It is hilarious to me that the last line of my last blog post is, "I'll post again after my date ;)".
Because that was the weekend of my first date with a guy who became my boyfriend for three months and then it ended, oh let's see, two months ago!
So that really puts in perspective how long it has been since my last post! A whole relationship.
Well as a catch-up, my first year of graduate school is over.
Finally, over.
Which now means I have the summer to write my thesis.
I was researching jobs last night and an MFA is a requirement either as the highest achieved or as an alternative to having a PhD. Also another stipulation is to have a book published.
This is where the thesis is supposed to come in handy, as does the final Thesis Practicum class, which is next spring. Spring 2015 we will have a course in New York City, Right by Tribeca, where it will be practical applications of the things we have learned, the publishing world, marketing our work and ourselves, and more networking opportunities. Because really, with so many people in the world, it's who you know.
This past semester I taught a section of Introduction to Creative Writing.
They called me Professor and it was hella cute, but I spent the better part of the first 5 classes simultaneously questioning why I deserved to be there, and also thinking how much I enjoyed the job and how I felt at home up at the board.
My other friend who taught Composition, said, and I agree, that teaching is a series of good days and bad days and a constant push and pull with feeling great and feeling like a failure.
There were class periods where I knew everyone was engaged and that they were not only learning but that they were enjoying themselves doing it, which is ideal!
Other days I spent the entire commute home just questioning every move I made and repeating things that were said and shaking my head. The failure surrounded a lot of factors, like, how the class was feeling, what the weather was, what the lesson was, how I structured the lesson, what their homework assignment was, what assignments were coming up, etc.
It was a circus of information and emotions and worries both on my part and the students that when they all lined up perfectly it reaffirmed that I did in fact want to teach college for the rest of my life, and on other days I researched joining the Peace Corps and going off the grid in Ecuador for 2 years.
It would be a pleasure to continue to teach both at this university and once I graduate.
Practice makes perfect and after one semester I am aware of 15 extra mistakes that I couldn't have known, and I'm sure with every semester there will always be an additional 10, and maybe 1 or 2 issues that right themselves depending entirely on that mystical circus of possibilities.
I've also dipped my hand further into the vat of existential funk that is creative nonfiction.
I took a memoir class in undergrad, where I wrote about my first relationship. That was the same semester I developed anxiety disorder, and I found them to be linked in some way. Me having to explain why I was me to a room of people and for a quality grade.
In the end I got a B+ in the course because as the Professor said, my story wasn't as interesting as other people in the class, and he had convinced himself I was just not opening up.
That was so far the only time in my life I was told my life wasn't interesting because I hadn't been abused, gay, or an alcoholic.
But with this course I learned exactly how much I have to offer in terms of experience. My professor keeps pushing me to publish and every time I think of it I just don't think I've been through enough for strangers to care about my life, or to want to read it.
So there just in that moment it becomes another point of self-consciousness and self-degradation apparently.
I'll be writing my thesis this summer, which at the moment I have plans for it to be some hybrid of fiction and creative nonfiction. I have more ideas for nonfiction essays than I do for fiction pieces. Probably because fiction there's a lot more to think about and be aware of, and personal essays are given value by honesty and by impact on the reader.
If there is one thing I'm good at, it's being honest.
Which in itself, wasn't necessarily a lie...
Is doubting the same thing as lying?
The main thing graduate school has really questioned of me (and I think every writer should ask this of themselves as well:
why do you write?
I know I write because I don't have a voice in person. I write because I've read books around me and know I can write something better. I write because I don't want to die.
I'm happy to be in the back corner and to observe, but on some level I hate myself for feeling like I wasted too much of my life in the back corner observing when I could have been doing something else. But then I look at the things I have done and wouldn't want to change anything. I've done more than a lot of people I know. I moved to Australia for God's sake.
It brings me back to a quote from Memoir class.
"The sorrow we feel over the ending of a relationship isn't the loss of the significant other, rather the lost possibility of self."
When I say I regret being in the corner, I really mean that I wonder what my life could have been like. How would it have been different? This is perhaps another reason to write.
Being able to play out the lives of every possibility you can think of, putting them in a world of your own design and orchestrating the drama to how it all plays out.
Part of being a writer is seeing every possibility.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Friday, December 6, 2013
Why Yesterday Was THE WORST
So it started out fine. Woke up early to write my final paper for novella class.
It was due online by noon, and I had a writing center appointment for a first draft at 10 am.
I was feeling good about it, but then in our last class the professor said: oh that time deadline is for the undergrads.
As long as you get it up in time for me to read them Friday morning you're good.
So naturally that translated to please procrastinate all night.
So I woke up early, started plotting an outline and was singularly uninspired so I went online and cancelled my appointment at the writing center.
But then I remembered miraculously that I still had to go to campus to distribute evaluation forms to the last class of my undergrads that I am writing assistant for.
I was running late.
I got an email finally from HR that they needed a copy of my résumé an a copy of my diploma. Hollins diplomas don't fit in copy machines so I just shoved it in my backpack. Then my laptop decides that it's not going to hibernate when I shut it. So I have to turn it off the wrong way. Then I remember my resume is only on that. So I turn it on. Go to email it to myself to print on the desktop.
Firefox freezes.
I am gonna be late.
Firefox unfreezes.
Email won't load.
Email loads.
Compose message window won't open.
I remember that flash drives exist.
I plug in my flash drive.
I'm gonna be late.
Device installation freezes.
I finally copy them over.
I have no time.
I am like fuck it ill print on campus.
I get my shit and go outside.
In the driveway are two packages that I decide shouldn't be left outside when there are no cars.
I am holding my planner.
I throw the packages into the entryway and accidentally throw my planner as well.
I think do I need it? What if I need to give someone my schedule? Ill grab it.
Put one foot inside the entryway, my rubber sole is wet, it slides completely put from under me, rippling up the rug and I land tailbone first onto tile.
I am in pain.
Like, full body can't breathe can't unclench any muscle in my torso pain.
I would've laughed my ass off if i had been positive i still had an ass...or had I been able to feel any emotion but pain.
So I unlock the door, toss my glasses somewhere, and lay flat on my back on the couch waiting for the spasms to be over.
I like fuck the evaluations, fuck this class, fuck my shoes, fuck that rug, fuck my planner.
But I have to go.
So I get up and start driving to campus.
My car hydroplanes at a stop sign.
On the entire 35 minute commute, I hit every single red light.
I am not kidding and I wish I was.
Every single light turned yellow when I was just far enough that I wouldn't hydroplane again.
So the commute took the longest it ever has.
Then there is no parking so I have to park off campus on the street.
I walk to campus and then walk to the building then walk to the classroom.
I knock on the door, I go in, prof says why I'm there, I hand out the forms, say I can't be in the room, and then leave.
Then after 10 mins go back in. She hands me the forms and I leave.
All that pain for 10 mins.
Then I head over to the MFA office to print my résumé.
I print it.
I walk over.
I walk in.
It is my second time in HR for this one thing because the first time I went the student worker knew nothing and told me I was fine on paperwork and her supervisor in a lunch party also said I was fine, but I emailed anyway an was told to bring the resume and degree literally 10 mins before I left (and before I fell).
I fill out 2 forms, and she takes a pic of my degree to print bc it's so big and she exclaims how inconvenient it is but it's the size everyone who graduates wishes to have.
Long story short I now know Adelphi gives out tiny degrees that can fit into copy machines.
So I was good with HR.
Then I drive to California Pizza Kitchen to meet my MFA friend Sara for lunch.
Got a Caesar salad that didn't have like any dressing on it and we split a mushroom pizza that had no sauce on it, just Swiss cheese and mushrooms. I hate Swiss cheese.
So I'm still unimpressed with California Pizza Kitchen.
We laugh about my shitty day and talk about people in the program and the classes we are taking next year and it was great.
Then I get home and have to write that damn paper before work at 8.
I write it.
I write it for 4 hours and it ain't bad. It's kinda okay actually. Hopefully.
I post it online along with a short blog post about the last book we had to read and now I am done with that class.
Then I went to work.
For 4 hours we stood around and talked about how much we don't care anymore and how being here til midnight is pointless stupid torture and then we had to clean machines.
So with my back how it was I still had to carry 2 gallon containers of yogurt and full buckets of machine wash over and over and then bend awkwardly over the sink rinsing all 163 machine pieces.
Then mop, bc my supervisor "didn't get to it" while I was rinsing all the parts.
Got home at 130 am.
Sat on Facebook.
Home Internet isn't fast, and must be reset before I smash something.
So now let me list what I have to do this weekend:
Work tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday night.
I have to workshop 2 stories. Extra, mind you. Not part of the original syllabus.
Revise one or two of my submissions.
And for Teaching Writing class:
Make a syllabus for the intro to cw class, including the objectives and grades and the schedule and everything. A complete syllabus.
Choose short stories, poems, and plays that we will assign as reading for the class and write up a defense of how exactly each one will be useful for the students.
Write up a grading policy.
Write a single spaced page of our teaching philosophy, aka what do you want to / think you will accomplish as a teacher of writing?
Two lesson plans, so a minute by minute guide for an entire 50 minute class.
Two fiction exercises, with defense of how they're useful.
Two poetry exercises, with defense of how they're useful.
Two drama exercises, with defense of how they're useful.
So basically, I am thanking Martha for having our paper due yesterday and NOT on top of all that!!!
Now I would say here "f you don't see me on Facebook this weekend this is why" but we both know that I'll be procrastinating on there.
So yeah.
Ill blog again after my date ;)
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Words. Brain. Brain Words.
I can't give proper description to the whirlwind that was this semester. I wish I could. It has all gone so quickly yet I feel as if I've been in graduate school for years. Hard to believe it's been 3 months.
I have words and snippets of updates to provide but I am incapable right now of writing out the story of my life since the previous post.
After one class I knew that graduate school was the best decision I've ever made.
I have amazing news that I'll be making public soon.
Vera Bradley.com is now in my top 12 when opening a new broswer tab.
I now have three jobs and I'm still broke.
