In which BS substitutes coffee for food and sleep

 We have reached the last seven days of my Masters degree.

Well. It had better be only seven days, because I can't take much more of this.

To use a baseball metaphor, I am rounding third base and hoping not to stumble on the home stretch, because the only dugout here is more school, and I have neither money nor patience for that. I haven't written here in ages. This is largely due to the research project which has consumed my life for the past few weeks. Those of you who know me in real life are aware that I tend to, as my voice teacher said yesterday, "amp myself up" when preparing for a major event. In terms of actual recent events, what this means is that the other night I called my mother at 3am the other day (it was 6am for her, so not as heinous as it could have been) to tell her I was quitting graduate school. And she, of course, reminded me that if I quit grad school with nine days left, she would kill me herself. After four consecutive days of about three hours of sleep per night, I nearly cried in my voice lesson yesterday and my teacher told me to be strong because I'm fully capable of finishing in time, and to just "get her done." So I suppose I should count myself lucky to have two of the baddassest ladies on the planet to remind me in no uncertain terms that this is something I have got to get done, or else.

After two years of graduate school, I'm finding that I'm tougher than I ever thought I could be. This is something I don't always believe, especially when I'm tired. But, look! Look at all the impossible things I have done since October!

• Learned to sew
• Learned an opera role in three weeks, then performed it two weeks later
• Maintained a GPA above 3.7 in the midst of the most stressful time of my life
• Made some sense of the theoretical writings of Arnold Schoenberg
• Removed myself from an unhealthy situation in a way that was assertive, without making a scene

So, final M.M. research project, bring it on. I'm going to kick your ass, and then I am going to move to Chicago and have All The Good Times, and you can stay in Seattle and wallow in academia until the paper you are written on yellows and falls apart.

(I might be losing it, just a little bit)

The concept of the Pile of Good Things has become fairly integral to my survival these past few days. Knitting is my calm-the-hell-down activity--I'm working on a slipcover for my MacBook with an intarsia alto clef on the front. I subscribed to mlb.tv so I can watch the Tigers, although thus far I have used it mostly to re-watch videos of horrific baseball injuries, like Buster Posey's destroyed ankle and Marlon Byrd getting hit in the face--this makes me feel better about my own life, which is admittedly a little bit sadistic. Oh, and I finally watched Team Starkid's most recent musical, Starship, whose song "Status Quo" has become somewhat of an anthem for me in recent days, so thanks for that, Darren Criss and affiliated Starkids.

The plan for the next few days: breathe. Breathe. And try not to die, self. It would be a waste to have put myself through so much for nothing.

So Domestic; or, Cooking Like a MFing Adult!

I had a particularly bad day on Wednesday, due to a number of factors that I don't feel like discussing at the moment, and as a reward for getting through the day without punching anyone in the face, I bought groceries! Here, the word "groceries" is used to mean "things I enjoy but can't actually afford on a regular basis, like cheese and fresh produce." The idea was to cook a nice dinner so I could simultaneously feel like a responsible and successful grown-up and to avoid having to base yet another meal solely off granola (although, yes, I did still buy granola during this venture).

My history with cooking is fairly spotty--when I was younger, I made a fantastic tuna-noodle casserole, and my grilled cheese skills are pretty formidable. However, I was also the kid who accidentally set the stove on fire in eighth-grade home-ec (and then again at my grandmother's house when I was 19), and I have more than once forgotten to remove the cardboard from the bottom of a frozen pizza before putting it in the oven. So I was understandably just a little apprehensive about making an attempt at cooking something new.

It's surprisingly easy to cook on a budget when you're a vegetarian (although I am, to be clear, a vegetarian who very occasionally eats fish, which in some people's opinion is not a vegetarian at all). Honestly, the reason I don't attempt to cook more often is that I just haven't got the time, between two jobs and graduate school. Most of what I make tends to fall into the whatever-I-can-mix-together-quickly-in-a-not-entirely-unsatisfying-way category. I'm particularly fond of Maftoul couscous with curry powder, canned tuna (chunk light in water, specifically) and a little Parmesan.

In any event, I thought that I would attempt to describe what I did, for the dual purpose of providing other people with vegetarian-friendly, health-conscious, low-stress cooking ideas, and helping me remember what I did so I can attempt to replicate it later. I didn't think to take any pictures when I made this the first time, so I will cook it again soon and see if I can get a good shot with the phone on my camera.

What I did:
I poured a small amount of olive oil into a frying pan and heated it on my stove's medium setting (which, I am beginning to suspect, runs a little hot, so I might set it a little lower next time). Next, I sliced a Field Roast Apple Sage sausage and some pre-made polenta  and sauteed them in the olive oil for 2-3 minutes. I added some sliced avocado to the pan, cooked it briefly, then plated it and threw a little bit of crumbled Gorgonzola on top. I did end up adding a little bit of pepper as an afterthought, although what it really needs, I think, is a tiny bit of pesto. I will try this next time and advise as to the results.

