Blogging the Transition

Warning: For those of you who know me in RL, you may well find this the most self-indulgent blog post ever, so you may want to skip it.

In the last few days I've been very upset over Mr. Tabby's increasing health problems and have felt overwhelmed, even when making plans, like my upcoming visit to the Fam. But even before that, I've found that I have no patience for waiting for anyone -- if someone important doesn't call or email me within 24 hours about a time-sensitive matter, I'm pretty annoyed. Despite a totally self-indulgent lifestyle in which I wake up basically whenever I want to, it's obvious I'm pretty stressed. Actually writing the last two blog posts and keeping up with the bloguniverse about grad school has actually been wonderful because it's kept me focused about something I felt I know something about.

But I've been staying in my house away from people because there are so few people I would actually want to see that SO had to remind me that of course I am short-tempered and stressed because I am going through two major transitions right now. (SO is totally my biggest fan. Big shout out to SO!) And though I think SO meant writing the dissertation/getting done with grad school and then moving to my new job, I think SO is right on target. Somehow in this summer where I'll graduate weeks before I start teaching as an assistant professor at a totally new school in a totally new environment, I'm supposed to make the transition from grad student frantic about dissertating to assistant professor. And this is a big transformation. Since Adjunct Whore's recent post focused on the transformation out of grad school, I thought the internets would be a particular good place to reflect on that, especially since I know a number of people in my cohort who have not gotten jobs, though usually they have other kinds of resources to fall back on and, like me, went on the job market early.

So, like Horace's call for posts on required reading for grad student survival, I'm calling for posts and resources that discuss the transition to the first job. (I'm going to go through blogfriends' backposts, like Dr. Four Eyes's and Post-Doc's, but please do send me other resources too!)

Here are the thoughts flitting about in my head. Do these people realize that they've hired me? Did they have a dearth of applicants? Like so many other pieces of advice out there, are Boice's suggestions just not for me and I need to find a different way of getting research done? (When it comes to actually getting the good writing done, I do best when I can stop juggling a bunch of balls in the air and really devote myself to one task.) Will I ever be able to keep my big mouth shut, remembering to figure out what's appropriate in this new space before I start gabbing? Will I like this new space? How will I be able to transform my teaching for the aims of these much more structured courses? How do I make the most of working collaboratively with other teachers? How can I get involved in research, service, and outreach opportunities that will really make the most of this cool two-year opportunity? What if I just like totally suck at all of this?

Have I mentioned that I still haven't done anything about my readers' comments on my dissertation? (I know, big surprise.) I'm thinking that after I've wasted another hour or so browsing the blogosphere, I'll go to Caffeine Corporation and get a coffee and look at the ton of comments I have to tackle. Even a half-hour today would be good. Small goals.

What Happens to the Voice When the Body Is in Pain: A Kvetch Session and Resolution

I'm absolutely determined that tomorrow will be a better day than this one was. Sometimes you've got to blog the kvetching and sometimes the blessings. This one is a little bit of both. Here are reasons to cheer that this day is almost over (well, I have to give the cat both his pill and his ear paste, so there's still potential excitement before I waddle off to bed):

1. I don't have to go to the nurse and jog in place for a couple minutes, gasping and sputtering about how I don't know how my fabulous friend just managed to run the half-marathon.
   
2. I don't have to pee in a cup. Maybe this is TMI and not appropriate for an academish blog, but hey, you're over at my house now! You can leave if you want to. I have this totally shy bladder. She just won't go on demand. I've always been like this. Doesn't matter if I drink liters of water. And in the lab they have this bathroom where you can hear people on all sides! Totally no go. So tomorrow, I won't have to wait while they test the dribbles to see if there's enough there.
   
