How Life Works


You do things. A lot of things. Some fun things, some not fun things.

You learn things from cool people. And you learn things from some not so cool people.

You make mistakes. If you’re smart, you’ll learn from those, too.

You meet a lot of people. People who are trying to do things, too. Some work harder than others, and some are pushier about their things than others, but that’s all it is, really.

We’re all just trying to live and do the things we love.

I think that if more people thought about this–that we’re all just trying to be what we can be and learn along the way–we’d get along better. Maybe we wouldn’t be as petty. Maybe we wouldn’t be so hurtful. Maybe we’d forgive more easily. Maybe we’d love more readily.

As different as we all are–and believe me, we’re different–at our core, we’re all just broken little people looking for Something Higher than ourselves. For real Truth. For Solid Ground.

It’s all the false paths to that Truth that cause the conflict.  

Undergrad Habits


Allow me irriterate for the umpteenth time that grad school and undergrad are two completely different ball games.

In undergrad, I had to be back in my room by 10:30 pm. Then there’d be a fifteen-minute room meeting. Then at 10:45 I’d scramble out for a shower and scramble back before 11:00, when we all had to be back in our rooms so the custodial girls could clean the bathrooms and hallways undisturbed. THen it was lights out at 12:00–a rule I’m grateful for, otherwise I might never have slept.

I’m used to the 11:00-12:00 hour being pretty useless. There’s only so much you can do in an hour when you’re trying to brush your teeth, put on pajamas, get your things ready for the next day….write a blog post with some meaning to it. So I’m used to sort of frittering away this hour.

However, grad school is different. I don’t have that meeting at 10:30 any more. I can come back as late as I want or as early as I want. I can even stay up as late as I want.

Yet I seem to get less done in this hour than I ever have before. I think it’s because I feel like I have so much more time, so I waste just that much more time.

I’m a bit ashamed of myself. I only have so many hours in the day to be doing profitable things, but I don’t always do them. I excuse myself by saying I’m too tired to work, too addle-brained to write anything worthwhile. But with a little sticktoitiveness, I could get so much more done in the evenings and still get to bed before tomorrow.

There’s a confession for the ether to swallow. I’m working on it. I’ll always allow myself to be a work in progress. But this is one area that needs to improve…and improve fast.

Bone to Pick


Alright, UU proxy filter. I have a bone to pick with you.

I get it that you want to filter out the bad stuff. I understand and appreciate that. I don’t want to look at uncomfortable and hypersexualized advertisements. I don’t want to accidentally end up at websites that compromise my laptop’s security. FOr your excellent service and unending vigilance in these areas, I thank you.

However, comma, blocking 90% of WordPress’s functionality accomplishes nothing but to make me very frustrated.

I can’t post pictures. I temporarily could post some pictures from my phone, but it appears you have caught on to my ability to do this and raised security so now i can’t even do that anymore.

I can’t edit my own posts. If I make a typo, I have to wait until I’m hardwired into the network to fix an issue.

You block the my followers’ icons when they like my posts. I can’t view my reader or my stats page. I can’t look at my own media library, and forget uploading anything. I can’t even add tags from the old editor in the dashboard.

This is completely unnecessary. I understand from my fellow WordPress blogger on the same network that they have no trouble at all accessing all the features of WordPress. So what’s so special about me? Why have I been singled out for aggravation?

Was it something i said?

If You’re a Grad Student and You Know It


If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.

If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.

Curfew used to be at 10,

Now we’re up ’till who knows when,

If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.


If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.

If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.

If all your friends are gone,

And you deal with freshmen all day long,

If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.


If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

Don’t care about my GPA,

All I want is my MA.

If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

Rain Check


Hey there, guys.

So, um, I had this great idea for a blog post tonight. Like, fabulous. I had a great conversation with my parents on the way back from church which prompted some thoughts that were baking into a beautiful blog-post-loaf in my brain.

Unfortunately, I have a midterm tomorrow. Which I’ve studied for, but not nearly enough. So I’m going to go do that.

Maybe I’ll write the brilliant thing. Unfortunately, all you’ll get tonight is this. I’m terribly sorry, but that’s the way things go.

My you sleep well and work well, wherever you are and whenever you’re reading this.



Well, then. That didn’t go as planned.

