I would like to dedicate the school project I just turned in to Girl Talk’s album “All Day”. I listened to it while constructing my presentation, while writing my paper, and while walking to and from one of my project’s subjects, the horticultural library in the botanical garden. It was a brisk walk through the pouring rain, and it was just what I needed. The music was blasting and the calves of my jeans were completely soaked and I was singing along as I hopped over puddles.
This lovely place is tucked just inside the main entrance of the San Francisco Botanical Garden at Strybing Arboretum in Golden Gate Park. You can walk right in and use any of its resources that you like. The collection is primarily focused on horticulture and botany, with some natural history and agriculture as well. There are also some great art exhibits in the space. Right now there is a display of some lovely plant macros, and I kind of like those.
Now, because I do not want to rewrite part of my project anymore, I will go eat and watch “Glee” on Hulu and pass out.
I am feeling a bit antsy about the end of the semester because I am so close to pulling it off. That is how I feel about it: I am going to pull this off. Like a bank heist, or a triple Lutz.
Enrolling in an online graduate school program seemed like the sensible thing to do, but I realize now that I seriously overestimated the ability of current technologies to deliver what I considered an adequate academic setting. I am lucky to have met a few classmates whose commiseration and support have helped me readjust my expectations, and even luckier that I made a full-fledged friend.
Speaking of luck, here is a nice fortune I received at dinner tonight:
School will get easier, and in no time at all it will be done, and I will be moving forward, and any number of other clichés I tell myself. As long as I can laugh about it, I can make it.
In other, non-breaking news, I cannot write while listening to the Glee holiday album. There is just so much enthusiasm about halls being decked that I can take.
Tomorrow, my classes officially start, although I have been obsessively checking Blackboard for the syllabi since I returned home from the on-campus orientation so there is no big reveal.
We are sampling the white wine that will be served at our wedding reception which is in six weeks AAAAAHHHHH.
Maybe we have had a little wine while waiting for the super homemade meatloaf to bake and the new potatoes to roast. FunkyPlaid is assembling and stuffing invitations. I am trying not to think of the million ways I can screw up my graduate school career. Because, you know, I am a positive thinker like that.
Thanks for all of your votes of confidence. They are even more uplifting than this wine. But not by much!
Hello there. I have made almost no NaNoWriMo progress, but still feel like writing, putting something down on the page, as it were, despite this not really being a page or even down.
Lately I have felt so full of disappointment in human beings, myself included. It started with the rejection of my graduate school application. Granted, I submitted only one, and granted, the economy went and exploded, and granted, there are many reasons why this could have happened, but for a while I could only see a big fat FAIL when I looked at myself.
I’m not used to doubting my brains, not because I think I am more intelligent than I am, but because I have always been good at assessing where I stand on the intelligence spectrum. So while I probably wasn’t rejected on the grounds of qualifications (over a decade in the field already) or recommendations (both people told me their letters were quite positive), my GRE scores – while not bad, still weren’t great – might have counted against me. The kicker is that when this particular grad school called me to ask the status of my application – which they did multiple times – an admissions person was actually surprised when I said I was submitting GRE scores, and said they weren’t necessary, despite what the admissions requirements said. Well, I had already gone and signed up and studied, I might as well go through with it, I said. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Anyway, I have loads of writing rejection experience, so this is just another letter for the pile. It’s not about me as a person, yadda yadda, it’s about fit, yadda yadda, and I’m picking myself up and getting back on the proverbial horse which, by the way, is probably the same horse I just resurrected after kicking it multiple times.
And then there’s my unpleasant feelings about other human beings right now. I want to mention something here so I can let it go: if you are an anti-Prop-8 person who finds it appropriate to scold me for accepting a marriage proposal from a member of the opposite sex, don’t email me. Don’t call me. Don’t tweet at me. Don’t talk to me, period. I am also against Prop 8, which makes me your ally, and alienating your allies during a gigantic all-out fight for what is Right and Good and Just is remarkably short-sighted, not to mention ignorant. Capisce?
I am tired of pretty much everyone right now, with one notable exception. It must be fun being him when I’m like this. Unmitigated, joyous fun. Except for the fun part. And the joy, too. Probably no joy.
So what do you do when you’re covered in crappy feelings for yourself and others?