3. I have no appointments at any time tomorrow -- not in the unreasonable morning or in the more reasonable anytime. This is good. Very good. Because it means that if I can't sleep because my blasted back (!!!!) hurts all night again and I can't get in a good position, then at least I can doze throughout the day.
4. I have food in my house. This is most excellent because I found out how full of hate I was today as the result of ongoing pain, low blood sugar, and lack of sleep. I really cannot deal with anyone. After chatting with a colleague for a while, I had this incredible sensation of claustrophobia. I must get out. A day off from being in that place where there are still people who are all excited and passionate about what's going on there will be very good for me. (By this, I of course mean Grad City U. Would you believe Summer School is already in session???) (Also, I don't want to run into anyone, except Similarly Self-Reflective Fab Friend. I just don't quite understand this; I thought with the dissertation stuff out of my hands I'd be generally happy again, able to enjoy the people here. But I just want to flee. Next best thing? Hide in my house. Excellent notion.)
5. I got movies. Very good for hiding in the house.

There were good moments today, well, okay mixed. I learned that my mother is totally wonderful and she is totally going out of her way to do something for me ASAP because I'm so obviously crippled and falling apart. (Those were not her words. She said that I've been doing such good work and I shouldn't have to deal with extraneous stuff.) I also totally overreacted when SO did something annoying. I had this epiphany about the whole thing: I'm really lucky to have such good people in my life. Here's the bad part: I really should be gracious, because they are making my life so much easier. The really bad part: I am totally not being gracious at all. Rather, I've been spreading my foul mood over hill and dale and barking at people.

I am just a black cloud. A twisted crabbed old graduate student with a hurting back. I'd like to keep this post going because I've found a good position in this chair, a pillow sort of wedged in a good spot so my lower back is supported and doesn't hurt. But Mr.Tabby does need his meds. I guess there's no avoiding going to bed. (Aren't I an adult? Can't I not go to bed if I want to?) I really need to learn how to sleep on my back with my knees up.

Here are my resolutions:

• I will work on the piece that I said I'd start for SS for at least ten minutes tomorrow.
• I will stay in the house where other people are safe from my pain-induced and graduate student-induced evil.
  

Whaaaahuh???

It appears something odd is happening. Could it really be that I finished the First Draft of the unholy beast called the Dissertation a mere fifteen days ago? That seems like an eternity of waking up, working, going to sleep, having bad dreams, waking up, working ago. But the blog says April 22 -- and the blog don't lie. Today I made it to the halfway point of the Second Draft, emailing the Intro and Chapters 1 and 2 to Peppy Advisor. (Who knew? Maybe I really will be able to revise this beast in a mere three weeks!)

SO, who has admirably put up with my headaches, stomachaches, bitching, and need for overpriced coffee since Thursday, took me out to celebrate with appetizers, salad, steak, and desserts. Now I can barely move. This, my friends, is how one attains the great graduation distinction known as Lard Ass. (SO says sexiest lard ass. What can I say? SO's on the payroll.) We also went out for steaks on Friday. And then at Graduation-Party-that-Wasn't-So-Bad-Because-I-Was-Well-Marinated-by-the-Time-It-Started, I ate two burgers without really even noticing. (It went like this. "Honey, want to share a burger with me?" "Okay, eat half and I'll eat the rest." SO turns around to be charming to yet another department bore. SO turns back to me. "Hey, what happened to that burger?" "Uhhh, what burger?") On the other hand, we did go dancing on Friday. (Today is the first day I woke up not totally sore.) Of course, my dissertating partner in crime and fellow bloggoddess Maude Lebowski ran the half-marathon. I just totally suck.

PA has already written me an email talking about being excited to read the three pieces together. Oy vey. My challenge is to be deep into the next chapter before that response comes. Also, to get organized. The next graduation weekend that will turn downtown into a damn street fair will be mine! And people are starting to call me about flight plans and dinner reservations and, of course, the inevitable when-are you-leaving?s. I have no clue. Doesn't the dissertation have to be written before I make flight plans? Apparently not. SO and I have a strict date to sit down tomorrow with many calendars and figure it all out. I used to be so organized. What happened?

