Early this morning as I slunk out into the dim, 23-degree morning and scraped the ice off my car windows, I thought, —”Ya think this is cold? It’s only going to get a lot worse.”
As I shoved my unwilling mind through my first class I thought, —”This is the stupidest hour-and-three-quarters I’ve ever spent.”
As I squirmed through a peer meeting I thought, —”I have no idea what I’m talking about. I shouldn’t even be here.”
During a panel discussion: —”Why can’t I pay attention? Why does everything bore me?”
In the second class: —”Why did I even come to this school? It’s a waste of money and I don’t even want to teach anyway. If I quit, my friends will hate me. But how can I survive another nine months here?”
Last class: —“Yup, I definitely do not belong here.”
Seminar after class: —”Wow, I’m even stupider than I thought.”
Then I learned that I’ll have to teach British English in Mexico. No one told me that. —”A load of feckin’ wanker gits, innit?”
And then I burst into the cold and prematurely dark evening and, noticing the winter landscape surrounding me, suddenly remembered where I was. Like a sleepwalker awakening, I asked the bare trees, —“What the F*&! am I doing in Vermont?” I asked it loud and clear. There were people around. I was so surprised at finding myself in New England that I couldn’t keep my voice down.
I have one request for my friends. Do not, under any circumstances, come visit me. After reading what I’ve just written, you won’t want to, because I’m such a grump. But that’s not the reason. It’s just that I really miss Anna, and I probably wouldn’t miss her so much if I hadn’t had a wonderful visit with her. So, you see: if you come visit, I’ll only miss you more. Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t change a second of Anna’s visit for the world. I’d been looking forward to it since before I moved here. And Anna: I want you to come back in the summer when I’ll have time to play, and when it won’t be long before I go home. Okay?
I’m afraid of two things these days:
- That someone I love will get sick or die while I’m far away.
- That my mental state will poison what I should perceive as a rich and exciting experience. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway.
Huh. You just put it on here. Well I’ll be. I’ll be what? Pick up the latest New Yorker and read the very short short story by Sam Sheperd, or however you spell his name. You are not alone in there. Also, it takes courage to do something new that you have never done before but it also takes more courage to quit and say no. Remember what Jimminy Cricket said? I can’t. That is why I never follow his advice, whatever it was. Vermont will get very very very cold. You need to learn how to like it and maybe, just temporarily, love it. Just trying to be my usual helpful self. Mellifluous Mark B.
I’ve been feeling similarly about schooling lately. I just want to get it *over* with and move onto something more productive and less expensive and less frustrating. But at this point, I think I’ll be much better off if I stick it out a bit longer and then I’ll be DONE and I can do whatever I choose.
You and me, we’re at time-similar stages. We’re both a little over halfway done with our stuff. (Except that you’ll be done long before me.) While you have every right to quit now, you’re also getting ever-closer to emerging from there with a shiny new piece of paper.
I love you like freesias and fried funnel cake.
(My reCaptcha agrees: “Mr gorge.”)
Bodacious Bul: That’s weird how quickly your comment appeared, almost before I wrote my post. Your observation about Jimminy Cricket actually elicited a snicker from me. And I went right to New Yorker online (since I’m not cool enough to subscribe) and read the Sam Shepard (I looked up the spelling) story. I liked it. Satisfyingly melancholic and confused. Thanks.
Wise and Sweet M: Thank you for your solace (although I’m only a quarter finished, not half). It’s nice to have children with sense to make up for the times I run low. I love you like rat tails and songololos and the giant spiders from my dream last night, all mixed up in a savory stew.
it’s really common to be depressed at this stage of a masters, from what I hear from others, let alone being in a completely new(and freezing!) environment away from all your friends and family. no one would think badly of you for quitting…but I know my Ginsy ba ba. a major survivor, adventurer, determined and completely qualified to do anything she wants. take care of you(most important)….follow your heart. On Survivor they bring family in…maybe a visit might be good…regardless of your pleas for no visits. I’m sending good energy your way…maybe the next TV show will be “Survivor Vermont: Conquering the MASTERS DEGREE…..” ahhhrrrrrr! British waht??? ellow…oh mi gawd…is that what you’ll be teaching? The Rine in Spine….remember, Stacey is afraid of thunder!
Sometimes you’re grumpy, but we like you anyway.
I actually referred back to these comments in a moment of personal despair because your friends-and your M. (MY M., too, you know)-are brilliant.
Elsie P: Thanks so much for your words of encouragement. I think of you lots and am glad you checked the blog, since it’s the only way I have time to keep up with people these days — this and the occasional Facebook post.
Oleggy: You’ve never seen me grumpy, have you? And you only like me? Don’t you LOVE LOVE LOVE me?
Eleni: I hope that your personal despair is a thing of the past.
Love,
Me