Thesis (aka kill me now)

I am writing my thesis draft that I should've finished a couple weeks ago, but I got the flu the last few weeks of break ("What!" you say. "But you got your flu shot, Stefanie!" I know. I'm pissed, too.). So now here I am because I'm finally able to get out of bed and write instead of scouring Facebook on my phone from under several thick layers of comforters. And wool socks. And sweatpants. And a long-sleeved shirt. And a hoodie.

I think hope I'll be done today.

Back into the abyss I go.

Open letter to my upstairs, girlfriend-beating neighbor's girlfriend

Dear Worthless, Girlfriend-Beating Upstairs Neighbor's Girlfriend,

I want to help you. You are not alone.

An open letter to my upstairs, girlfriend-beating neighbor

Dear Worthless, Girlfriend-Beating Neighbor,

I know your type. Your the nice guy to everyone in public. You smile at children and tell your family you love them every time you go to hang up the phone. You love dogs, especially the big ones who give you that dopey look and you can't help but laugh and pat them a little too hard on the head so that their eyes squint each time your hand drops. You look harmless enough, having the 90s skater look down to your meticulously faded checkerboard Vans. To top the ensemble off, your glasses say "adorable nerd"--maybe you're stuck in this college town, but you landed a good enough job in the university's IT department, so when you tell people that you're a computers guy, they're impressed. They feel humbled by your presence.

But I said I know your type.

I know that when you come home to your third floor, one bedroom apartment, you sit and you wait for your pixie girlfriend to climb the stairs and if she's not there on time, you wonder who she was fucking this afternoon that made her late getting home. You slap the phone out of her hand and your downstairs neighbor can hear it splinter against the wall just above her desk in her bedroom. You tell your girlfriend that she made you do it--it IS all her fault that you're such a monster. You know that she made you do it because she knew she had to hide all the phonecalls to her other lover. You'd find out eventually, but now you can't. The phone is shattered. There's no getting it back.

The bus was running late, she says. I'm sorry, she tells you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SOR--her voice cracks just after the thump rattles your downstairs neighbor's ceiling. She screams. A scream that not even a horror movie can fake. A scream unlike most people have ever heard in their lives. And the screams don't stop. Terrified screams. Screams that I have heard before because I have made them before.

I'm letting you know that I will call the police every. single. time. But that's not what I want to do. I want to put you in a place where you will never be allowed to interact with anyone. I want to shield the world from you and make it impossible for you to even look at anyone with the hatred that I hear raining from my ceiling. I want you to physically be as alone as you make your girlfriend feel. As you want your girlfriend to be. I know your type--you need to be her everything.

And when she doesn't want to press charges and she's too scared to leave, I will still call the police. Every. single. time. It's not for you. It's for her.

Hating you every time I breathe,
Me

Twice in one week!

I know, I'm just as shocked as you are.

A conversation that I had with a friend earlier this evening really got me thinking about what I want to do this time next year. I keep saying that I'm applying for Ph.D. programs and that this is what I wanted to do forever, so now I have to. But after seeing all my friends going through the process of earning a Ph.D. and the various stages they are in, I'm starting to wonder if I can.

I think I need to be clear here. I think I CAN go through the hell of obtaining a Ph.D., but what I don't think I am is smart enough to get through it. I've been in classes with Ph.D. candidates and I can't see myself ever having the intellectual capacity to be where they are as students, teachers, people in general, etc. They'll throw out a word or an idea and everyone else in the room nods like "Oh, that was brilliant! You're absolutely right. I mean, I had thought of that already, as I am a Ph.D. candidate myself, but you worded it so eloquently." Meanwhile I'm thinking "Uhh...how do you even spell that?"

I feel like I fooled my university into letting me in for an MFA. That was easy enough (ha!). Can I fool another one into letting me in for a Ph.D.? Getting in is half the battle. No, that's a lie. That's a whole other battle on its own. The Ph.D. is on another level.

I do want to get my Ph.D. because I want to teach at the university level. I know I don't necessarily need one, but it would certainly make the job search at least a fraction easier than if I just had an MFA. Plus, I love academia. I can't get enough. I just hope that a school sees my drive--my ambition--and takes that for something, even if I'll never be as smart as the other candidates.

Update

Now that the new semester has been underway for a few weeks, I think I've finally found some time to blog. And by "finally found some time," I mean that I should be grading things, but I don't want to, so here I am. Where to begin?

This summer was a tough one. It seems I lost a couple friends at the end of last semester over what I think is a huge misunderstanding. I know this isn't terribly specific, but basically they think that something happened a certain way, when it didn't happen that way at all. Instead of talking to me about it, they've just decided to avoid me, talk about the situation to seemingly anyone but me (despite my efforts to talk to them), and sulk in my presence when I happen to be around. Frustrating.

I lost a couple other friends for other reasons. Again, no talking. Just disappearing.

The disappearing act is a pattern in my life that I don't understand & gives me a lot of anxiety. I get that people change--I have friends that I'm not nearly as close with anymore, but even though we've casually drifted apart, there are times when one of us will say hi on facebook/text/something and things are still amicable. What I don't get is when it's so abrupt & I don't see it coming. One day you're answering my phone calls, the next day, you're not (and for many more days after that). When people disappear on me, I worry about what I did, if they're okay, if it's temporary (most of the time, I know it's for good because of history), etc. It's a terrible feeling, and because it's happened so many times throughout my life, I (almost) constantly worry which relationship of mine is going to abruptly fall apart. In every one of these scenarios, I wish that I could forget about the other person and not worry about him/her as easily as that person decided not to worry about me anymore. But I don't. There are people that haven't spoken to me in years that I still think about. Sometimes I can fool myself into creating my own closure, but every now and then, even that doesn't work.