(Pesto really does make everything better, though. If I learned anything in Italy . . . )

I doubt this will become a food blog, because I lack the conviction to be a true foodie, but I have a few more ideas for future cooking posts, so this isn't the last you've heard of me and my kitchen shenanigans. If anyone has suggestions for healthy, veg-friendly meals, please share them in the comments and I'll give them a try. It would be great to hear about other peoples' experimentation.

ETA--Picture!

 

Now I Understand; or, Appreciating Vincent

Oh, I am going to get made fun of for this.

My IRL friends know that I've been threatening to do this for a while, but I wanted to finish reading Vincent Van Gogh's letters to Theo before sitting down to do an appreciation post.

It's sort of a joke among my friends that I am in love with Vincent Van Gogh. But, for goodness' sake, just look at the man. Those eyes! The self portrait above is from spring 1887, and it has been my favorite of his since I saw it hanging in the Art Institute of Chicago when I was visiting the city for post-grad auditions. I had been having a particularly rough time of it--trying to keep up with classes while simultaneously preparing for a recital and steeling myself for the possibility of rejection from any or all of the programs to which I was applying was beginning to wear me down. So, of course, I decided to walk up Michigan Avenue and look at some art.

The story of Van Gogh's life has always been particularly poignant for me because, like him, I know how it feels to hate your art, to work yourself half to death in the pursuit of perfection and never get there, to feel misunderstood and unappreciated and lost. I feel emotions very intensely, which I'm sure is common among creative types, and this can result in some severe mood swings (although I have never gone so far as to cut off a part of my ear in one of my more manic moods--that sort of stunt can be pulled only once, and he got to it first).

So, while working one day at the Art Library, I took it upon myself to check out a collection of translations of the letters which Van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo between 1873 and his death in 1890. And, more than anything, I was struck by how optimistic he seemed to be. While acknowledging that the world was often disappointing and sad, he seems to have--at least until Christmas 1888, when he performed the act that everyone seems to remember him by--an amazing amount of positivity and resilience.

I finished reading his letters on Thursday, sitting in the main lobby of the School of Music. And then I cried, frustrated that things could have gone so wrong for someone so talented and initially positive that he felt he had no other way out. I have dog-eared some excerpts, because I want someone else to know that Vincent Van Gogh was more than just a madman who hacked off part of his ear and then shot himself--some of these letters, I feel I could have written myself, and, although his story is sad, it's nice to know that, no matter how alone life sometimes feels, someone else has felt the same way.

Dated April 3, 1878
And I believe that we also agreed on this point, that one must especially have the end in mind, and that the victory one would gain after a whole life of work and effort is better than one that is gained sooner. Whoever lives sincerely and encounters much trouble and disappointment, but is not bowed down by them, is worth more than the one who has always sailed before the wind and has only known relative prosperity. For who are those that show some sign of higher life? They are those to whom may be applied the words: "Laboureurs, votre vie est triste, laboureurs, vous souffrez dans la vie, laboureurs, vous êtes bien-heureux." (Labourers, your life is sad, labourers, you suffer in this life, labourers, you are blessed!)

The second half of July, 1882
I should want to show by my work what there is in the heart of such an eccentric man, such a nobody. This is my ambition, which is, notwithstanding everything, founded less on anger than on love, founded more on serenity than on passion. It is true that I am often in the greatest misery, but still there is within me a calm pure harmony and music.

Dated February 8, 1883
Sometimes I cannot believe that I am only thirty years old, I feel so much older. I feel older only when I think that most people who know me consider me a failure, and how it really might be so, if some things do not change for the better; and when I think it might be so, I feel it so vividly that it quite depresses me and makes me as downhearted as if it were really so. In a calmer and more normal mood I am sometimes glad that thirty years have passed, and not without teaching me something for the future, and I feel strength and energy for the next thirty years, if I should live that long. And in my imagination I see years of serious work before me, and happier ones than the first thirty.

Mid-March, 1883
You write in your letter sometimes which I sometimes feel also: "Sometimes I do not know how I shall pull through." Look here, I often feel the same in more than one respect, not only in financial things, but in art itself, and in life in general. But do you think that something exceptional? Don't you think ever man with a little pluck and energy has those moments? Moments of melancholy, of distress, of anguish, I think we all have them, more or less, and it is a condition of every conscious human life . . . And sometimes there comes relief, sometimes there comes new inner energy and one rises up from it, till at last, some day, one perhaps doesn't rise up any more . . . but that is nothing extraordinary, and I repeat, such is the common human fate, in my opinion.