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Okay.
I appear to be having a minor freak-out.
I don't know why.
I suspect it has a lot to do with money, and not yet having had any of my job applications responded-to (which is kind of annoying, to say the least, even though why I'm *expecting* some sort of reply is kind of beyond me. ;-)
I haven't been sleeping well.
Part of that, I think, is probably just PMS. It's around that time again, and it seems like every five weeks or so I suddenly can't get comfortable in my own freaking bed. (More-so than usual, I mean).
My mom is heading off to Australia. This is good because it gets her out ofthe country my hair.
"Why is she in your hair?" I hear you ask, because you are innocent and haven't heard this yet.
She is not, in fact, in my hair per se. However, there is this: I am leaving school. Not for ever, I don't think, because I like my study-subject too much to totally abandon it. It's just really, really cool.
However, I'm *damn* tired of Stupid Beurocracy[1], and I'm tired of... of not knowing what to do. I'm tired of being told (in two-month intervals, because I only ever get to see my advisor in two-month intervals) to fix stuff, but not actually being given much, if anything, in the way of actual advice on What Needs Fixing, or How To Fix It. It's all well and good to say 'you have to figure this stuff out on your own'. That's fine. Right up until I (A) Get lost, and need someone to, oh, give me some dirrection(s), and/or (B) I need to get something in writing before I can go on to the next step in a long chain of steps that will eventually get me to my actual Data.
Urg!
(Can you tell I'm angry about this).
Anyway.
Combined with being angry and frustrated, I've also been feeling freaking trapped. Like there's a great big rock hanging over my head and it's slipping off of its chain and it's only a matter of time before it falls and crushes me utterly. Add to that a very, very pressing need to *hide* -- litterally (seriously, I had put, like, a two-foot mental wall between me and Paul, because I didn't want him to Find Out what I didn't even want to admit to myself. Thankfully he's more perceptive than that[2], and figured it out anyway, and then made me actually articulate it. Thank goodness!) -- and you get one very profoundly unhappy me.
So. I am not doing school anymore.
In another year, I probably will be back at U of O, doing some extra course-work (probably including two Grad seminars in Women's Studies in order to get a double-major) and a 40-paper instead of a 100-page thesis. There would be significantly less cross-cultural stuff. Which is not something I'm sorry about. There would also be considerably less dread involved for me because, despite the fact that I would have *three* comp topics instead of two, one of them would be my paper-topic and so that would be fine. and it's a hell of a lot easier to write eight 5-page papers on different, but related, topics than it is to write eight to ten ten-page papers on different, but related, topics. So that's a lot less scary.
Plus, this way, I get to keep doing 'field work' in the community without feeling the pressure of any sort of deadline. Which is nice, and it means I can actually get to know people a little bit. And that is a good thing.
Anyway. That is my my mother is 'in my hair'. She didn't react very supportively when I told her.
This is not surprising.
She is, and always has been (well, for the 23 years of my life that I can draw on memories from, anyway) the sort of person who will point out every possibly way something could go wrong, or could be a mistake, or could be bad, give the general impression that the choice has been made or the action that;s been performed, is disappointing or otherwise not up to snuff, and then wonder why people (and by 'people', I mean 'I') think she's mean.
I've tried to point out where I get that impression, and how much it hurts me when she behaves like that, and the response I get tends to be: "You're so sensitive, you over-react, and you're projecting: I think you are really the one who's disappointed in yourself..." and so on.
As such, is it any wonder that I'm very, very, very glad that, as of tomorrow, not only a continent, but the entire Pacific Ocean will be separating me from her.
Hoy!
It's good to get that out. :-)
Right.
Anyway.
That's my story for this evening.
Now that I've got all that off my chest, I hope I can devote a small chunk of the rest of the week to writing some more fairy-tale-porn.
I actually did eventually get them back into the rose garden. Now I just have get the clothes... out of the way, if not actually off. :-) Wish me luck! :-)
[1] Yes, I know that getting a brainless filing job with The Government will also result in my having to deal with Stupid Beurocracy. But it will be Stupid Beurocracy that doesn't have a dirrect effect on something I'm passionate about. And that's a major difference, right there.
[2] Sort of. He's not overly perceptive when it comes to things like 'Should I run the dishwasher, seeing as we are out of clean plates?' or 'I wonder of my wife would like me to write some of our wedding thank-you-notes instead of just pointing out how "we" should have had them written and sent weeks ago?' When it comes to stuff like that, he seems to be very selectively dense... Anyway... Resentful much?
