Joe's on a Wednesday night. I'm healthier--I quit smoking. But am I a better poet like everyone said I would be? Hell no. I haven't written a poem that I'm ready to submit since I've moved here, and it's been over six months. Maybe I've become a tougher critic. But mostly, I think being out of my comfort zone has forced me to focus on survival to such an extent that I don't know how to tap into my new/boundary-pushing experiences in a creative way.
I'm also less confident than I was when I got here, and I've never been a terribly confident person. I'm afraid to speak my mind in class because I don't want to disagree with the profs (and I usually do) unless I'm sure I can argue my side (and I usually can't), I constantly feel like I'm on the outside of an inside joke because I haven't read the right book or essay, I doubt my own abilities as a student/scholar/poet in ways that I never have before. On the other hand, I have increased confidence in my ability to teach and in my desire to teach. But the balance isn't good. Maybe that's it--balance. I can do tequila without training wheels but I can't do PhD work without them. I'm uncentered and off-kilter.
It's not all bad, though. My cohort (that's what they call the incoming class here) is amazing: lots of smart, interesting people who are as good at gossip and silliness as they are at theory and criticism. I'm heading back to Ohio on Friday for a much needed dose of family and country living. And even if I'm not doing work that I totally love, I'm being challeneged and pushed and do have some small bit of faith that eventually I will get out on the other side feeling smarter, more in control of my poetic talents, more eloquent, more prepared for my career as a poet and professor. I've never been so great at the waiting part, at the struggling through. I like instant gratification (who doesn't?) and I'm frustrated that the big changes haven't happened yet, I guess.
Still, I'm waiting for that break-through. I need some poetry to gush out of me too fast to edit. I need to come up with a kick-ass paper idea that I can get excited about researching and writing. I need to meet someone (a prof, another student?) who will click with me, my work, who will get what I'm trying to do and know how to beat it out of me. I'm freaking tired of floundering. I'm tired of writing half-baked drafts that bore me when I go back to them. I'm tired of being the new kid, the country girl who's homesick all the time, the MFA who doesn't know how to talk about theory. I just don't know how to fix any of it. I guess I'll just keep doing what I'm doing until I figure it out.
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And just for good measure--here's my "F-you, Chicago" song (and when I say Chicago, I mean my whole new life, just so you know. I'm over hating the city, for the most part (besides what I mentioned above).)
On Thursday, I'm going home and I'm so excited I can't concentrate. I am like a kid going to Disney Land for heaven's sake.
I have about 1,000,001 things to do, but none of them are getting done. Not reading Judith Butler, not working on my syllabus for comp 2, not writing/revising poems, not cleaning or packing...just playing around on Facebook and blogging. Really productive.
I don't know if it's because the trip home is finally in sight, or if I'm starting to settle in...but I haven't cried or freaked out in about a week. The thing is, I'm still not thrilled about what I'm doing here, but I'm trying to be more patient. I'm also giving myself permission to adjust my priorities a little bit...meaning that just because something is assigned to me, it isn't necessarily the most important thing in the world. If I don't dive face first into Heidegger and Derrida because I'm reading poetry, or if I slack on my comp syllabi because I'm working on one for intro to poetry, it's kind of okay.
What I'm most looking forward to, and what I've always been excited about in terms of getting a PhD, is studying for my prelims. I'm not actually looking forward to taking them, just to the year or so when all I have to do is lock myself in a library carroll and read. And, theoretically, everything on my reading list will be interesting to me, because I will be the one writing the list. So, in my new world-view, I'm just biding my time until I finish my course work and register for those reading hours.
Also on the happy side of things, I got my teaching assignment for spring today, and my classes are at 10 and 11, which means I don't have to get up at the butt-crack of dawn. Yippee!
Enough! I have to go try to accomplish something...
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.
Went to Pittsburgh on Friday with a couple of NEOMFA friends to hear Jan Beatty read from her new book, Red Sugar. People, if you don't know Jan Beatty, you need to read this book (and her first two, Mad River and Boneshaker). She's my new poetry idol. I mean, I loved her work before, but now I'm obsessed.
Probably the coolest thing about the reading was the crowd. I don't know if it is a Pittsburgh thing or a Jan Beatty thing, but the audience was wound up from the second Judith Vollmer introduced her. It was almost like going to church--I think I heard a couple of "Amen!"s from the crowd, especially when Beatty talked about unions, steel workers, and freedom of speech (I guess she was recently censored at a bookstore for being un-family friendly). Since I'm trying to be a working class poet (okay, I guess I was born that way, but you know what I mean (I hope)), I really enjoyed being part of an audience that didn't seem--for the most part--academic. Her poems are sometimes comlicated and non-linear, but when coupled with her explanations prior to reading them, they make perfect sense, and hit home in a lot of ways. At the end--a standing ovation. I don't think I've ever experienced that at a poetry reading before.
That's what I want...to write poems that speak to people both inside and outside of academia, poems that will recieve praise from my colleagues but will also resonate with my family and people like us. I think that somehow, Jan Beatty has achieved that. And I'm going to immerse myself in her work until I figure out how.