Oh yeah. Dissertating.

Coming Back Slowly to Our Regularly Scheduled Program

So I'm back in Grad City, bleary-eyed with the shock of eight hours of sleep. My time in Urban Home City was chaos, punctuated by snarky comments or just plain grump (I've decided grump should be a noun) from me whenever I felt I hadn't worked enough. There was one particular day where I went from The Fam's house to Favorite-Person-in-the-World's back to The Fam's. I walked in and my father said he'd expected us earlier, a fact that was unbeknownst to me. But this drew out some inner fourteen year old: Dad, there's this thing called a cell phone. You could call. The look he gave me afterward must have been dumb-foundedness. He did not say: Earnest, aren't you a little old to talk like a snarky teenager? Isn't that gray hair I see on your head? Though I was particularly amused the next day when someone was trying to hustle Littlest Sister to do something after just returning home and she looked at them totally nonplussed and said: I just walked in.

My answer to the chaos while I was channeling my snarky teenager was to do what every teenager does: drink too much wine and smoke someone else's cigarettes. There was a particularly memorable moment when SO put my Fancy Cigarettes in my backpack, saying: As much as I don't like you smoking, I'd much rather you smoke your Fancy Natural Cigarettes than Marlboros. When family members asked about the cigarettes, I said: I'm allowed. I'm writing a dissertation.

The extended family were all curious about SO and gossiped in the kitchen about him with my father, who I now realize is the biggest gossip ever (except me) because the entire family already knew about Adventure U and asked me about it. I think I actually became a person with some of the extended fam instead of just My Father's Daughter #1 because one of Dad's cousins starting asking me about what I did, what I write, was I published, how I started writing, etc. It was as if he could suddenly see me as something more than just a person who he used to watch walk under the table. (I'll bet this has to do with the fact that his own children are teenagers. I'm in my thirties for god's sake. I'm much older than any of the cousins' kids, some of whom are teenagers and a couple of whom, like my sister and brother, are in their twenties. But I guess it takes time.)

If I suddenly go MIA, it may be because I have stolen children and am on the run. Now, I have long wanted to steal my niece -- to the point that occasionally she torments me by squealing steal me! steal me! when I really want to do just that. I wanted her to come out to Grad City and go camping with WSF (more on him later) and me, though Sisterpalooza and I couldn't quite get it together (read: cash) to manage it. But now my Fave Person's child faces similar danger. He is a mere four years old (I think) and the cutest little human ever. But I may have to steal him because he climbed into a box and said he was going to ship himself to Adventure City. Tape me in, he instructed, and don't April fool me. So I (Scotch) taped him in and wrote my name and Adventure City on the box. (Also handle with care and this way up.) Then he decided that since it was going to take some time to be shipped there that he needed tissues and sunscreen. Then he needed a place to put the tissues, so he put his little garbage can in there. Then he needed shoes. And he couldn't go without his play swords. By the time he was done packing, he couldn't close the flap of the box. You understand -- he stayed in the box, waiting to be picked up by UPS until he realized that they'd probably have to pick him up the next day. He only came out of the box when it was time for dinner and he figured out that I wasn't in Adventure City yet -- and he'd get there before me and that wasn't right. OH! SO CUTE! (For shits and giggles, contrast this story with this other recent story about children and me. I'm nothing if not conflicted.)

But now we're back to the regularly scheduled program of dissertation working, tutoring hours on end, dissertation working. When I was gone, a fellow tutor asked if I would take some of her hours. What could I say? (I've been told that if you put your tongue a little behind your upper teeth, vocalize, and then shape your mouth into a circle, duties and responsibilities magically disappear, but I haven't developed the right reflex action yet.) So I did six hours of tutoring, though blessedly no one came in for three and a half of them! So that's when I got to work on Big D. Since I need to have Chapters 3 and 4 to Peppy Advisor by April 20, I had decided that what that really meant was five days of free-writing crap and five days of revising and shaping for each chapter. (Insane. Totally f***ing insane.) So today will be my last day of happy crap-writing. Tomorrow I'm actually going to have to do something terrible, like read and do something with the crap I've written.