I appear to be having a minor freak-out.
I don't know why.
I suspect it has a lot to do with money, and not yet having had any of my job applications responded-to (which is kind of annoying, to say the least, even though why I'm *expecting* some sort of reply is kind of beyond me. ;-)
I haven't been sleeping well.
Part of that, I think, is probably just PMS. It's around that time again, and it seems like every five weeks or so I suddenly can't get comfortable in my own freaking bed. (More-so than usual, I mean).
My mom is heading off to Australia. This is good because it gets her out of
"Why is she in your hair?" I hear you ask, because you are innocent and haven't heard this yet.
She is not, in fact, in my hair per se. However, there is this: I am leaving school. Not for ever, I don't think, because I like my study-subject too much to totally abandon it. It's just really, really cool.
However, I'm *damn* tired of Stupid Beurocracy[1], and I'm tired of... of not knowing what to do. I'm tired of being told (in two-month intervals, because I only ever get to see my advisor in two-month intervals) to fix stuff, but not actually being given much, if anything, in the way of actual advice on What Needs Fixing, or How To Fix It. It's all well and good to say 'you have to figure this stuff out on your own'. That's fine. Right up until I (A) Get lost, and need someone to, oh, give me some dirrection(s), and/or (B) I need to get something in writing before I can go on to the next step in a long chain of steps that will eventually get me to my actual Data.
Urg!
(Can you tell I'm angry about this).
Anyway.
Combined with being angry and frustrated, I've also been feeling freaking trapped. Like there's a great big rock hanging over my head and it's slipping off of its chain and it's only a matter of time before it falls and crushes me utterly. Add to that a very, very pressing need to *hide* -- litterally (seriously, I had put, like, a two-foot mental wall between me and Paul, because I didn't want him to Find Out what I didn't even want to admit to myself. Thankfully he's more perceptive than that[2], and figured it out anyway, and then made me actually articulate it. Thank goodness!) -- and you get one very profoundly unhappy me.
So. I am not doing school anymore.
In another year, I probably will be back at U of O, doing some extra course-work (probably including two Grad seminars in Women's Studies in order to get a double-major) and a 40-paper instead of a 100-page thesis. There would be significantly less cross-cultural stuff. Which is not something I'm sorry about. There would also be considerably less dread involved for me because, despite the fact that I would have *three* comp topics instead of two, one of them would be my paper-topic and so that would be fine. and it's a hell of a lot easier to write eight 5-page papers on different, but related, topics than it is to write eight to ten ten-page papers on different, but related, topics. So that's a lot less scary.
Plus, this way, I get to keep doing 'field work' in the community without feeling the pressure of any sort of deadline. Which is nice, and it means I can actually get to know people a little bit. And that is a good thing.
Anyway. That is my my mother is 'in my hair'. She didn't react very supportively when I told her.
This is not surprising.
She is, and always has been (well, for the 23 years of my life that I can draw on memories from, anyway) the sort of person who will point out every possibly way something could go wrong, or could be a mistake, or could be bad, give the general impression that the choice has been made or the action that;s been performed, is disappointing or otherwise not up to snuff, and then wonder why people (and by 'people', I mean 'I') think she's mean.
I've tried to point out where I get that impression, and how much it hurts me when she behaves like that, and the response I get tends to be: "You're so sensitive, you over-react, and you're projecting: I think you are really the one who's disappointed in yourself..." and so on.
As such, is it any wonder that I'm very, very, very glad that, as of tomorrow, not only a continent, but the entire Pacific Ocean will be separating me from her.
Hoy!
It's good to get that out. :-)
Right.
Anyway.
That's my story for this evening.
Now that I've got all that off my chest, I hope I can devote a small chunk of the rest of the week to writing some more fairy-tale-porn.
I actually did eventually get them back into the rose garden. Now I just have get the clothes... out of the way, if not actually off. :-) Wish me luck! :-)
[1] Yes, I know that getting a brainless filing job with The Government will also result in my having to deal with Stupid Beurocracy. But it will be Stupid Beurocracy that doesn't have a dirrect effect on something I'm passionate about. And that's a major difference, right there.
[2] Sort of. He's not overly perceptive when it comes to things like 'Should I run the dishwasher, seeing as we are out of clean plates?' or 'I wonder of my wife would like me to write some of our wedding thank-you-notes instead of just pointing out how "we" should have had them written and sent weeks ago?' When it comes to stuff like that, he seems to be very selectively dense... Anyway... Resentful much?