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In other news, and I'm sure this comes as no surprise by now, I am really, definitely, for sure moving to Chicago and going to UIC in August. I'm terrified--of moving to the city, of starting a PhD program at all, of leaving home for the first time--but starting to get excited. As I've said before, I'm really looking forward to being a student again. And I'm sure that I will adjust to urban living. But we all know adjustment stresses me out. It'll be an interesting experience no matter what, and some people (Michael Dumanis) seem to think that being outside of one's comfort zone is the best place to write good poetry. We'll see. Now I just have to figure out where to live and how to move. I don't want to beg all my friends to drive to Chicago with their back seats full of books, but it might come down to that. or maybe I can talk my parents into loaning me the money for a Uhaul. I'll pay them back in 2049, after my student loans. Oh, wait, that would make my mother 108 and my dad 111. Hmm...
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Okay, so here's the story on my random comments about my personal life: I'm dating someone. I've been single for two years and am totally out of my element in this regard. But so far, so good. Today, I'm meeting his parents. Oh my!
I think this will be the last post about poor old Carroll Hall. If I'm still in Akron when the landscaping is done, I'll give you an after.
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In other news, A. Van Jordan read yesterday and totally knocked my socks off. I'll be reading M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A during my break today so I can ask him smart questions during workshop. Okay, I'm really not the question asking type, but we'll see. At any rate, he gives a good reading. But at one point, I thought he said Nemesis was the Greek goddess of midgets, and I thought that was really weird. Then I realized he said Greek goddess of vengeance.
Before the reading, I hung out with Dawson and Little Eric. Always a good time. Doesn't Little look tough in that picture?
PS - I neglected to mention the wonderful photographer behind the camera. I was also hanging out with the one, the only, the Colt. Sorry Frank.
And some of my students came for extra credit. These guys play for our soccer team, which is apparently a pretty big deal. And later, to deal with the stress of PhD decision day, I went to the bar. This isn't my Guiness, but it was poured so nicely I just had to take a picture.
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I got a super nice rejection from OU yesterday. I was waitlisted and everyone accepted the initial offers. Looks like I'm off to Chicago. (Unless something miraculous happens with Mystery School #2.)
I'm supposed to decide where I'm getting my PhD today. Haven't heard anything from mystery schools 1 & 2, so I sent an unofficial email to UIC. We'll see if anything changes before EOB. EOB...haven't written that since I was administrative queen back in the day. (That's End of Business for those of you have had the good fortune of never working in a cubicle.)
Needless to say, I'm frazzled. Like I said before, I'm fairly certain I'll be at UIC, but I want to at least pretend there's a decision to make. Or have people fight over me. That would be nice.
Tonight, A. Van Jordan is reading at UA. Tomorrow, he's visiting Mary's class. I was going to buy M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A at the bookstore today, but they only have it in hard back. Hopefully they have paperback at the reading so I can get caught up before tomorrow night. I think I'm the only person in Akron who likes poetry and hasn't read this book. Shame on me.
Well, back to work. By the end of the week, we'll all know where I'm moving this summer. Betcha can't wait.
48 hours in Chicago = too much for Sara to process all at once.
The program seems good. The city...well, it seems like a city. Too many people and buildings smooshed into too small of a space. But as far as cities go, it's pretty cool. I could live there.
Here's my favorite part though: everyone was playing with their dogs on the beach. So cute!
I didn't get any good pictures otherwise (actually, this one doesn't count as good either) so that's all. I'll save all the vascillating and pro and con weighing for my own time, and just update you next week when I've made a decision (if there's a decision to make at all).
In a couple of hours, I'll be driving down I-80 on my way to Chicago. To visit UIC. To hang out with Brandi, Simone, maybe Daniela (I hope!), and who knows who else. Will I get to meet Kristy again?
There's a very good likelyhood that I'll be living there in the next few months, so I'm going to try out this public transportation thing and see how it goes. I can't make a final decision just yet, but nearly everyone I talk to about my PhD decision is telling me to go to UIC. Everyone's all "Small town girls should move to the city" and "There are so many poets in Chicago! Community!" But my gut says I won't be happy in an urban environment. My gut doesn't really know anything though, and I haven't spent enough time in Chicago to make any kind of judgement at this point. So, maybe, by the time I'm driving home on Saturday, I'll know. Cross your fingers for me.
I just spent the last 48 hours begging for money. Okay...not exactly. But writing fellowship and assistantship applications. It's not that fun to sell yourself, you know? Although going through the process (especially with the application I just finished) reminded me of all the awesome stuff I've done with the last 6 years and how much I learned in my HR days, even though sometimes it was tedious.
And now I wait. Hopefully I only wait a couple weeks. I'd really, really like to have a plan by April 15, but I don't see that happening. The crazy thing is that one of the assistantships I applied for has a start date of May 19, which means that I could be moving in less than 2 months. Let's not even think about that right now.
Next week, I visit Chicago.
This is one crazy beautiful life. Who'da thought I'd be here? I've been rushing around so much, worrying so much, pulling down my hat and sticking my hands in my pockets and trying to ignore the cold, that I haven't stopped to appreciate how happy I am, despite (or because of?) the stress. It's all good. I forget that too often.
Mary (and the rest of the Akron crew), you better buck up, because I'm gonna need a drinking buddy tomorrow. To celebrate the finishing of the app-writing, you know? To celebrate the waiting.
I am a poet and PhD student at the University of Illinois at Chicago. My chapbook, Flood Year, is forthcoming from dancing girl press in September, 2009. My work has recently appeared in Hiram Poetry Review, Keep Going, Harpur Palate, Wicked Alice, Lily, Hobble Creek Review, and FRiGG.
