It's been ages since I've written here. I honestly just had to reread the most recent entry to see when I had posted last. As it turns out, it's been a while. As I've said.
I had my wisdom teeth extracted (all four!) on Tuesday morning. This was the source of much stress and consternation over the past few weeks. At the library, I had been looking up descriptions of possible complications and an answer to the question, "How long will it be before I can eat Real Food again?" The internet is clearly not the place to search for answers, since message boards are full of whiners who tell the most horrifying stories. Recovery has, on the whole, been fairly uneventful. I learned that Vicodin is underwhelming (I get tired, then a tiny bit dizzy if I haven't eaten), dry-socket is something I probably won't have to deal with, and the pain associated with the healing is more of a mild irritant (constant, dull) than THE WORST PAIN EVER OMG.
(Watching the Doctor Who mid-season finale and this line just made my life: "We're the Thin-Fat-Gay-Married-Anglican-Marines." Steven Moffatt, you have my heart. I hope you don't mind sharing it with Vincent Van Gogh.)
(Two commercial breaks later, I still have no idea what on earth is going on in this episode.)
So, recovery. I had considered live-blogging while under the influence of morphine and Vicodin, but, as my sister pointed out, I'm not that exciting while medicated. This is a shame. She is hilarious. I just sleep a lot and have some trouble walking. My teeth feel--I don't know--crowded? Especially the ones on the bottom, in front. I hope this is just a temporary thing. I never knew that teeth could feel claustrophobic, but mine do, so there you have it. I live in constant fear of ripping my stitches--are they dissolving? If they do, will they leave giant holes where things can get stuck? Did they run the stitches through the side of my cheek? So I have been taking my pills at the appropriate times and napping with my parents' cats, who are ridiculous.
Oh, and somewhere in there I found time to graduate.
Well. Sort of. Had I been in Seattle, I would have walked in my graduation ceremony today. I won't actually have a degree, though, until the end of the summer, since I didn't pass my piano proficiency exam last Friday. I will be retaking it in July, and I fully intend to pass (for realsies) then. My coursework is finished. I don't ever have to go to school again, so I'm pretty excited about that. I have been in school for 21 years. It's time for this to be over.
(I don't know how, but Arthur Darvill has suddenly, suddenly won me over this season. I wasn't sure about Rory even when he was all Badass-Roman-Centurion-Dude at the end of last series, but he's pretty awesome now)
About half this entry isn't going to make any sense to someone who doesn't watch Doctor Who. I don't care. Blogs are, by nature, awfully self-indulgent, aren't they? Well, then. I indulge myself in my fangirlitude.
I do think, though, that part of one of my stitches just came out. Horrifying. I hate this.
Showing posts with label academia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label academia. Show all posts
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
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
(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.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I'm getting older, too.
I can't handle alcohol the way I used to be able to. One beer and I'm pleasantly warm. Two, I want to curl up and go to sleep. I don't bother with liquor any more, really--it's too expensive and too easy to drink just a little more than I should and get dizzy (the point of dizziness happens much earlier these days, as well).
How did I get to be so domestic? Maybe it's just the after-effect of extreme busyness in my everyday life, and the feeling of laziness that sets in immediately upon returning home. Sometimes people ask me if I'd like to go out and, honestly, I'd rather have a nap. I've been more regimented about my schoolwork lately, especially this final research project which is taking over my life. I've set up a system of rewards for manageable tasks, such as, "You can go get a glass of orange juice once you've finished reading this scholarly article," or "When this outline is finished, you can watch another hour of the new BBC adaptation of Emma." I try to keep fruit and granola and yogurt in the house, because that's what I crave when I'm stressed, but if I'm especially hungry, I can be bothered to manage a passable tuna curry couscous. I ought to knit more--I've just sold another hat on my Etsy shop this weekend and one of the baristas at the coffee shop I was in this morning came over to mention that she loved my fingerless mittens and asked if I had a card so she could possibly order a pair as a gift. I was on a tear this winter when I had so little to do, but now my life consists mainly of sleep-coffee-work-research-sleep, so I might need to block out more time to make a significant dent in my stash before I have to move.
(And I just stopped typing for a full twenty minutes to look at intarsia charts on Ravelry. Nerd, nerd, nerd.)
The arduous process of job- and apartment-hunting has begun again, well in advance of my cross-country move. To do this week? Revise resume. Write cover letter. Send resume and cover letter to prospective employer. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And as for apartment hunting, I'm talking to friends who either live in Seattle or know people who do, and hoping to find a room-share, because I never want to pay $800/month for an apartment again, as long as I can help it. At least not while buying cheese is an activity which demands a substantial amount of financial planning-ahead (cheese is expensive).
