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Grad School and the Real Girl

February 2, 2009

Today I have almost finished my grad school application. Almost. I still have to edit/submit my writing sample, but everything else is finished. Yay. Go me. I also picked up some scholarship applications, due in two weeks. It would be nice to be able to eat next year. My program recommends not working, but I require food, shelter, and occasionally some mittens, so I know I will be working at least a little. Scholarships could help fill in the gap. So could winning the lottery, but for that one must purchase tickets.

I’m excited about teaching. I keep constructing scenarios of my first day teaching. I’ve read in a lot of places that you have to be strict at the beginning or no one will ever listen to you. I wonder how strict I need to be. Will I have assigned seating? Will I use the textbook? Burn it? Will my students actually do the reading, think about my questions? Will there be an “O Captain, My Captain” moment?

As you can see, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’ve also recently given a lot of thought to poetry.  I used to love writing it, but didn’t really care for reading most of it. Then I had a russian lit course, which taught me that I do indeed like reading some poetry. Then came William Carlos Williams, who I first read in the introduction to a Stephen King novel. After that, a book by Wendell Berry was a very welcome surprise gift, and I have recently found a love for e. e. cummings, whom I have hated irrationally for the very same reason that I love Faulkner (a complete disregard for punctuation).  The most important thing that I’ve learned about poetry is that I must slow down to read it. Often I read novels very quickly, almost skimming, even though I am enjoying them. With poetry, you have to slow down, think, savor, breathe. I first learned this with Wendell Berry, and things have improved from there.

My birthday is Thursday. I usually hate my birthday. I have long considered my birthday as the one day a year when people should demonstrate that they care. If someone forgets, or does not seem to do enough, I always worry that that person does not care enough. This is irrational. I know that. I keep hoping, every year, that my birthday will be enough. It never is, hasn’t been except for my 16th, when I was surrounded by a group of friends who really did care. This year I’ve tried to lower my expectations dramatically. We’ll see how that goes.  I’m expecting a present in the mail from my father, so I have that at least to look forward to in adtion to whatever plans my fiance has made for us.

And, to conclude this wild, far-reaching blog post, I am having a small personal crisis of sorts. I have this friend, you see. No, he’s not dreaming that he’s spiderman. Or, if he is, he hasn’t been telling me about it. My friend and I have been through a lot. We’ve both made a lot of mistakes.  I’m pretty sure, considering his behavior for the past few weeks, that my friend is done with the friendship. This hurts. I want to shout at my friend that this hurts, but I have vowed not to be a crazy person, and so I have not done so. I have considered numerous ways of expressing my unhappiness with the situation, including mailing obscure poetry, blank pieces of paper, or leaves to this friend. These actions all feel to me like things a crazy person would do, and I cannot find any stamps, so I have not done this either. I’m not sure what to do. I feel, as I have said to one of my friends, as though I am being punched repeatedly in the face but have no tongue and thus can’t say anything about it.

Comments on any or all of the above?

One Comment leave one →
  1. courtney903 permalink
    February 2, 2009 11:30 pm

    LOVE that movie.

    So, you know that when I feel crazy I GET crazy… so I know. But I’d say keep the crazy to yourself. Write the letters, the poetry, whatever, but hold on to them for a few days and let yourself calm down. Read it again, and if you still feel it’s necessary that it be shared, then find your stamps and stick it in the mail. Likely though, you’ll read it and go, “huh. I am kind of crazy sometimes. Glad I didn’t do that…”


    Things will be fine.

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