I emailed all of my committee members last week, telling them about my timeline. Since I'm frantic to graduate in August, of course this means that everyone has different schedules and timelines and that I'm going to have to set time aside just to map all their different responses about turn-in times and defense dates. (Don't you people understand? I have things to do. Like, uh, write the dissertation!) Life lesson: do not try to graduate in the summer. You, dear reader, would not do this.

In news of uckiness, Witty Sardonic Friend may be staying in North Dakota. I actually think it's the best thing because he's much more likely there to have the perfect combination of work and time to write/study that will allow him to come back to the academy sooner than the job he's up for here in Grad City. There's a whole long story about his derailment from the academy that if I wrote here I'd immediately have to go on the lam and never see WSF again, the second of which I find utterly insupportable because I'm having a hard enough time without him already. Suffice it to say, life derailed him. He did nothing wrong. He got screwed.

WSF's wacky Poet Friend is coming out here on Tuesday. I've never met him. He's a wonderful talented poet who just wrote a book. Do you think anyone would notice if he just, uh, disappeared?

The semester will be over in a few weeks. Of course, by then I will have had to give Peppy Advisor a revised draft of the whole damn thing. OY! But at least it's only 10:30am. Am I the only one who can't manage to work on the diss in the morning, caffeine or no caffeine? I can mark papers in the morning, but academic writing is a complete no go. Why?

PSA: Working on Dissertation Feels Good

I was so grumpy when I came into town and then had to go to The Fam's house because the hotel check-in was still not for a few hours. Especially with Littlest Sister sick with the stomach flu. (Stay the hell away from me, I wanted to shout.) So I got out the laptop and was trying to work, as I had been on the plane -- even thinking about this wretched chapter when I was dozing. I couldn't find the shape of it. Nothing good was happening. I read articles in an effort to become inspired. Nada. No go.

I went out in the sun, figuring some sun and flowers would help me get some ideas about shaping the damn thing. I only got antsy to get to the hotel and get to work. So SO and I went. I sent SO out for things so I could have some time alone. I worked. Things happened. I figured out how the damn thing should start. By the time SO came back, I had written some pages (that will need to be revised, but you gotta start somewhere).

And my mood totally changed. I could so much better deal with the thirteen-year olds guffawing and being stupid, the cat owner who never takes the cat to the vet, the college graduate talking shit about Asian students in a way that I deplore. Of course, the wine helped. A lot. But if I hadn't gotten some work done, forget it.

Who knew?

Your Flight from Absurdity Is Delayed

Here I sit at the airport, my flight to Urban Home City delayed. I'm grateful because there was an accident on the interstate from Grad City to Nearest Urban City and we got rerouted onto a highway. But I'm also exhausted. What happened to all that manic energy I had yesterday?

So I met with Peppy Advisor. I have to admit, much as I look at her askance right now because she is my diss advisor and therefore The Enemy, she is a lovely person who I just enjoy talking with. But I simply MUST remember to not make commitments about little things like due dates when I feel so full of energy that I can conquer the world. I have to remember I may not always feel that way. Why can't I remember that there are those days when it takes so much effort just to do normal things -- and that they will come again? (I didn't think they'd come this soon. Waaaa. Yes, I do realize that there is probably some medical term for this like ultra rapid cycling. I stopped seeing the therapist who suggested I get tested for bi-polar. I like my mania and my denial very much, thank you. Besides, what's better for a dissertation crunch like mine than a bit of mania? But I think running late so I couldn't get coffee and a bagel is now taking its toll. Also, icky acid reflux from, perhaps, taking my morning pills without a chaser of food? Whine, whine, whine.)