And in the meantime, there's this bloody research project to worry about. I have promised my adviser two to three completed lecture outlines by Thursday, which means that the next two nights are effectively blocked off for study-times. How do I work Libby Larsen's Try Me, Good King into a lecture about female composers in the 20th century? What are the notable features of Poulenc's Tel Jour, Telle Nuit? How on earth am I going to frame an argument that Hugo Wolf's Lieder are composed with minimalist sensibilities? At least identifying and cataloging Baroque ornaments won't be terribly complicated, and there's a substantial amount of research that's already been done on the construction of a 19th-century operatic Mad Scene. Good grief, academia. You're going to kill me.
The anxiety dreams are back, of course. Two nights ago, I dreamed that I murdered someone who had been harassing me on the street, and then had to hide the body by burning it. I am sure that my subconscious is trying to alert me to the fact that I feel trapped in a bad situation, and extremely limited in my abilities to deal with it. I woke up knowing that it was a dream, thank goodness, since I'm barely capable of crushing a spider (I usually try to trap them and free them outside, bleeding heart that I am), but the feeling of having been forced by circumstance into doing something far outside my moral code haunted me all day yesterday, and made it difficult to sleep. I don't know what I dreamed last night, but this morning my quilt was all askew, and one of my socks was missing. I keep saying to myself, you're standing on third and there's just ninety feet between you and home plate, all you need is a base hit to right field and you'll be able to make it home. The anxiety, and the dreams that inevitably accompany it, has an end-point, and the expiration date on this emotional mess is 3 July. So this is me, pushing through the final six weeks of my graduate degree and hoping to God that I don't lose my mind before I'm a Master of Music.
How did I get to be so domestic? Maybe it's just the after-effect of extreme busyness in my everyday life, and the feeling of laziness that sets in immediately upon returning home. Sometimes people ask me if I'd like to go out and, honestly, I'd rather have a nap. I've been more regimented about my schoolwork lately, especially this final research project which is taking over my life. I've set up a system of rewards for manageable tasks, such as, "You can go get a glass of orange juice once you've finished reading this scholarly article," or "When this outline is finished, you can watch another hour of the new BBC adaptation of Emma." I try to keep fruit and granola and yogurt in the house, because that's what I crave when I'm stressed, but if I'm especially hungry, I can be bothered to manage a passable tuna curry couscous. I ought to knit more--I've just sold another hat on my Etsy shop this weekend and one of the baristas at the coffee shop I was in this morning came over to mention that she loved my fingerless mittens and asked if I had a card so she could possibly order a pair as a gift. I was on a tear this winter when I had so little to do, but now my life consists mainly of sleep-coffee-work-research-sleep, so I might need to block out more time to make a significant dent in my stash before I have to move.
(And I just stopped typing for a full twenty minutes to look at intarsia charts on Ravelry. Nerd, nerd, nerd.)
The arduous process of job- and apartment-hunting has begun again, well in advance of my cross-country move. To do this week? Revise resume. Write cover letter. Send resume and cover letter to prospective employer. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And as for apartment hunting, I'm talking to friends who either live in Seattle or know people who do, and hoping to find a room-share, because I never want to pay $800/month for an apartment again, as long as I can help it. At least not while buying cheese is an activity which demands a substantial amount of financial planning-ahead (cheese is expensive).
And in the meantime, there's this bloody research project to worry about. I have promised my adviser two to three completed lecture outlines by Thursday, which means that the next two nights are effectively blocked off for study-times. How do I work Libby Larsen's Try Me, Good King into a lecture about female composers in the 20th century? What are the notable features of Poulenc's Tel Jour, Telle Nuit? How on earth am I going to frame an argument that Hugo Wolf's Lieder are composed with minimalist sensibilities? At least identifying and cataloging Baroque ornaments won't be terribly complicated, and there's a substantial amount of research that's already been done on the construction of a 19th-century operatic Mad Scene. Good grief, academia. You're going to kill me.