I worked for 7 hours in the mall in BBW on black friday. I was the only returning-seasonal person that day, so it became my duty to teach the boy stocker how to go to the basement and lug boxes. So I had to go to the basement with him and lug boxes. Then the other guy who was gonna do it with him the rest of the day didn't show up. So it was me again. Four separate times.
For a single class I read 20 novellas and I am currently procrastinating my final paper because I have nothing to say about them in the context of the topics provided.
My final paper is due today. I have a writing center appointment at 10 am. Which means I have to leave my house at no later than 9:15. which is in 7 hours.
I have a date on Sunday.
I am wondering what I have done to make someone stop talking to me.
I'm quitting my food service job soon. I will miss parts of it. I gave my 2 weeks, let's see if I get accused of not.
I follow 8 accounts on Instagram that only post photos of Australia. I guess I am a masochist.
I sucked a helium balloon twice today and my mom deflated it in the house and now all I can smell is helium and it's been hours and I don't understand and I don't like it.
I had a plain latte at Starbucks today. It was actually very good, and I was impressed. Haven't had a good one since Sydney.
My final paper is due today, but my other two finals are due next monday and tuesday. which gives me just this piddly weekend to get shit done. and I happen to be working all 4 days for the first time in weeks this week of all times.
My final paper is due today. I should go to sleep now and wake up really early.
My final paper is due today. I should stay up all night until it's done and then use the writing center appointment as a first draft revision session.
My final paper is due today. I am going out to lunch today with Sara and we will be getting pizza. and I will be regaling her with my inability to write this paper.
I saw Frozen yesterday with my mom. I loved it. I am obsessed with it actually.
I miss my sister.
I'ma sleep.
Then wake up early.
Then open a word doc.
Then write an 8-10 page paper.
it's gonna happen.
happen sometime.
maybe this time.
I'll win.
I have words and snippets of updates to provide but I am incapable right now of writing out the story of my life since the previous post.
After one class I knew that graduate school was the best decision I've ever made.
I have amazing news that I'll be making public soon.
Vera Bradley.com is now in my top 12 when opening a new broswer tab.
I now have three jobs and I'm still broke.
I worked for 7 hours in the mall in BBW on black friday. I was the only returning-seasonal person that day, so it became my duty to teach the boy stocker how to go to the basement and lug boxes. So I had to go to the basement with him and lug boxes. Then the other guy who was gonna do it with him the rest of the day didn't show up. So it was me again. Four separate times.
For a single class I read 20 novellas and I am currently procrastinating my final paper because I have nothing to say about them in the context of the topics provided.
My final paper is due today. I have a writing center appointment at 10 am. Which means I have to leave my house at no later than 9:15. which is in 7 hours.
I have a date on Sunday.
I am wondering what I have done to make someone stop talking to me.
I'm quitting my food service job soon. I will miss parts of it. I gave my 2 weeks, let's see if I get accused of not.
I follow 8 accounts on Instagram that only post photos of Australia. I guess I am a masochist.
I sucked a helium balloon twice today and my mom deflated it in the house and now all I can smell is helium and it's been hours and I don't understand and I don't like it.
I had a plain latte at Starbucks today. It was actually very good, and I was impressed. Haven't had a good one since Sydney.
My final paper is due today, but my other two finals are due next monday and tuesday. which gives me just this piddly weekend to get shit done. and I happen to be working all 4 days for the first time in weeks this week of all times.
My final paper is due today. I should go to sleep now and wake up really early.
My final paper is due today. I should stay up all night until it's done and then use the writing center appointment as a first draft revision session.
My final paper is due today. I am going out to lunch today with Sara and we will be getting pizza. and I will be regaling her with my inability to write this paper.
I saw Frozen yesterday with my mom. I loved it. I am obsessed with it actually.
I miss my sister.
I'ma sleep.
Then wake up early.
Then open a word doc.
Then write an 8-10 page paper.
it's gonna happen.
happen sometime.
maybe this time.
I'll win.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
What is Life? How do I life?
OH GOD THE LOANNSSSSSSSSSSS.
THIS IS MY LIFE GUYS FROM BEING BACK TO NOW.
When I'm at work, a frozen yogurt place, that shall remain nameless lest this blog appear on a search engine, and it's self-serve and people come in and the doorbell rings and I stand there at the register and smile or say hello or say welcome to froyo-that-must-not-be-named and they either ignore me entirely or occasionally smile back. Then the store is long so they either know where to go, or they stop in front of me and start staring at the Smoothie boards looking for the list of yogurt flavors instead of walking 10 more god damn steps to where the yogurt machines are, hoping some yogurt fairy will just appear and write the flavors on the board so I'm like the asshole who has to say, excuse me do you want frozen yogurt or a smoothie? and the ones who want a smoothie are offended that I am insinuating they're stupid and the ones who don't want a smoothie are offended that I am insinuating they're stupid.
Some of them stop and ask me for "a taster cup" or "a taste thing" or "a taster" or "a little cup to taste" and I go, oh a sample cup? ( >_>) BEFORE THEY EVEN SEE WHAT FLAVORS WE HAVE or after they look they ask and I have to walk over to give it to them because if we have the bucket sitting out apparently everyone will just stand there and eat free samples and then leave (which happens even when they ask for samples).
Then they are singularly unable to swirl the yogurt in the cup without spilling it over the edge, onto the face of the machine, or on their hands and then walk over and ask me for a napkin. Or they take the small cup like "I dont want a big cup then I'll just fill it up and eat too much" but then their inability to swirl the yogurt properly makes them fill up the entire small cup so much that it wont fit any toppings and then they spill the fucking toppings all over the toppings bar because their yogurt is two inches over the rim of the cup and it all couldve fit in the large cup. #icant
It looks like this legit
and I'm just standing there wanting to be like,
but I can't, because it's not my job to do it for them, just to clean up after them.
But honestly I like a lot of the customers and some of them try to keep it clean. But some of them couldn't give two shits about aiming the spoon of coconut flakes into their cup of yogurt and spill it all over. And some take one of the spoons and use it for everything and contaminate everything with peanut. Dont get me started on the peanuts.
So graduate school.
I have three professors.
One is Jackie. Jackie is brilliant, and insightful, and hilarious. She knows all the tricks about teaching and how to simplify your ideas. She is one of the most intimidating women I've ever met, partly because she is smart as a whip, and the other part is how she looks at you. She is the most intense active listener I've ever come across. For that course, which is Teaching Writing, if we make a statement about our pedagogy (new fancy vocab word) she will then rephrase it in the form of a question which will make you wonder if everything you have ever said in your life is a lie. I mean full on intellectual debates back and forth between us declaring something about our beliefs and her responding with questions that we never thought of before and causing us to full on contradict ourselves and then pointing out that contradiction. Which is amazing but very very scary. But we need that.
Another is Martha. She is brilliant, insightful, and just fantastic. I would love her if I wasn't so freaking terrified of her. But I do love her. Her class is Genre Development: Novel, the class which has 21 books on the reading list, and is structured on discussion of the texts - two huge presentations - and two huge essays. The class is 50% PARTICIPATION and 50% ESSAYS. 2 ESSAYS AT 25% EACH. Martha was a copy-editor previously and has pointed out things about my writing voice that I didn't notice before.
The last is Cathy. She is brilliant, insightful, and just plain cool. I'd love to be her friend. She's new to the faculty this year and so has bonded with the first year MFAs because we were noobs together. The class I have with her has 2nd year students too though. Anyway, she - as most professors do - gives very useful workshop comments - is funny as hell and I want her to be the voice of my future audiobooks.
I am taking three classes:
Fiction Workshop - Monday 7pm - 930 pm
First day we got our schedule of workshop. I am paired with a second-year fiction student (no pressure, same day as kid who is no doubt amazing nice) and last in the list. So that was fine, gave me plenty of time to get something together. So during class, every class, we workshop 2 people's stories, we go in a circle and we have to write on their piece and also write a one-page informal essayish thingy about what we thought of it and stuff, which we had to print one copy for them and one copy for Cathy. Which was fine.
Oh and on the first day, when discussing page length, we all agreed that 30 pages was the max we could read and comment on in a week, so if we wanted to hand in something longer than 30 pages, we had to give it earlier, so like 60 pages would be 2 weeks in advance and 90 pages would be 3 weeks in advance etc. I was like, hey day 1, how about I hand all y'all my 392 page novel that no one but Professor Kaldas and my best friend's mom have read in its entirety?
But I didn't. I'm just giving them 65ish pages of it.
For my first submission I wrote a farce (because I made up a playwrighting exercise on farce for Teaching class and was inspired). A farce is a tragedy that is comical and is propelled by panic and absurdity. It actually went over really well, everyone said that they laughed out loud but that it needed to focus more on only one character and that it didn't really have a plot. Like, things happen, but there was no plot. and I was sitting there like..................
And after the first few classes, we then had to individually teach a 30 minute lesson to the class on anything about craft. A craft lesson. And I had to go first! Yay!
So I did an exercise that I did in memoir class: "Write a letter to someone saying all of the things you want to say to them that you have never said to them." and then I gave them a decent 15 minutes to write, and 3 people shared. Then I went into my lesson on conflict.
Basically what I tried to do was to use this memoir exercise for fiction - and the way I connected the two was for initial novel planning, writing this "letter" from the protagonist to another character, then that other character back at the protagonist, basically from all main characters to each other - then figuring out whose story is most important and whose you want to be told - then deciding your POV based on that. Like, whose voice would start the novel, if the perspective would change for a certain development, or if first person makes more sense to use than third person or even second person. Basically. In a nutshell. Which was hard for me to explain in person and I was half trying to get them all to understand the connection between conflict and character and plot and memoir and letter writing and novel planning and ugh it was just a clusterfuck but two girls (who are now my friends) said that the letter inspired them for later writings which was good - though the purpose it was for with them was as a strictly memoir prompt...
Everyone who has taught their lesson since then has learned from my miserable example ;) lol
This monday I'm going to hand out 65 pages of my novel, so that'll be fun.
Teaching Creative Writing: Theory and Practice - Tuesday 4pm - 630pm
On the first day of this class, we all signed up for every single presentation slot for the entire semester. Of which there were like 6 or 7 that had to be filled in on the syllabus.