Anyway, what I'm saying is that now that tiny speedbump of a writing project I've been working on is now scheduled, with due dates for those little dashed-off notes that they insist such projects be written with. Whole draft of Big D is due to PA between May 1 and May 7. WHAT??????????

Yes, you heard me. Chapters 3 and 4 are due in three weeks, then revisions on what she's looking at now, PLUS those chapters that ARE NOT YET COMPLETELY WRITTEN are due in, basically, a month. Where's the bar?

So last weekend and this week when I thought working 12-hour days was so I could have a nice relaxing weekend with The Fam and SO was totally wrong. I was working 12-hour days so I could graduate in August and go to Adventure U. Maybe this is why I'm grumpy and so was a bit pissy when SO wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise when I was trying to tell him that I would be delayed getting into Favorite Airport and instead he had to tell me about how it took him an hour to get from the garage into the terminal. Maybe I'm just a bitch. Maybe I'm just a totally normal dissertator who can't deal with all this shit.

I'm so grumpy I can't tell whether this is significant: I heard a little girl saying to her mother that she "left spiderman bag there, left spiderman bag there" and so her mother left the other toddler and the stroller with Child #3 with Dad and went back wherever "there" was. I looked at the father and the two children. He seemed happy enough -- clearly one of those dads who are into being with their kids. And I looked at the mother being dragged off and considered how every trip must be an event for this little family of five -- and I probably had in my head my Sweet Friend (one of my favorite people in the world) with two children who totally understands being totally crazy busy because she is crazy busy with her own kids -- and I thought not me. I just don't want my life to be that.

I know there are people who manage to have kids and also have a dynamic career. But I'm a tunnel vision person. I'm not sure I could balance it. Maybe that's the lack of caffeine talking. Maybe that's the blinded-with-work dissertator talking? Why think about such things now dammit? I just hate everything anyway. Hate-Filled Dissertating Friend totally pleased me yesterday because she was in fact incredibly hate-filled. Fairly oozing with it. Misanthropes unite!

I should probably check about getting on a plane soon. Considering the lunacy of The Fam, I can't decide whether I'm going to or coming from absurdity. Course I don't know if I'm coming or going anyway. I know one thing: I'm working. And that's all there is to know.

Why?

1. Why am I tinkering and adding a conclusion to Chapter 2 when I should be working on the Introduction, which is a vast state of un-readiness?
2. Why do I now really want a tuna fish sandwich? (Okay, that one was easy. It's Dr. Crazy's fault. Though I really should write at least one post soon where I don't reference her. She's going to thing I'm a blogstalker. Which I am. At least I am one of her posse.)
3. Why is reading about other people working on their dissertations and writing projects so much more fabulous than actually working on my own, considering I actually do occasionally like my topic? (Cool sites I have found lately and recommend: Adjunct Whore's Narratives, Eating an Elephant's dissertation advice, and Minor Revisions.)
   
4. Why did I give my mother advice when this traditionally causes trouble? (She called me as I was getting ready to leave the house. Basically, she doesn't want to get up out of bed in the morning, every little thing is weighing on her, and she has no perspective on when people are being unreasonable. I told her the clinical term for that is depression. I also told her that she needs to get a project, because she is a major project person, has been all my life, teaching herself cool and weird things like languages and how to write songs and everything there is to know about Crete. She says that she thinks these things may be escapes from whatever really is wrong. I said that what if whatever "really is wrong" maybe can't be fixed, that the problem with psychoanalysis is that it makes you think that you'd be okay if only you could fix your problems. Meanwhile it makes you feel like shit about yourself for being all fucked up. And instead of stopping there, having totally insulted the therapy that she has depended on for her sense of self for her whole life, I then went on for some existential musing, which is not what I ever should be doing with my mother. I told her how life is essentially meaningless and one has to make, not find, meaning. Being depressed is just coming up for air from however you're spending your life and realizing that life has no intrinsic meaning and needing to take time out to reassess how you're spending your life. Theorists on happiness, I said, though really I meant Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, found that people were happy when they had flow experiences and lost self-consciousness and a sense of time. Maybe her projects are what life is about after all. Need I say she didn't want to talk about it anymore? But I was on a roll, because the whole thing became a philosophical treatise for me. Where do I get this shit? And when, oh when, will I ever learn to shut the fuck up. She just wanted me to sympathize, for god's sakes! I need WSF back here pronto. Clearly, I need my usual existential philosophical outlet. I think the fact that she started the conversation by saying in her mouse voice "so I guess I won't see you" when I said I was going to The Fam's for the weekend was what started it. She lives 360 miles away from Urban Home City. If she wanted to arrange something, why ask me now?)
5. Why after recounting that whole story do I still want a sandwich or a salad? It's hot and sunny outside -- why am I not in it? Why am I working? Why do I have to go back to it right now? Oh yeah, because I wanted to hand PA a big wad of dissertation crap. Couldn't it rain? Please?
   