In other news, my sister is getting married in less than a month. Pretty excited about the wedding, but even more excited about gaining a brother-in-law.

I'm finally teaching a writing workshop class. I love my students so much & the debates they get in over the readings. It. is. awesome.

I moved to a new apartment. Unfortunately, the unpacking process is going so much slower than it was getting in here, mainly because I started school two days after I moved in here. I unpack a little, then I grade a little, then I read a little, then I write a little, etc. So there's that.

I'm applying to PhD programs this semester. And writing my thesis. I wish my sister's wedding was in the Spring for those two reasons alone.

My preschoolers graduated to kindergarten this year. They're still precious, of course, but they don't call "Pop Tarts" Hop Tarts anymore and they know they went to preschool and not pretty-school :(

Until next time...

My own personal Then & Now

When I woke up this morning and turned my computer on, all I was thinking was "Ugh. I have so much work to do, but I'm going to power through and get at least half of it done today." I was optimistic about the writing I was going to do, the editing I was going to get done for the journal today, the reading I was going to accomplish, and the lesson planning I was going to get done. But when I sat down at the computer to get started, the first thing that popped up on my homepage was "Los Angeles Riots 20th Anniversary: Then and Now." I read the article and saw the updates about many of the people who were involved in the Riots, and now I sit here thinking about my own Then and Now.

Then (April 29, 1992, Location--California):
I was senselessly helping my classmates build a makeshift fort out of our desks wondering when "the rioters" were coming and what was going to happen to all of us when they got there. From what I gathered from my teacher, there were people coming for the sole purpose of attacking my school. They were coming to get us. They were the rioters. Every single time I hear that word--riot, or any derivation of it--even today, my stomach does this little flip thing and I momentarily feel like I'm going to vomit. I wasn't as scared about what was going to happen to me (or my classmates, for that matter) when the rioters arrived. I was completely terrified about what was happening and what was going to happen to my older and younger sister, who were only two and three buildings away from me, respectively. I wondered if they were scared. I wondered if they were crying. I wanted to be with them so badly at that moment--to hold their hands and just wait.

I thought about my mom, too. I knew she was several blocks away, working from home. For some reason, I didn't think she was in any real danger because school and home seemed so far away from each other and whatever was coming to get us wouldn't even be near her. But I was worried about her because I knew she must be worrying about us and I didn't want her to be sad.

I knew my dad was in the safest place of all of us (which wasn't necessarily true). He worked in a high rise building downtown, which was a far better fortress than the one my classmates and I were putting together. He was so high up, I knew nobody could touch him.

When the day was over, nothing really happened in our immediate area. A teacher had to escort me to my mom's car when she arrived to pick us up. Normally, I would just walk down to my youngest sister's kindergarten classroom to get her, then we would walk together to Mom's car. My older sister was far too cool to be seen with her two younger sisters, so she ususally walked alone to our mom's car. I frantically told the teacher that we had to pick up E (younger sis), and she calmly walked with me to the kindergarten building. E seemed unharmed--I wouldn't know until more than a decade later that the teachers in her classroom told the kindergartenders that there was a tiger from the zoo that got loose and was prowling around, so they had to stay inside to be safe. When all was said and done, we were safe, but the idea that my sense of safety could be breached so easily has forever changed me.

Now (April 29, 2012, Location--Kansas):
I am a graduate student and teacher. I have spent the majority of my life in classrooms. Every single time I walk into a new classroom, I rearrange desks in my head to think of how we could all hide if we needed to, think of escape routes (like how a jump from a second floor might occur as safely as possible), and how the doors/windows/etc. could be blocked if something were to happen. This has always been in the back of my mind, but it was reinforced after the Columbine High School shootings.

When bad things happen to my sisters and I'm not around, I always wonder what they're feeling and I wish that I was there to just sit with them. Anything can set this off--a few years ago, my younger sister's long time boyfriend broke up with her & all I could think is that I hope someone is there with her so that she's not alone. When my mom got sick last year and I was two states away, I wondered if my sisters were scared. I wanted them to be there for each other--to not be alone.

I think about the issues with race, gender, identity, sexuality, socioeconomic status, etc. and how some things have changed from twenty years ago, but most things have not. I think about what will start the next riot. Although complete terror barely scratches the surface of what I felt twenty years ago in my second grade classroom, I don't blame people for feeling whatever it is they feel (anger, rage, hurt, etc.) that causes them to riot. I don't blame them for rioting at all (although let me be clear--there's a different in rioting because of inequality and rioting because your basketball team won a national championship). Do I want things to be this way? Absolutely not, but I recognize that sometimes push comes to shove when people feel trapped.

Most recently, I've been thinking a lot about the Treyvon Martin case. What happens if George Zimmerman is aquitted? What happens if he's not? I don't want a little girl to be huddling in her second grade classroom behind some overturned desks somewhere in the middle of Florida wondering if and hoping with every fiber of her being that her family is okay.

It might break your teeth if you tried to eat it

I'm going to Chicago next week for the first time ever. Well, I suppose if you don't count the number of times I've had layovers in the O'Hare airport--then it would be 7,326 times. But I don't count any of those times, so you can't either.

I'm excited(ish) about the conference I'll be attending, but I'm even more excited about the delicious food and the giant metal jellybean that I'll be visiting.

I love you already, Chicago.