Each class is divided up into sections of some of the following things and I'll list them all:
One person is the discussion leader on an article we have to print out and read for class.
Everyone goes up and times themselves (3-5 mins) presenting the homework reading/presentation that they signed up for on day one.
Everyone goes up and times themselves (3-5 mins) presenting the homework exercise presentation that they typed up in a one page handout and distributed.
Two people go up and present/teach the element of craft they signed up for on day 1 that they typed up in a one page handout and distributed.
Three people have their teaching practice on the day that they signed up for on day 1.
Everyone goes up and presents their grading policy, their lesson plan, and their complete syllabi that they have to handout and defend and explain.
Immediately after your presentation/teaching/exercise everyone comments on how well you relayed the information and how well you structured your handout.
Jackie gets an average of 5-15 minutes to speak about what the lesson was for that day, because presentations/discussions of presentations go overtime.
In our most recent class we had a "Classroom Management Workshop". We have to write a complete syllabus for class this coming tuesday, so Jackie wanted us to be aware of some crazy classroom situations that occur that cannot be prepared for on the syllabus.
Did y'all know that a syllabus is a legal document? And that if the professor does not write on it "this schedule is subject to change at the teacher's discretion" then it CAN NOT BE CHANGED???
So everyone sat in a circle, there were 9 of us, and she passed out a bag of 15 scenarios. We would have a minute to read them and 10 minutes to write what we would do. Then we would do them in numerical order, reading out for 3 minutes what we would do - then everyone had 10 minutes to weigh in and discuss.
Context: The hypothetical class is Introduction to Creative Writing. It is 3 days a week, and is 50 minutes in duration, and begins at 9 am. The class is co-ed and contains 20 students of all years and majors.
The Adelphi attendance policy is 3 unexcused absences, then any after that are an automatic deduction of 1/3rd a letter grade (an A would become an A-, then B+, then B...etc)
Here were the scenarios:
1. You have a no cell phone policy on your syllabus, but you notice students in the back row are occasionally texting. They do not cause a disturbance, they participate, and they are doing well on assignments. What do you say to them?
2. Kristen has a total of 7 absences. She missed 3 classes for her grandfather's stroke, hospital visit, and funeral - 2 because her and her boyfriend got into a car accident and had to go to court - and 2 because she had to flu. She wants to schedule a meeting with you about make-up work. What do you talk about?
3. Two students sit together and on the previous quiz, their answers for one question are indentical in their strangeness, uniqueness, and are also incorrect. What do you do about it?
4. Terrence and Mark are roommates and do not get along. After a few weeks, Mike comes to you and says that every male character Terrence writes is based on him and his personal life and he is upset about it. What do you do about it?
5. Sheila writes a very descriptive and detailed poem about how she will go about ending her life. What do you do?
6. You are at the bar with a group of other professors and it is happy hour. You turn and notice one of your students, and they offer to buy you a drink. What do you do?
7. A student has a total of 7 absences. Two are for the flu, and you did notice him coughing and sniffing in class prior. When you question him, he says the other 5 were "for religious reasons." What do you say?
8. Tina accuses you of giving good grades to the popular students and bad grades to the quiet students. What do you say to her?
9. Gail goes to the bathroom every single class period. Now you notice that Anya and Val do too. What do you do?
10. Your students have handed in their final portfolios in manila envelopes, and have gone home for winter break. On the commute home, you accidentally leave the stack of envelopes on the train and they ride off, never to be seen again. What do you do?
11. Stacey hasn't done several assignments and has failed the last few quizzes. As a result she is automatically failing the course. When you meet with her to notify her that she is failing, she accuses you of racism / sexism. What do you do?
12. When you give out a particularly long assignment, one student begins yelling that they do not have to do the assignment because their parent is a wealthy alum who sits on the board. What do you say?
13. A student writes a story or poem expressing their undying love for you. What do you do?
14. A student friend requests you on Facebook. What do you do?
15. Dante's father is a well-known writer for the New York Times, and you often read his articles and admire his work. He calls you to set up a meeting to discuss the grade Dante received on his last writing assignment. What do you do?
Genre Development: Novel - Wednesday 6:20pm ~8:50 pm.
This class was my first graduate school class ever. Classes started on wednesday August 28th. Martha introduced herself - she is soft spoken, quite like a more smiley Miranda Priestly. She explains the 50% PARTICIPATION thing, and says that we will be reading 20 novellas, for the first half of the semester, 2 a week.
Then came the game changer.
One student was assigned a novella, and would then lead the discussion for one hour. The only discussion of this novella that would happen in the entire semester is that one hour, and it's allllll you. Any moment where you aren't sitting there in total silence or having to speak non stop for an hour is incumbent on you coming up with amazing discussion questions. No pressure guys.
Oh and best part? I was assigned to go first. 2 weeks later. With Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis.
The thing that Martha was clear about from the start is that the discussion would not be analytical or critical. It would be purely examining the structure of the novella, the elements of craft, and how the writer's choices affect the piece as a whole and what they convey to the reader.
So when I did my discussion of The Metamorphosis (which I really enjoyed reading, and it's one of my favorites from the class) a big thing that I researched was translation, because it was originally in German, and Martha had demanded we get this one particular translation because of the word choice in the first sentence. This one translator changed the german word with no english equivalent into "vermin" rather than "bug" or "insect" or "cockroach". Honestly, all of us by the end of the discussion and hearing Martha talk about the novella we were all convinced that Gregor didn't actually turn into a bug at all. Merely a vermin whose sudden transformation into this incapacitated state angered the family dependent / mooching off of him to view him with contempt and as this monstrous being who they then were forced to care for - leading to eventual neglect - and with his death they show no remorse and show signs that they will repeat the process with his sister. But I digress.
Novellas I can recommend after taking this course are, The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka, and Her Body Knows by David Grossman. Buddha is written in first person plural, and is about the immigration of Japanese women to America after they were sold for the money. It is their lives from Japan, to the ship, to the farms, labor camps, then to the city, then it ends with Pearl Harbor and their internment. It is incredible.
Body is written as a story within a story - a woman returns to her mother's deathbed to read her the story she wrote about her mother's love affair with a 15 year old boy who ran away. It is less about the story, and more about the fact that the daughter reading her mother's fictionalized life story helps them heal their troubled relationship.
Read them both, now.
I am a Writing Assistant for the class, Literature in English III.
I attended a grand total of 10 hours of training in the writing center for how to comment on student papers. I met with the professor and met the class twice.
The class has to turn in a 300-word paper or a 600-word paper every friday before 5pm, and the professor assigned me the job of reading and commenting on all 25 of them by the following wednesday so they could "apply my comments for their next assignment."
So this means, me, unprompted, giving them feedback on papers that they don't have to revise ever, and I am not hired to do copy-edits, so I sit there lecturing them on MLA and formatting and structure and thesis statements and questions on content and then maybe some of them read them, but so far only about 3 of the 25 have actually improved and taken my suggestions.
They wrote so many papers on Jane Eyre that I no longer hold any desire at all to read that book (of which the desire was miniscule before that anyway).
The prompts for their most recent papers are:
"From any of the readings from the past 2 weeks, identify and explain one element (plot, descriptive, rhetorical) that is crucial to defining the specificity or distinctiveness of the culture depicted. (300 words)"
"Based on the cultural element you identified in last week’s writing, explain how this culturally specific element is used by the writer to address broader human experience or realities. (600 words)"
Yeah...even I had to email the professor to make sure even I understood the assignment.
As I stated earlier, I think the whole concept of examining the author's choices about a piece rather than analyzing the content of the story is foreign to undergrads. Is it just me? Let me know in the comments.
I definitely wouldn't have been able to argue in favor of or in disagreement with the writer of the novel/novella/play in an argument on culture...
So over the weeks I have been less and less enthusiastic about this extra workload particularly considering no other WA is required by their professor to read and comment on every piece.
So eventually they will turn one of the 600-word papers into their final essay, and for that they will be required to meet with me to discuss that first. I'll update you once that arrives because I can guarantee half don't bother scheduling and a further 1/4 don't show up.
But maybe I'm being pessimistic.
The paycheck is nice though.
All in all I can honestly say that graduate school has so far been one of the best decisions I've ever made.
I am thrilled to bits that Adelphi accepted me and that I enrolled.
Now, the only thing I'm worried about is the loans after graduation...but I have another year to deal with that...
Although here I have expressed my trepidation and pure terror for the assignments and workload but honestly this level of thinking was just absent from Hollins. I mean everyone has gone through 4 years of workshop so there aren't moments of unhelpful comments that come up in discussion (though I am still delightfully awkward at speaking during workshop)
I think the only professor to whom I can really compare the intensity of this program to is Julie Pfeiffer, and we all know my history with her...(though I have never denied her brilliance - and I owe her).
Since there are no core requirements or gen eds or anything, it is all really focussed on studying literature to become a better writer - to look at it through the eyes of a writer and to understand why it had to be written the way it was in order to achieve the things it achieves. It isn't about analyzing it as an untouchable classic or as "good" or "bad" it's about examining the choices that went into its existence.
The teaching course I knew I had to take because I want to be a professor, and it is also a pre-req for teaching the Intro course to real live undergrads (!!!). I have always been petrified of presentation/public speaking so the fact that every single class we are all going up there and presenting upwards of 4 things in one class has made the whole thing a lot easier. Still not 100% comfortable, but I'm getting there.
So far grad school hasn't rendered me to the drooling mess in memes or to the graduate school Barbie.
I know I am only 2 months in so I imagine the memes are more garnered toward thesis year, so...reserving judgement until then ;)
To my writer friends: I don't think an MFA is necessary if you don't plan on teaching. If I didn't want to teach, I would agree that it serves only as a gateway to more loan debt (though it does have some other uses). It does have its perks being part of a new writing community, with new people to force to read your stuff, but I mean, wouldn't someone do that same thing for you if you gave them a little money? Far less than the ~$40,000 it would cost for grad school?
I need this degree to be able to teach college, so the fact that writing workshops and a creative thesis and a practicum class in the NYC campus is just a glorious perk for the particular program I chose.
If any books nowadays are any indication, one does NOT need a master's degree to be published, or to be a great writer. Which I think all y'all are great writers anyway.