It's 70 Frigging Degrees!

I don't think I should have to work under these conditions. It's so nice outside that kids aren't out there playing, people aren't out there barbecuing. They have all gone to the lake! I know it! At bar closing time, it's often impossible to find a place to park on my street. Right now, only my big hunkajunk is out there. For goodness sakes, I heard the ice cream man! (He never stops for me, even if I jump up and down and wave money at him.)

All the same, I'm determined to work. Okay, determined is too strong a word. I know I should work so that I can experience the moment of triumph of handing 100 or so pages to my advisor on Monday.

Also, I'm going to Home City (weird to call it home, since I haven't lived there in over ten years, but I was born and raised there) next weekend, so I can count on getting exactly zero time to myself there. SO is going. It might be nice to remember that I'm a human being rather than a Dissertating Machine. Then again, sometimes the drama there makes me crazy. (The clash of their drama with my drama and the story my step-mother feels compelled to trot about her moment of decision to NOT to get a PhD in her beloved major when she encountered a bitter grad student -- not a good scene.) But it will be the first time that the extended family will have met the SO -- the culture clash there should be fascinating. Makes me tired just thinking about it. Then there's the explaining and recounting about Adventure U. (Though I am very excited and a little scared, telling this story gets old.)

So I should work. But it's such a nice day. Of course, Mr. Tabby is sprawled across my arms purring. Seems impossible that I should feel as itchy to go out as I do. I called my favorite Cool and Similarly Neurotic Friend, who has been pinch-hitting as my partner-in-crime since WSF is gone, but I think it's a clash between my slightly extroverted NFP and her more decidedly introverted NFP. (Yes, Myers-Briggs. Laugh if you want to. It helps me cope. Helps me explain myself to myself. Yes, I am that self-involved.) Then again, she does get together with friends more than I do. But she went out last night -- and probably has better things to do than sit with me in a coffeehouse while I write my intro. She's probably at the frigging lake too!

So last night I nearly did an incantation for dissertation be gone, but then I thought better of it. Imagine this: it's 4AM, the cat is happily sleeping, for the first time in months it's hot in the bedroom so you've turned on the ceiling fan which you'll probably not turn off again for the next five months -- and are you sleeping? No. You are tossing and turning. You're possessed, the intro writing itself in your head. You're tired dammit, and your head is spinning. Don't you want to scream dissertation be gone? But. What if it left and didn't come back? So I wrote the section headings for the intro on a post-it and must've finally fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew it was almost noon.

Fascinating life I lead, no? I woke up and started reading posts about working on the dissertation. There is no doubt I'm going to go nuts -- it's just a matter of when, where, and for how long. But I'm going to get my ass out of my apartment and in public where I can't pace and mutter and sit here and then there and then turn on the TV and then turn it off again. In public, I have to appear somewhat normal. I might be the person across the coffeehouse that you suspect is crazy as she is muttering to herself and staring out into space and grunting. I'll know you because you'll be laughing hysterically at my ridiculousness.