The anxiety dreams are back, of course. Two nights ago, I dreamed that I murdered someone who had been harassing me on the street, and then had to hide the body by burning it. I am sure that my subconscious is trying to alert me to the fact that I feel trapped in a bad situation, and extremely limited in my abilities to deal with it. I woke up knowing that it was a dream, thank goodness, since I'm barely capable of crushing a spider (I usually try to trap them and free them outside, bleeding heart that I am), but the feeling of having been forced by circumstance into doing something far outside my moral code haunted me all day yesterday, and made it difficult to sleep. I don't know what I dreamed last night, but this morning my quilt was all askew, and one of my socks was missing. I keep saying to myself, you're standing on third and there's just ninety feet between you and home plate, all you need is a base hit to right field and you'll be able to make it home. The anxiety, and the dreams that inevitably accompany it, has an end-point, and the expiration date on this emotional mess is 3 July. So this is me, pushing through the final six weeks of my graduate degree and hoping to God that I don't lose my mind before I'm a Master of Music.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Rounding third base; or, stitches on the home stretch
Senioritis? Again?
It's hard to stay motivated these days, and I'm not sure if it can even be properly termed "senioritis," but what I do know is that I am in the second week of my last quarter of school, ever, and that thought is almost incomprehensible. I've been in school for longer than I can remember. Even during my gap year between college and grad school, I attended classes at a university. So the prospect of being done with academia is . . . strange.
My horoscope today--I don't necessarily believe in them, but I check it in the morning via a free app I downloaded to my phone, mostly because reading something first thing after waking up helps me gain coherence a little more quickly--says,
You are about to close a chapter--some aspect of your life that was difficult is coming to a close. Despite the challenges you faced and the hurt or sadness you experienced during this phase, you came away with a wealth of insight. As you end this part of your story, you will feel a sense of relief. Soon, you will also feel a sense of anticipation and excitement, because you are about to turn the page to a whole new and vey wonderful chapter. With what you've learned, you have the power to transform the rest of your life into a magical journey. Use discretion in the choices you make.
Difficult? Definitely. The strange thing is, my course load now is significantly lighter than it has been for as long as I can remember. I'm ticking the last few graduation requirements off my list, and they're easy ones. This morning, I learned that I had passed the French language exam required by my Masters program--one less thing. I am giving my Masters voice recital on April 16--just over a week. What remains, then, is
1) preparing 10 mini-lectures about various topics relating to music
2) piano proficiency exam (to do: gain fluency in 4-octave double-handed scales)
3) opera workshop performance (after which I will hop a plane home to go to a wedding the next day)
And that's it. Clearly I'm having some trouble staying motivated.
Unrelated, but no less irritating: I wonder what it says about our society or the state of the arts or whatever that the music we are most exposed to is either heavily auto-tuned (see: Rebecca Black, Glee, most pop music) or completely out-of-tune (see: the Truvia commercial I just watched). As a musician, I wonder, do other people just not notice things like this, or do they just not care?
It's hard to stay motivated these days, and I'm not sure if it can even be properly termed "senioritis," but what I do know is that I am in the second week of my last quarter of school, ever, and that thought is almost incomprehensible. I've been in school for longer than I can remember. Even during my gap year between college and grad school, I attended classes at a university. So the prospect of being done with academia is . . . strange.
My horoscope today--I don't necessarily believe in them, but I check it in the morning via a free app I downloaded to my phone, mostly because reading something first thing after waking up helps me gain coherence a little more quickly--says,
You are about to close a chapter--some aspect of your life that was difficult is coming to a close. Despite the challenges you faced and the hurt or sadness you experienced during this phase, you came away with a wealth of insight. As you end this part of your story, you will feel a sense of relief. Soon, you will also feel a sense of anticipation and excitement, because you are about to turn the page to a whole new and vey wonderful chapter. With what you've learned, you have the power to transform the rest of your life into a magical journey. Use discretion in the choices you make.
Difficult? Definitely. The strange thing is, my course load now is significantly lighter than it has been for as long as I can remember. I'm ticking the last few graduation requirements off my list, and they're easy ones. This morning, I learned that I had passed the French language exam required by my Masters program--one less thing. I am giving my Masters voice recital on April 16--just over a week. What remains, then, is
1) preparing 10 mini-lectures about various topics relating to music
2) piano proficiency exam (to do: gain fluency in 4-octave double-handed scales)
3) opera workshop performance (after which I will hop a plane home to go to a wedding the next day)
And that's it. Clearly I'm having some trouble staying motivated.
Unrelated, but no less irritating: I wonder what it says about our society or the state of the arts or whatever that the music we are most exposed to is either heavily auto-tuned (see: Rebecca Black, Glee, most pop music) or completely out-of-tune (see: the Truvia commercial I just watched). As a musician, I wonder, do other people just not notice things like this, or do they just not care?
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