Anyway here are some fails:
When I was doing my hour-long presentation on The Metamorphosis I asked my first question, "What is the point of view?" and someone said "first." and I said, "does anyone agree?" and no one agreed because it was in third person, so I said, "I can see why you thought that because it is a close third so all action we see outside of the protagonist is only moments where the protagonist is overhearing conversation -" and Martha interrupted me and said, "why don't we have a discussion on points of view, because it appears none of you know what those are."
When I was presenting my fiction exercise for Teaching Writing, I learned from my mistakes teaching "the letter" to the fiction workshop people (of which 6 of them were in this class too) and tried to present it again as a purely fiction thing and no mention of memoir. Jackie tutted and said hmm and I sat down in a puddle of shame and Regina George yelled at me, "Sarah, stop trying to make The Letter happen, it's not going to happen."
When I was presenting on a poetry exercise, the Impersonal Universe Deck, which consisted of making a deck of words to pick from to use as inspiration for poems - and one of the prompts was to write an embarrassing word and I wrote clit, and then during the presentation I actually made the deck, and I was flipping through reading off words and giving out hypothetical poem themes and I flipped to clit and started laughing and then said, "clit...you can write a poem about clits...yeah that one was an embarrassing word...anyway, basically its whatever you need to get started...not your clit...but for poems....yeah..."
When we had to write a ghost story for workshop on October 28th and turned the lights off and everyone read theirs and only 3 of them were scary and mine was one of them because I wrote about the ghosts in Presser and the professor who killed his student while she was practicing and my voice was shaking while I was reading it and I read out "and his long pianist fingers" and everyone was then distracted from the scary bits because they were picturing penis fingers.
When I was the only hypothetical professor to get automatically fired when explaining what I would do in a hypothetical situation with a hypothetical student and their parent during the Teaching Writing's "Classroom Management Workshop". Which hypothetically breaks FERPA. I know that you Hollins readers have definitely heard of FERPA ;)
My friend Devin studied abroad in Melbourne and she asked me to bring her back a few packs of TimTams and I did and her twin / my friend rolled his eyes at the fact that I brought home a grand total of 13 packs but then I made him slam one and then he looked at me with wide eyes and I was like yeah now you understand.
So now he understands. His body knows.
THIS IS MY LIFE GUYS FROM BEING BACK TO NOW.
When I'm at work, a frozen yogurt place, that shall remain nameless lest this blog appear on a search engine, and it's self-serve and people come in and the doorbell rings and I stand there at the register and smile or say hello or say welcome to froyo-that-must-not-be-named and they either ignore me entirely or occasionally smile back. Then the store is long so they either know where to go, or they stop in front of me and start staring at the Smoothie boards looking for the list of yogurt flavors instead of walking 10 more god damn steps to where the yogurt machines are, hoping some yogurt fairy will just appear and write the flavors on the board so I'm like the asshole who has to say, excuse me do you want frozen yogurt or a smoothie? and the ones who want a smoothie are offended that I am insinuating they're stupid and the ones who don't want a smoothie are offended that I am insinuating they're stupid.
Some of them stop and ask me for "a taster cup" or "a taste thing" or "a taster" or "a little cup to taste" and I go, oh a sample cup? ( >_>) BEFORE THEY EVEN SEE WHAT FLAVORS WE HAVE or after they look they ask and I have to walk over to give it to them because if we have the bucket sitting out apparently everyone will just stand there and eat free samples and then leave (which happens even when they ask for samples).
Then they are singularly unable to swirl the yogurt in the cup without spilling it over the edge, onto the face of the machine, or on their hands and then walk over and ask me for a napkin. Or they take the small cup like "I dont want a big cup then I'll just fill it up and eat too much" but then their inability to swirl the yogurt properly makes them fill up the entire small cup so much that it wont fit any toppings and then they spill the fucking toppings all over the toppings bar because their yogurt is two inches over the rim of the cup and it all couldve fit in the large cup. #icant
It looks like this legit
and I'm just standing there wanting to be like,
but I can't, because it's not my job to do it for them, just to clean up after them.
But honestly I like a lot of the customers and some of them try to keep it clean. But some of them couldn't give two shits about aiming the spoon of coconut flakes into their cup of yogurt and spill it all over. And some take one of the spoons and use it for everything and contaminate everything with peanut. Dont get me started on the peanuts.
So graduate school.
I have three professors.
One is Jackie. Jackie is brilliant, and insightful, and hilarious. She knows all the tricks about teaching and how to simplify your ideas. She is one of the most intimidating women I've ever met, partly because she is smart as a whip, and the other part is how she looks at you. She is the most intense active listener I've ever come across. For that course, which is Teaching Writing, if we make a statement about our pedagogy (new fancy vocab word) she will then rephrase it in the form of a question which will make you wonder if everything you have ever said in your life is a lie. I mean full on intellectual debates back and forth between us declaring something about our beliefs and her responding with questions that we never thought of before and causing us to full on contradict ourselves and then pointing out that contradiction. Which is amazing but very very scary. But we need that.
Another is Martha. She is brilliant, insightful, and just fantastic. I would love her if I wasn't so freaking terrified of her. But I do love her. Her class is Genre Development: Novel, the class which has 21 books on the reading list, and is structured on discussion of the texts - two huge presentations - and two huge essays. The class is 50% PARTICIPATION and 50% ESSAYS. 2 ESSAYS AT 25% EACH. Martha was a copy-editor previously and has pointed out things about my writing voice that I didn't notice before.
The last is Cathy. She is brilliant, insightful, and just plain cool. I'd love to be her friend. She's new to the faculty this year and so has bonded with the first year MFAs because we were noobs together. The class I have with her has 2nd year students too though. Anyway, she - as most professors do - gives very useful workshop comments - is funny as hell and I want her to be the voice of my future audiobooks.
I am taking three classes:
Fiction Workshop - Monday 7pm - 930 pm
First day we got our schedule of workshop. I am paired with a second-year fiction student (no pressure, same day as kid who is no doubt amazing nice) and last in the list. So that was fine, gave me plenty of time to get something together. So during class, every class, we workshop 2 people's stories, we go in a circle and we have to write on their piece and also write a one-page informal essayish thingy about what we thought of it and stuff, which we had to print one copy for them and one copy for Cathy. Which was fine.
Oh and on the first day, when discussing page length, we all agreed that 30 pages was the max we could read and comment on in a week, so if we wanted to hand in something longer than 30 pages, we had to give it earlier, so like 60 pages would be 2 weeks in advance and 90 pages would be 3 weeks in advance etc. I was like, hey day 1, how about I hand all y'all my 392 page novel that no one but Professor Kaldas and my best friend's mom have read in its entirety?
But I didn't. I'm just giving them 65ish pages of it.
For my first submission I wrote a farce (because I made up a playwrighting exercise on farce for Teaching class and was inspired). A farce is a tragedy that is comical and is propelled by panic and absurdity. It actually went over really well, everyone said that they laughed out loud but that it needed to focus more on only one character and that it didn't really have a plot. Like, things happen, but there was no plot. and I was sitting there like..................
And after the first few classes, we then had to individually teach a 30 minute lesson to the class on anything about craft. A craft lesson. And I had to go first! Yay!
So I did an exercise that I did in memoir class: "Write a letter to someone saying all of the things you want to say to them that you have never said to them." and then I gave them a decent 15 minutes to write, and 3 people shared. Then I went into my lesson on conflict.
Basically what I tried to do was to use this memoir exercise for fiction - and the way I connected the two was for initial novel planning, writing this "letter" from the protagonist to another character, then that other character back at the protagonist, basically from all main characters to each other - then figuring out whose story is most important and whose you want to be told - then deciding your POV based on that. Like, whose voice would start the novel, if the perspective would change for a certain development, or if first person makes more sense to use than third person or even second person. Basically. In a nutshell. Which was hard for me to explain in person and I was half trying to get them all to understand the connection between conflict and character and plot and memoir and letter writing and novel planning and ugh it was just a clusterfuck but two girls (who are now my friends) said that the letter inspired them for later writings which was good - though the purpose it was for with them was as a strictly memoir prompt...
Everyone who has taught their lesson since then has learned from my miserable example ;) lol
This monday I'm going to hand out 65 pages of my novel, so that'll be fun.
Teaching Creative Writing: Theory and Practice - Tuesday 4pm - 630pm
On the first day of this class, we all signed up for every single presentation slot for the entire semester. Of which there were like 6 or 7 that had to be filled in on the syllabus.
Each class is divided up into sections of some of the following things and I'll list them all:
One person is the discussion leader on an article we have to print out and read for class.
Everyone goes up and times themselves (3-5 mins) presenting the homework reading/presentation that they signed up for on day one.
Everyone goes up and times themselves (3-5 mins) presenting the homework exercise presentation that they typed up in a one page handout and distributed.
Two people go up and present/teach the element of craft they signed up for on day 1 that they typed up in a one page handout and distributed.
Three people have their teaching practice on the day that they signed up for on day 1.
Everyone goes up and presents their grading policy, their lesson plan, and their complete syllabi that they have to handout and defend and explain.
Immediately after your presentation/teaching/exercise everyone comments on how well you relayed the information and how well you structured your handout.
Jackie gets an average of 5-15 minutes to speak about what the lesson was for that day, because presentations/discussions of presentations go overtime.
In our most recent class we had a "Classroom Management Workshop". We have to write a complete syllabus for class this coming tuesday, so Jackie wanted us to be aware of some crazy classroom situations that occur that cannot be prepared for on the syllabus.
Did y'all know that a syllabus is a legal document? And that if the professor does not write on it "this schedule is subject to change at the teacher's discretion" then it CAN NOT BE CHANGED???
So everyone sat in a circle, there were 9 of us, and she passed out a bag of 15 scenarios. We would have a minute to read them and 10 minutes to write what we would do. Then we would do them in numerical order, reading out for 3 minutes what we would do - then everyone had 10 minutes to weigh in and discuss.
Context: The hypothetical class is Introduction to Creative Writing. It is 3 days a week, and is 50 minutes in duration, and begins at 9 am. The class is co-ed and contains 20 students of all years and majors.