I planned on going to work for four hours, then doing homework for the rest of the day. I was going to work on my bibliography project and read the rest of To the Lighthouse.

I got off work (after four very stressful hours–the library was packed today) and then ran to grab lunch. I wolfed it down, then came back to the library to read. this lasted 30 minutes, and then it was time to go to a birthday party. Birthday parties are cool.

My fuel light came on, which meant I needed to refuel the car when i stopped at the grocery store to refuel myself. This added up to an hour.

I was already late to a study group for a test I’m taking on Monday when I stopped to look at my syllabus for another class to see what was due. Turns out I have to have a conference for my grad project in that class by the end of this week. Had I started said project? No.

So instead of studying, I worked on that project. For four long, cold hours in the library. All the while feeling guilty for not studying for the test on Monday, but what could I do?

This is the way that grad school works: you will always be in a state of guilt for not working on schoolwork while you’re working on schoolwork.

And that is that.



I’m like a dog behind the wheel of a semi. I may look happy-go-lucky, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

All of the projects (and boy are there a lot of them) are due in the latter end of November and the beginning of December. Both points are closer than I’d like to think, but they’re still kind of far away.

In that time, I’ll need to:

  • Compile a bibliography of everything our library has on an author of my choice.
  • Write a paper on some element of the English language that is hard for those who do not speak it natively to grasp and why.
  • Write another paper about how phonetics create mood in poetry.
  • Write out my philosophy of research.
  • Write a twenty-page paper about Virginia Woolf and her works.
  • Read a book about Virginia Woolf and feminism and give an oral report about it which may need to last around fifty minutes.
  • And read all the novels for that class.
  • And read all the other weekly assignments.
I don’t even know where to start. I’m trying not to panic. It’s not that I’m not working hard, a little every day, to get stuff done.
That’s just a lot of hours. And a lot of things.
I don’t feel doomed…but I wonder if I should.

Over the Hump

  1. I need to stop reading the news because ISIS and my hyperactive imagination are breeding little three-headed worry puppies in my brain.
  2. Since when if seven hours of sleep not enough?
  3. Since when is two hours of study time not enough?
  4. Since when is a balanced meal not enough, and why am I still hungry?
  5. Since when is stuff from the 90s (1990s) vintage?
  6. If you leave sour cream out on the counter, what’s it going to do? Go good?
  7. Why can’t I focus?
  8. Why are the weeks flying by so fast?
  9. Why does our library only have two of the five existing supplements to Twentieth-Century Short Story Explication?
  10. Thank goodness the weekend is almost here. I need some headspace to answer these questions.



I can’t get warm.

Now that’s it’s autumn, the outside is chill and crisp. Well, not crisp yet…it’s still muggy, because it’s Anytown and it’s always muggy here. But it’s chill and damp, which is somehow harder to bear.

I work in the library. The library is kept as cold as a cadaver lab so mold won’t grow on the books. Ironically, the coldest places in the library are where the fewest books are kept. Places like the area immediately surrounding my desk. I keep a space heater running just so I can feel my fingers to type.

As a GA, I work in the library and do my homework in the library. Occasionally I venture to class, where the classrooms are still mysteriously cold, and the amphitorium, which is a few degrees warmer because I sit in the balcony and heat rises. Still, I spend 90% of my time in the freezing cold library, and walk out at the end of the day into a wall of increasingly freezing air.

At the end of the day, all i want is a cup of tea, a hot shower, flannel PJs and about twenty quilts. By then, i can feel my toes again, and I can go to sleep.

Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?



I just might be.

Virginia was a troubled woman. Her life was short, bohemian in the worst sense, and congested with inner turmoil.

Her work deals with anti-war themes, lesbianism, and the battle of the sexes. Her books ramble, but rarely rant, allowing the complexity of her very complicated characters do all of the talking. These characters are vivid and memorable, but often despicable. Her plots contain little action and pages of introspection, most of which makes as much sense as the average college student’s first thoughts upon waking up in the morning on a Monday.

And yet, for all their seeming randomness, Woolf labored over these few short novels. She wrote draft after draft, agonizing over atmosphere and mood and syntactic and word choices. Reading her work is like staying at a painting by Jackson Pollack: you think you’re looking at pointless splatters, but there is in fact purposeful meanings hidden underneath it all.

I don’t know what to make of her. I never will.

Yet I’ve chosen her for my paper topic.