The Adelphi attendance policy is 3 unexcused absences, then any after that are an automatic deduction of 1/3rd a letter grade (an A would become an A-, then B+, then B...etc)
Here were the scenarios:
1. You have a no cell phone policy on your syllabus, but you notice students in the back row are occasionally texting. They do not cause a disturbance, they participate, and they are doing well on assignments. What do you say to them?
2. Kristen has a total of 7 absences. She missed 3 classes for her grandfather's stroke, hospital visit, and funeral - 2 because her and her boyfriend got into a car accident and had to go to court - and 2 because she had to flu. She wants to schedule a meeting with you about make-up work. What do you talk about?
3. Two students sit together and on the previous quiz, their answers for one question are indentical in their strangeness, uniqueness, and are also incorrect. What do you do about it?
4. Terrence and Mark are roommates and do not get along. After a few weeks, Mike comes to you and says that every male character Terrence writes is based on him and his personal life and he is upset about it. What do you do about it?
5. Sheila writes a very descriptive and detailed poem about how she will go about ending her life. What do you do?
6. You are at the bar with a group of other professors and it is happy hour. You turn and notice one of your students, and they offer to buy you a drink. What do you do?
7. A student has a total of 7 absences. Two are for the flu, and you did notice him coughing and sniffing in class prior. When you question him, he says the other 5 were "for religious reasons." What do you say?
8. Tina accuses you of giving good grades to the popular students and bad grades to the quiet students. What do you say to her?
9. Gail goes to the bathroom every single class period. Now you notice that Anya and Val do too. What do you do?
10. Your students have handed in their final portfolios in manila envelopes, and have gone home for winter break. On the commute home, you accidentally leave the stack of envelopes on the train and they ride off, never to be seen again. What do you do?
11. Stacey hasn't done several assignments and has failed the last few quizzes. As a result she is automatically failing the course. When you meet with her to notify her that she is failing, she accuses you of racism / sexism. What do you do?
12. When you give out a particularly long assignment, one student begins yelling that they do not have to do the assignment because their parent is a wealthy alum who sits on the board. What do you say?
13. A student writes a story or poem expressing their undying love for you. What do you do?
14. A student friend requests you on Facebook. What do you do?
15. Dante's father is a well-known writer for the New York Times, and you often read his articles and admire his work. He calls you to set up a meeting to discuss the grade Dante received on his last writing assignment. What do you do?
Genre Development: Novel - Wednesday 6:20pm ~8:50 pm.
This class was my first graduate school class ever. Classes started on wednesday August 28th. Martha introduced herself - she is soft spoken, quite like a more smiley Miranda Priestly. She explains the 50% PARTICIPATION thing, and says that we will be reading 20 novellas, for the first half of the semester, 2 a week.
Then came the game changer.
One student was assigned a novella, and would then lead the discussion for one hour. The only discussion of this novella that would happen in the entire semester is that one hour, and it's allllll you. Any moment where you aren't sitting there in total silence or having to speak non stop for an hour is incumbent on you coming up with amazing discussion questions. No pressure guys.
Oh and best part? I was assigned to go first. 2 weeks later. With Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis.
The thing that Martha was clear about from the start is that the discussion would not be analytical or critical. It would be purely examining the structure of the novella, the elements of craft, and how the writer's choices affect the piece as a whole and what they convey to the reader.
So when I did my discussion of The Metamorphosis (which I really enjoyed reading, and it's one of my favorites from the class) a big thing that I researched was translation, because it was originally in German, and Martha had demanded we get this one particular translation because of the word choice in the first sentence. This one translator changed the german word with no english equivalent into "vermin" rather than "bug" or "insect" or "cockroach". Honestly, all of us by the end of the discussion and hearing Martha talk about the novella we were all convinced that Gregor didn't actually turn into a bug at all. Merely a vermin whose sudden transformation into this incapacitated state angered the family dependent / mooching off of him to view him with contempt and as this monstrous being who they then were forced to care for - leading to eventual neglect - and with his death they show no remorse and show signs that they will repeat the process with his sister. But I digress.
Novellas I can recommend after taking this course are, The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka, and Her Body Knows by David Grossman. Buddha is written in first person plural, and is about the immigration of Japanese women to America after they were sold for the money. It is their lives from Japan, to the ship, to the farms, labor camps, then to the city, then it ends with Pearl Harbor and their internment. It is incredible.
Body is written as a story within a story - a woman returns to her mother's deathbed to read her the story she wrote about her mother's love affair with a 15 year old boy who ran away. It is less about the story, and more about the fact that the daughter reading her mother's fictionalized life story helps them heal their troubled relationship.
Read them both, now.
I am a Writing Assistant for the class, Literature in English III.
I attended a grand total of 10 hours of training in the writing center for how to comment on student papers. I met with the professor and met the class twice.
The class has to turn in a 300-word paper or a 600-word paper every friday before 5pm, and the professor assigned me the job of reading and commenting on all 25 of them by the following wednesday so they could "apply my comments for their next assignment."
So this means, me, unprompted, giving them feedback on papers that they don't have to revise ever, and I am not hired to do copy-edits, so I sit there lecturing them on MLA and formatting and structure and thesis statements and questions on content and then maybe some of them read them, but so far only about 3 of the 25 have actually improved and taken my suggestions.
They wrote so many papers on Jane Eyre that I no longer hold any desire at all to read that book (of which the desire was miniscule before that anyway).
The prompts for their most recent papers are:
"From any of the readings from the past 2 weeks, identify and explain one element (plot, descriptive, rhetorical) that is crucial to defining the specificity or distinctiveness of the culture depicted. (300 words)"
"Based on the cultural element you identified in last week’s writing, explain how this culturally specific element is used by the writer to address broader human experience or realities. (600 words)"
Yeah...even I had to email the professor to make sure even I understood the assignment.
As I stated earlier, I think the whole concept of examining the author's choices about a piece rather than analyzing the content of the story is foreign to undergrads. Is it just me? Let me know in the comments.
I definitely wouldn't have been able to argue in favor of or in disagreement with the writer of the novel/novella/play in an argument on culture...
So over the weeks I have been less and less enthusiastic about this extra workload particularly considering no other WA is required by their professor to read and comment on every piece.
So eventually they will turn one of the 600-word papers into their final essay, and for that they will be required to meet with me to discuss that first. I'll update you once that arrives because I can guarantee half don't bother scheduling and a further 1/4 don't show up.
But maybe I'm being pessimistic.
The paycheck is nice though.
All in all I can honestly say that graduate school has so far been one of the best decisions I've ever made.
I am thrilled to bits that Adelphi accepted me and that I enrolled.
Now, the only thing I'm worried about is the loans after graduation...but I have another year to deal with that...
Although here I have expressed my trepidation and pure terror for the assignments and workload but honestly this level of thinking was just absent from Hollins. I mean everyone has gone through 4 years of workshop so there aren't moments of unhelpful comments that come up in discussion (though I am still delightfully awkward at speaking during workshop)
I think the only professor to whom I can really compare the intensity of this program to is Julie Pfeiffer, and we all know my history with her...(though I have never denied her brilliance - and I owe her).
Since there are no core requirements or gen eds or anything, it is all really focussed on studying literature to become a better writer - to look at it through the eyes of a writer and to understand why it had to be written the way it was in order to achieve the things it achieves. It isn't about analyzing it as an untouchable classic or as "good" or "bad" it's about examining the choices that went into its existence.
The teaching course I knew I had to take because I want to be a professor, and it is also a pre-req for teaching the Intro course to real live undergrads (!!!). I have always been petrified of presentation/public speaking so the fact that every single class we are all going up there and presenting upwards of 4 things in one class has made the whole thing a lot easier. Still not 100% comfortable, but I'm getting there.
So far grad school hasn't rendered me to the drooling mess in memes or to the graduate school Barbie.
I know I am only 2 months in so I imagine the memes are more garnered toward thesis year, so...reserving judgement until then ;)
To my writer friends: I don't think an MFA is necessary if you don't plan on teaching. If I didn't want to teach, I would agree that it serves only as a gateway to more loan debt (though it does have some other uses). It does have its perks being part of a new writing community, with new people to force to read your stuff, but I mean, wouldn't someone do that same thing for you if you gave them a little money? Far less than the ~$40,000 it would cost for grad school?
I need this degree to be able to teach college, so the fact that writing workshops and a creative thesis and a practicum class in the NYC campus is just a glorious perk for the particular program I chose.
If any books nowadays are any indication, one does NOT need a master's degree to be published, or to be a great writer. Which I think all y'all are great writers anyway.
Anyway here are some fails:
When I was doing my hour-long presentation on The Metamorphosis I asked my first question, "What is the point of view?" and someone said "first." and I said, "does anyone agree?" and no one agreed because it was in third person, so I said, "I can see why you thought that because it is a close third so all action we see outside of the protagonist is only moments where the protagonist is overhearing conversation -" and Martha interrupted me and said, "why don't we have a discussion on points of view, because it appears none of you know what those are."
When I was presenting my fiction exercise for Teaching Writing, I learned from my mistakes teaching "the letter" to the fiction workshop people (of which 6 of them were in this class too) and tried to present it again as a purely fiction thing and no mention of memoir. Jackie tutted and said hmm and I sat down in a puddle of shame and Regina George yelled at me, "Sarah, stop trying to make The Letter happen, it's not going to happen."
When I was presenting on a poetry exercise, the Impersonal Universe Deck, which consisted of making a deck of words to pick from to use as inspiration for poems - and one of the prompts was to write an embarrassing word and I wrote clit, and then during the presentation I actually made the deck, and I was flipping through reading off words and giving out hypothetical poem themes and I flipped to clit and started laughing and then said, "clit...you can write a poem about clits...yeah that one was an embarrassing word...anyway, basically its whatever you need to get started...not your clit...but for poems....yeah..."
When I was the only hypothetical professor to get automatically fired when explaining what I would do in a hypothetical situation with a hypothetical student and their parent during the Teaching Writing's "Classroom Management Workshop". Which hypothetically breaks FERPA. I know that you Hollins readers have definitely heard of FERPA ;)
My friend Devin studied abroad in Melbourne and she asked me to bring her back a few packs of TimTams and I did and her twin / my friend rolled his eyes at the fact that I brought home a grand total of 13 packs but then I made him slam one and then he looked at me with wide eyes and I was like yeah now you understand.
So now he understands. His body knows.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Don't Make This Mistake
Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog) knows that I never pass up an opportunity to get existential.
I can take the smallest thing in life and turn it into a reason for something else.
I'm also going to be incredibly melodramatic in this post - but this is what happens when I am upset. In a few hours I will be embarrassed that this post exists.
This morning I woke up at 7:30, showered, and Skyped with Emmilly and Chris. It was lovely.
Then I went to the eye doctor. I had my pupils dilated, and waited for the doctor, doctor tells me my eyes are perfect and to come back in 3 years or unless something happens.
We stop back at my house, and my mom drives me to Jones Beach to meet up with Amanda and Mary Kate.
On the way, I put on my sunglasses because my eyes are dilated and I didn't want to go blind.
Get to the beach, have a sit, we talk, and Amanda and I go down to the water. I kept my sunglasses on because my eyes were dilated and it was sunny and bright.
Waves were really big, really scary, and there was no one place to stand where a big one would not hit you. So we got out.
Then we sat more. Then got hot. Then the three of us trekked down to the water again.
I had my sunglasses on still.
Listen, I've worn my sunglasses in the ocean plenty of times. Like, at least 20 times.
But for some reason, this time, two huge waves in a row crested and crashed onto my head. In my efforts not to drown or get dragged under and choking up sea water, I didn't even register that my sunglasses had been blown off my face.
At least not until I was like, why is it so bright all of a sudden?
I mean, the 2nd of the two waves dragged me at least 15 feet. I can't tell you if the glasses were blown off after the first wave hit or the second wave hit.
What I can tell you is that my sunglasses, my mirrored aviators, my favorite pair of sunglasses ever, are gone.
Amanda and Mary Kate searched for them in the deeper water for a bit while I checked if they washed up. They went to sit down and I stood there for another 10 minutes waiting for them to wash up and trying to find them in the waves.
I got these sunglasses at a street market in Greenwich Village in NYC in the summer of 2007. Aviators weren't even a popular style of sunglasses yet, and the mirrored lenses were unheard of. I didn't have enough cash so Amy bought them for me as an early birthday present.
The right lens had a big scratch on it from when I was going into Carvin at Hollins and dropped them trying to get my keys. They landed lens front first onto the concrete and scratched permanently.
Emily G gave me the nickname of "The Aviator" for our groups youtube channel.
In my last pottery class at Hollins, when we had to make busts of ourselves, I custom fit pieces of my clay-face and clay-hair so that these particular aviators could be worn by the clay bust of myself. Because these glasses were me.
Those glasses came with me to London, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Budapest, Australia, and New Zealand. I wore them nearly every time I went outside.
They were big enough lenses that when I put them on, everything was dark, no edges and no gradation of color. The frames were wide enough that they NEVER hurt my ears or my skull or my jaw muscles.
I could put those things on and STARE at people and they'd never know.
I played the "where am I looking?" game with pretty much everyone at some point.
Today was the first time I unpacked them from my carry-on after coming back from Australia - having found them in the case after thinking I'd lost them in Indro or something before I left.
Now I lost them in the ocean.
I wonder if anyone will find them. If they do they won't know that those glasses have been to Budapest, or that a lens fully popped out while waiting for the ferry boat to take us to Loch Ness. To them they will just be a sandy, broken pair of cheap aviators with or without lenses or sides or any parts to make them functional again.
I absolutely hate losing things - and I lose things all the time - but it depresses and angers me to the point of puking when I lose things irreplaceable and knowing that they will never turn up.
It's one thing to lose your keys (you'll find them) or phone (just call it), but another thing entirely to lose something in the ocean. They gone. They gone fo real.
It's my own fault too, I shouldn't have been wearing them. But honestly - wearing them they were such a part of me and how I exist that I didn't even think about it. They weren't separate from my face. You wouldn't tell me to leave my face behind with the towels to keep it safe would you?
I know that if Amanda had said, Sarah you should keep your glasses with your stuff, I would've said, no they'll be okay, it was okay earlier when we were in the water.
I wish I had switched to my new heart sunglasses Amanda bought me, because those I could've bought new ones.
These I can never have again.
I don't think I'll ever find a pair that fits my face so well while also being perfect mirrors to block where I'm looking or to have a lovely mirror for a friend to check their hair or makeup or as happened today - Amanda checked to see if her sunscreen was rubbed in on her face - in my mirrored glasses.
Now how does a person make this existential?
I followed my gut when I was looking for them in the water. I was standing there begging for them to wash up or for me to see a piece of them or SOME sign of them. I know I might have found them if I had gone back out to where the waves were forming - but I was too scared of being choked and dragged again - especially if my attention was directed at digging around with my feet in the sand while my shoulders and head were just above the surface.
I knew once I walked away from the water I would be accepting that I'd never see them again.
I'd be accepting that the little piece of stability I always had during all my travels and all of my life experiences since high school were now somewhere in the Atlantic. It kills me.
But maybe this is a test.
I have always been abnormally attached to things. It scares and annoys me some times how I can't just throw or give something away.
Recently I've been faced with losing a whole lot of irreplaceable things, and it's completely out of my control just like these waves today were.
It was in my control to take my glasses off, it was in my control to have grabbed the glasses off my face and risked drowning in exchange for not losing them. It was in my control to stand on that beach and in the water just not being able to walk away until the slim chance they came up with high tide. I could've chosen not to go to the beach after my doctor's appointment.
But I don't have the control of time, I don't have control over my instincts, and I don't have control over when things decide to change.
There is absolutely nothing comparable at all to the death of a person close to you and loss of their future and your future with them. There are just certain moments in life where everything plateaus and then its like, bam. Nothing will be how it was again. ever.
I know that in the not-so-distant future I will be leaving a lot of things irreplaceable to me.
Things that I would only want to leave behind with my death and no sooner are going to be gone.
So I think this is a test.
I have lost objects that have meant this much to me before - but they have turned up somewhere at some point. If they didn't, I've thankfully repressed the memory I guess.
I lost my first iPod, but I still physically own it - it just won't ever turn on again.
That's not the same as an ocean wave crashing on your head and pulling them off and then burying them in sand until they biodegrade (if they ever do).
I can walk away from this - because I allowed myself to leave the beach today without them. How I feel in this moment is pathetic, I wish I was not so attached to these things. I wish I could live the rest of my life being able to give things away, sell things, or have them taken from me without being phased.
As of this moment all I can say is for you all to not wear your sunglasses in the ocean - even if leaving them behind on the towel could damage your eyes and loss of SIGHT would be infinitely worse than a pair of sunglasses.
Re-evaluate your attachments. Realize that everything we have is liquid. Everything we have is relative and fragile and out of control. At any moment something and someone cherished can vanish.
It's best to prepare yourself for that somehow.
I can take the smallest thing in life and turn it into a reason for something else.
I'm also going to be incredibly melodramatic in this post - but this is what happens when I am upset. In a few hours I will be embarrassed that this post exists.
This morning I woke up at 7:30, showered, and Skyped with Emmilly and Chris. It was lovely.
Then I went to the eye doctor. I had my pupils dilated, and waited for the doctor, doctor tells me my eyes are perfect and to come back in 3 years or unless something happens.
We stop back at my house, and my mom drives me to Jones Beach to meet up with Amanda and Mary Kate.
On the way, I put on my sunglasses because my eyes are dilated and I didn't want to go blind.
Get to the beach, have a sit, we talk, and Amanda and I go down to the water. I kept my sunglasses on because my eyes were dilated and it was sunny and bright.
Waves were really big, really scary, and there was no one place to stand where a big one would not hit you. So we got out.
Then we sat more. Then got hot. Then the three of us trekked down to the water again.
I had my sunglasses on still.
Listen, I've worn my sunglasses in the ocean plenty of times. Like, at least 20 times.
But for some reason, this time, two huge waves in a row crested and crashed onto my head. In my efforts not to drown or get dragged under and choking up sea water, I didn't even register that my sunglasses had been blown off my face.
At least not until I was like, why is it so bright all of a sudden?
I mean, the 2nd of the two waves dragged me at least 15 feet. I can't tell you if the glasses were blown off after the first wave hit or the second wave hit.
What I can tell you is that my sunglasses, my mirrored aviators, my favorite pair of sunglasses ever, are gone.
Amanda and Mary Kate searched for them in the deeper water for a bit while I checked if they washed up. They went to sit down and I stood there for another 10 minutes waiting for them to wash up and trying to find them in the waves.
I got these sunglasses at a street market in Greenwich Village in NYC in the summer of 2007. Aviators weren't even a popular style of sunglasses yet, and the mirrored lenses were unheard of. I didn't have enough cash so Amy bought them for me as an early birthday present.
The right lens had a big scratch on it from when I was going into Carvin at Hollins and dropped them trying to get my keys. They landed lens front first onto the concrete and scratched permanently.
Emily G gave me the nickname of "The Aviator" for our groups youtube channel.
In my last pottery class at Hollins, when we had to make busts of ourselves, I custom fit pieces of my clay-face and clay-hair so that these particular aviators could be worn by the clay bust of myself. Because these glasses were me.
Those glasses came with me to London, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Budapest, Australia, and New Zealand. I wore them nearly every time I went outside.
They were big enough lenses that when I put them on, everything was dark, no edges and no gradation of color. The frames were wide enough that they NEVER hurt my ears or my skull or my jaw muscles.
I could put those things on and STARE at people and they'd never know.
I played the "where am I looking?" game with pretty much everyone at some point.
Today was the first time I unpacked them from my carry-on after coming back from Australia - having found them in the case after thinking I'd lost them in Indro or something before I left.
Now I lost them in the ocean.
I wonder if anyone will find them. If they do they won't know that those glasses have been to Budapest, or that a lens fully popped out while waiting for the ferry boat to take us to Loch Ness. To them they will just be a sandy, broken pair of cheap aviators with or without lenses or sides or any parts to make them functional again.
I absolutely hate losing things - and I lose things all the time - but it depresses and angers me to the point of puking when I lose things irreplaceable and knowing that they will never turn up.
It's one thing to lose your keys (you'll find them) or phone (just call it), but another thing entirely to lose something in the ocean. They gone. They gone fo real.
It's my own fault too, I shouldn't have been wearing them. But honestly - wearing them they were such a part of me and how I exist that I didn't even think about it. They weren't separate from my face. You wouldn't tell me to leave my face behind with the towels to keep it safe would you?
I know that if Amanda had said, Sarah you should keep your glasses with your stuff, I would've said, no they'll be okay, it was okay earlier when we were in the water.
I wish I had switched to my new heart sunglasses Amanda bought me, because those I could've bought new ones.
These I can never have again.
I don't think I'll ever find a pair that fits my face so well while also being perfect mirrors to block where I'm looking or to have a lovely mirror for a friend to check their hair or makeup or as happened today - Amanda checked to see if her sunscreen was rubbed in on her face - in my mirrored glasses.
Now how does a person make this existential?
I followed my gut when I was looking for them in the water. I was standing there begging for them to wash up or for me to see a piece of them or SOME sign of them. I know I might have found them if I had gone back out to where the waves were forming - but I was too scared of being choked and dragged again - especially if my attention was directed at digging around with my feet in the sand while my shoulders and head were just above the surface.
I knew once I walked away from the water I would be accepting that I'd never see them again.
I'd be accepting that the little piece of stability I always had during all my travels and all of my life experiences since high school were now somewhere in the Atlantic. It kills me.
But maybe this is a test.
I have always been abnormally attached to things. It scares and annoys me some times how I can't just throw or give something away.
Recently I've been faced with losing a whole lot of irreplaceable things, and it's completely out of my control just like these waves today were.
It was in my control to take my glasses off, it was in my control to have grabbed the glasses off my face and risked drowning in exchange for not losing them. It was in my control to stand on that beach and in the water just not being able to walk away until the slim chance they came up with high tide. I could've chosen not to go to the beach after my doctor's appointment.
But I don't have the control of time, I don't have control over my instincts, and I don't have control over when things decide to change.
There is absolutely nothing comparable at all to the death of a person close to you and loss of their future and your future with them. There are just certain moments in life where everything plateaus and then its like, bam. Nothing will be how it was again. ever.
I know that in the not-so-distant future I will be leaving a lot of things irreplaceable to me.
Things that I would only want to leave behind with my death and no sooner are going to be gone.
So I think this is a test.
I have lost objects that have meant this much to me before - but they have turned up somewhere at some point. If they didn't, I've thankfully repressed the memory I guess.
I lost my first iPod, but I still physically own it - it just won't ever turn on again.
That's not the same as an ocean wave crashing on your head and pulling them off and then burying them in sand until they biodegrade (if they ever do).
I can walk away from this - because I allowed myself to leave the beach today without them. How I feel in this moment is pathetic, I wish I was not so attached to these things. I wish I could live the rest of my life being able to give things away, sell things, or have them taken from me without being phased.
As of this moment all I can say is for you all to not wear your sunglasses in the ocean - even if leaving them behind on the towel could damage your eyes and loss of SIGHT would be infinitely worse than a pair of sunglasses.
Re-evaluate your attachments. Realize that everything we have is liquid. Everything we have is relative and fragile and out of control. At any moment something and someone cherished can vanish.
It's best to prepare yourself for that somehow.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
No Time Like the Present
So I am officially out of Australia for the near to immediate future. It makes me sad. Half because I liked it, half because I will miss it.
In the past 24 hours, I have slept maybe a grand total of 4 hours.
I am so scatter brained. I'm just gonna list things that come to my head. I'm sleep deprived.
I left Brisbane at 6:45 pm yesterday. Which is Australian time. Landed in Auckland at 11:25 pm NZ time, which is 2 hours ahead of Brisbane, so 16 hours ahead of NY instead of 14.
I found a nice spot to nest in for a while once I picked up my luggage, which I ended up having to check both bags and pay for the extra, which I knew would happen.
In Brisbane airport the Qantas woman was very accomodating on helping me find loopholes for it. The big suitcase was $30 because it was overweight by 2 kilograms and its $15/kg over 30kg. The second bag could only be 10kg, with $15/kg on every other kg - so this one carry-on sized suitcase was gonna be effin $285. and I was like hail to the nah. So the woman told me to run over to the bag wrap people, buy a canvas bag and put all the heavy shit in it (she didnt say shit) and use that as my carryon and then try to get the other checked bag down a bit. I ended up not having to buy a canvas bag bc I already had one that I bought in target in aus. But I digress.
Then she didn't weight my cabin baggage even though there was a limit. So she was great.
checking in the air new zealand today, the first guy I went to was super nice, he was Japanese and liked me from the start because I took my passport out of the passport holder before I gave it to him and he had a nice little rant about how people just hand him their whole wallet sometimes. So I was on his good side.
Then the charge for a second bag was $200 NZ, which is like $160 US tops. $159.74, just googled it. Then since my big bag was overweight, it would be ANOTHER $200 for the overweight, so he was like you are gonna go over there by the scale and repack, go now! and so I went.
Took out a bunch of shit. threw out a few things. RIP flip flops, sunscreen, moisturizers, and $9 walmart jeans. Bye bye. So I got my carry on literally stuffed full, 20.8 kg out of 23, and then the big bag went down to 23.9 so she let it go through :) I like people.
Then she had to weigh my carry on luggage, which both pieces had to add up to 10kg, and they were 14, so I had to shove MORE stuff into the already full carry on. It is a good thing I put it in the fragile area because the seams are so stretched. I'm done with weighing bags now. I'm just hoping I don't have to go through security again in the US (but I will have to who am I kidding) and I'm hoping they don't confiscate any of my food. The TSA can never be as nice as the NZ customs people were though.
So I landed in Auckland and found a long booth in the food court, set up my trolley next to me and put my other 2 bags under the table, took out my laptop bc i was right next to a plug (as I am right now) and got on mcdonalds free wifi after the free 30 mins from auckland airport expired. I was getting tired, and I did lay down and try to sleep but it was too bright, I was too paranoid about my bags, I couldn't get comfortable, and I was really hot, and people were being loud and it was starting to get crowded, so while I laid there and semi-relaxed for like 30 mins, I didn't actually sleep at all.
Until the luggage storage place opened, so it was like 6am, and I put both my suitcases and my backpack in storage for 8 hours. Then I went up to the top floor sky deck and it was nearly empty and with long rows of cushy leather seats. I laid on one in the corner with my head on my bag and got a decent 2 hour nap.
I left the airport on the express bus to the city at 10am. I got into the city and walked around and saw some stuff. I was in the real center of everything I guess, so it wasn't much different content wise from Brisbane CBD, but it was open and non-claustrophobic and full of docklands like Melbourne.
The souvenirs here are SO COOL but I wasn't here long enough to merit anything. I did get a shot glass though bc it had to happen. My intent was to save a dollar coin bc it has the kiwi bird on it, but I had to spend it at lunch so now I have a 20 cent coin that looks like our dime and has Maori symbols on it. A lot of the souvenirs are Maori inspired actually. It would be like walking into a US souvenir store and having nearly everything made by or designed by Native Americans. Wouldn't happen anywhere but where they have reserves basically. I'd love to go to New Mexico and see my family there and then get a lot of Native American stuff lol.
I only have five minutes of wifi left that I had to pay for. I'm gonna have to see if theres a McDonalds near the gates. I'll be giving up a nice spot on my own little couch with table and plug though. Meh. I can watch itunes vids or write or something I guess....maybe work on that Sydney blog :P
I feel like I've accomplished something, even though I know that Ive only been going through all of this preparation and waiting just to sit on a plane for 12 hours.
but I know that a bulk of that time will be sleeping because I have a WINDOW SEAT. I CAN LEAN MY HEAD ON THE WALL. sure it'll vibrate and it'll drive me crazy......but I'm exhausted. I just want to collapse into a hotel room double bed with cold sheets and the ac on and two pillows and i can sleep diagonally and not wake up until we have to.
speaking of breakfast, I had a BLT bagel from Mcdonalds here for Mcds breakfast and it was SO GOOD. we need those in the US. I looked at the menu and saw a pic of something with lettuce and I was like yay a non-breakfast food! and then it was a BLT which is literally the most glorious combination of food.
it's like, PBJ, BLT, Smores....carrots and ranch....yep. hierarchy of good food combos.
My plan for the US is to get a Moes burrito for lunch, a Chipotle bowl for dinner, and then fourth meal from Taco Bell.
This is all I can think about. I will go INSANE if there is a mexican fast food anything in San francisco airport.
anyway.
TTFN
In the past 24 hours, I have slept maybe a grand total of 4 hours.
I am so scatter brained. I'm just gonna list things that come to my head. I'm sleep deprived.
I left Brisbane at 6:45 pm yesterday. Which is Australian time. Landed in Auckland at 11:25 pm NZ time, which is 2 hours ahead of Brisbane, so 16 hours ahead of NY instead of 14.
I found a nice spot to nest in for a while once I picked up my luggage, which I ended up having to check both bags and pay for the extra, which I knew would happen.
In Brisbane airport the Qantas woman was very accomodating on helping me find loopholes for it. The big suitcase was $30 because it was overweight by 2 kilograms and its $15/kg over 30kg. The second bag could only be 10kg, with $15/kg on every other kg - so this one carry-on sized suitcase was gonna be effin $285. and I was like hail to the nah. So the woman told me to run over to the bag wrap people, buy a canvas bag and put all the heavy shit in it (she didnt say shit) and use that as my carryon and then try to get the other checked bag down a bit. I ended up not having to buy a canvas bag bc I already had one that I bought in target in aus. But I digress.
Then she didn't weight my cabin baggage even though there was a limit. So she was great.
checking in the air new zealand today, the first guy I went to was super nice, he was Japanese and liked me from the start because I took my passport out of the passport holder before I gave it to him and he had a nice little rant about how people just hand him their whole wallet sometimes. So I was on his good side.
Then the charge for a second bag was $200 NZ, which is like $160 US tops. $159.74, just googled it. Then since my big bag was overweight, it would be ANOTHER $200 for the overweight, so he was like you are gonna go over there by the scale and repack, go now! and so I went.
Took out a bunch of shit. threw out a few things. RIP flip flops, sunscreen, moisturizers, and $9 walmart jeans. Bye bye. So I got my carry on literally stuffed full, 20.8 kg out of 23, and then the big bag went down to 23.9 so she let it go through :) I like people.
Then she had to weigh my carry on luggage, which both pieces had to add up to 10kg, and they were 14, so I had to shove MORE stuff into the already full carry on. It is a good thing I put it in the fragile area because the seams are so stretched. I'm done with weighing bags now. I'm just hoping I don't have to go through security again in the US (but I will have to who am I kidding) and I'm hoping they don't confiscate any of my food. The TSA can never be as nice as the NZ customs people were though.
So I landed in Auckland and found a long booth in the food court, set up my trolley next to me and put my other 2 bags under the table, took out my laptop bc i was right next to a plug (as I am right now) and got on mcdonalds free wifi after the free 30 mins from auckland airport expired. I was getting tired, and I did lay down and try to sleep but it was too bright, I was too paranoid about my bags, I couldn't get comfortable, and I was really hot, and people were being loud and it was starting to get crowded, so while I laid there and semi-relaxed for like 30 mins, I didn't actually sleep at all.
Until the luggage storage place opened, so it was like 6am, and I put both my suitcases and my backpack in storage for 8 hours. Then I went up to the top floor sky deck and it was nearly empty and with long rows of cushy leather seats. I laid on one in the corner with my head on my bag and got a decent 2 hour nap.
I left the airport on the express bus to the city at 10am. I got into the city and walked around and saw some stuff. I was in the real center of everything I guess, so it wasn't much different content wise from Brisbane CBD, but it was open and non-claustrophobic and full of docklands like Melbourne.
The souvenirs here are SO COOL but I wasn't here long enough to merit anything. I did get a shot glass though bc it had to happen. My intent was to save a dollar coin bc it has the kiwi bird on it, but I had to spend it at lunch so now I have a 20 cent coin that looks like our dime and has Maori symbols on it. A lot of the souvenirs are Maori inspired actually. It would be like walking into a US souvenir store and having nearly everything made by or designed by Native Americans. Wouldn't happen anywhere but where they have reserves basically. I'd love to go to New Mexico and see my family there and then get a lot of Native American stuff lol.
I only have five minutes of wifi left that I had to pay for. I'm gonna have to see if theres a McDonalds near the gates. I'll be giving up a nice spot on my own little couch with table and plug though. Meh. I can watch itunes vids or write or something I guess....maybe work on that Sydney blog :P
I feel like I've accomplished something, even though I know that Ive only been going through all of this preparation and waiting just to sit on a plane for 12 hours.
but I know that a bulk of that time will be sleeping because I have a WINDOW SEAT. I CAN LEAN MY HEAD ON THE WALL. sure it'll vibrate and it'll drive me crazy......but I'm exhausted. I just want to collapse into a hotel room double bed with cold sheets and the ac on and two pillows and i can sleep diagonally and not wake up until we have to.
speaking of breakfast, I had a BLT bagel from Mcdonalds here for Mcds breakfast and it was SO GOOD. we need those in the US. I looked at the menu and saw a pic of something with lettuce and I was like yay a non-breakfast food! and then it was a BLT which is literally the most glorious combination of food.
it's like, PBJ, BLT, Smores....carrots and ranch....yep. hierarchy of good food combos.
My plan for the US is to get a Moes burrito for lunch, a Chipotle bowl for dinner, and then fourth meal from Taco Bell.
This is all I can think about. I will go INSANE if there is a mexican fast food anything in San francisco airport.
anyway.
TTFN
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Trying to Explain
I bought my ticket to Auckland, New Zealand.
It was my intention to spend a decent amount of time there before flying home from there, but it's not happening.
I am saving upwards of $400 flying to NY from there instead of Brisbane. I used my Qantas frequent flyer points to get a decent chunk off of the flight from Brisbane to Auckland, so all in all I am comfortable with the price of the plane (as comfortable as can possibly be with a sum over $1000....but we won't talk about that...)
I will be flying out of Brisbane and out of Australia on Thursday at 6:45 PM, spending a grand total of 17 hours in Auckland before going home. I thought long and hard over this decision, and in light of my bank account and in view of all of the things I want to do with my summer in the US, I am saving my money for those things.
I'll be back coming back someday.
I have a list of all the things I want to do in Brisbane before I leave in less than a week.
I started packing yesterday and I'm like, halfway done already.
I promise to still write about Sydney, and I promise I'll come up with a list of things I'll miss and things I won't miss about this country and this part of the world.
But before that....I need to discuss something while I feel inspired to explain it.
Reverse culture shock for me is the hardest part of traveling.
You see, they prepare you for culture shock when entering a new country. It's all about looking up public transport and maps and the "must-do" attractions. It's about understanding customs and accents and politics and stereotypes and history and what to do and what not to do. It's all so new and it's all so colorful and bustling and it requires lightning-quick adjustments.
What gets ignored is reverse culture shock - how going home after it all....just fucking sucks.
I'm sorry to use the F word, but the sentiment requires it in this instance.
Allow me to try to explain what I mean by that.
I think travel is weird in a lot of ways, mostly because I find myself in genuine disbelief at my life.
I noticed this in London too, like, you know you are in a different place, you know that you are away from your family and your childhood home, but it doesn't feel all that different.
It never felt like I was halfway around the world then. Here in Australia, it doesn't feel like I'm on the complete opposite side of the world. It doesn't feel like I'm in a completely different hemisphere. It feels normal. But how could I have ever expected it to not feel normal?
When I stepped out of Brisbane Airport, I was like, palm trees. This could be Florida. This could be California. This could be literally anywhere with palm trees. What should Australia feel like? and why should it feel like I'm so far away? Why did I expect it - and want it - to feel different?
The first time we went to Westminster and I looked up at Big Ben, I was just staring at it like, yep, that's Big Ben. That's St. Stephen's Tower and it's gorgeous. It's everything I wanted it to be, and now I've seen it, and I have the ability to see it every day for the next three months....why don't I feel different? Why doesn't this knowledge and this new mental image make me feel different?
When I was in Sydney, I was like, cool another city. Back in the city. Always in a city. We walked to the Harbour and I looked to my right and saw the Opera House and I said to myself, Self, that's the Sydney Opera House - take a picture of it! So I did. I saw the Sydney Harbour Bridge and that was cool too. But do I feel like a different person? Do I feel as though some part of me is more complete than it was before that moment? No. I just knew I had to see it before I left Australia, so as soon as I saw it, it was off my list. It was a complete "Now what?" moment. I was sort of stunned, like, really guys...now what? Day one in Sydney and we did the one thing that must be done in Sydney and the whole reason we came to Sydney, and we still have three entire days left? NOW WHAT?
I think also that's part of why I loved Melbourne so much. We didn't know what was there, we had no expectations and therefore nothing but discovery of the coolest city in this country.
Anyway.
I always think I'll feel different. That I'll go to these places and I'll see these landmarks and I'll feel more traveled. I will feel more happy. I will feel like my stay had a purpose. But it is never like that.
I'm not saying I'm not happy doing it, or that I'm wasting my time somehow - not at all.
It's like when you plan your birthday and how your party is going to be and how it's going to be a great day because it's the first time you'll be this new age and the only time it will be the first time - and then its always ruined somehow. Someone or something just happens to make sure it is not the perfect day you planned - but that NEVER stops you from trying again every single year to have the perfect day.
It's like that.
Reverse culture shock is coming home after it all. Going back to America.
Everything and nothing is still the same, it's a weird in-between that is just all kinds of uncomfortable.
I can't wait to see my family, my friends, and my room, and go to a grocery store and cry at how cheap everything is, and plan small trips and go to the beach and TACO BELL. It will all be out of place compared to how all of 2013 has been for me, so it will feel different - yet so normal and right because a majority of my life has been like that. Does that make sense?
Believe me when I say that stepping into an Airport it feels like all of your life is where you are going. Nothing else matters but you, your stuff, your passport, keeping track of your stuff, where the gate is, where your stuff is, where you can sit with your stuff, and then boarding hoping they don't stop you for having too much/too big of stuff. Then sitting on the plane you just want to be off of it.
Believe me when I say that stepping into an Airport after a trans-continental flight feels like none of it ever happened.
I landed in Newark Airport after London with Lindsay, and I could feel my happiness just sloughing off of me. With every step and with every person I passed I just felt less and less special. I had just lived in London for three months and traveled in the UK and Hungary - and I knew that no one could see that, no one cared, and all of the people who WOULD care, wouldn't care for very long - because life goes on.
Once I was through Customs and saw my parents in the arrivals area, it instantly felt as if it never happened.
If Lindsay wasn't with me, a wonderful friend and a glorious piece of Hollins and staple in London - if she wasn't with me - I don't think I would've had anything left to remind me in that moment of what we'd done.
The only way for it to feel real to me at all is for me to talk about it.
I've said this before so many times that I know people are bored with it. I know that it annoys people.
I know that I talk about loving it more than I loved it while I was there. I can't not talk about it. I don't think I'll ever stop talking about it.
I'm not explaining this very well....
Basically the only thing I dread leaving Australia is what it will be like being back.
I KNOW that as soon as I step off the plane in Auckland, my whole life will revolve around existing in that airport for 17 hours - then getting on a 12 hour flight to San Francisco and then a 6 hour flight to Newark. That will be my life.
Then as soon as I step off into Newark, I won't feel like yes finally - I'm home.
Nope.
I'll feel like turning right back around and going back to Australia.
I can't explain why because I know it won't make sense, but I know that's what I'll want.
I'll suddenly remember all of the things about the US that I was glad to leave behind, and I'll remember all of the things I'm thrilled to have back. But I won't feel like my life and time and travels in Australia were real.
Because part of me can't believe it is real right now, or that it has ever been.
And yet - and perhaps this is the most important statement of this entire post - and yet - none of this will ever stop me from traveling again.
Ever.
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