Grad School is Hard...

But not for the reasons you might think.

When you think school, what do you think about? I'd bet tuition and books are pretty high on that list.

Well, not to the folks in my "Learning Team." Oh no! Books are optional! Yeah!

I am struggling for the words to express my complete dismay at the lack of responsibility, preparation, and readiness for school exhibited by the folks I am supposed to study with for the next 18 months.

Okay, to catch you up--my grad school program has a very large team component. We are grouped with three of our classmates into a "Learning Team" for the duration of the program. The team is required to do projects and presentations every week. It is a major part of my grade and my life. It is supposed to create a support system and synergize learning.

Well, it ain't cutting it.

Of the four of us, two of them don't have books 8 weeks into school--the third got hers late. One of them is planning a wedding and travels constantly, another can't put a sentence together (subject-verb-period--how hard is it??) and doesn't know the word "volunteer", and the third can't keep a promise to save her life.

"Oh, I can do that! I'll bring that! I'll write that!"

and then nothing.

NOTHING!

And I am supposed to feel sorry for her because she meant to get to it.

I am such a bitch.

But after spending every weekend pathologically checking email for signs of her work only to be perpetually disappointed, and then spending every Monday scrambling to create whatever it is that she is responsible for, I am over it. The final straw came when she made some snide remark about my giving too much information to her for a project she has to do--and when I called her on it, she did her Famous Flip and denied saying it.

So, I had a Come to Jesus Meeting with Ms Flip. She heard me. She cried. She promised to do better. And then she decided to give me the silent treatment instead. (I told you she couldn't keep a promise!!)

Mr Skate is another frustration entirely. He has yet to step up and offer to do anything. Literally. If we have 4 segments of an assignment he will wait until everyone takes a part and then just sits there. I have said things like, "So, what are you going to be doing?" or "Which part do you intend to cover?" to give him the opportunity to jump on board. I end up having to assign stuff to him. And then comes the clincher.

He can't actually do it.

Given a bulleted summary of an article and the task of turning it into a 3-paragraph write-up, he actually randomized the points, removed all the apostrophes, misspelled "morale" as "moral" 3 times, quoted things that weren't quotes and removed quotes from items that were, added words that had no relevance to the subject, and sent it to me "finalized and ready to print." It seemed moot to point out that nothing was cited, and that APA has a manual to help with that.

The wedding-planner girl isn't so bad. As a matter of fact, she is pretty on-the-ball. She works hard to keep up her end, which I appreciate. The downside is that she is a solid B student--and I haven't made a B in 15 years. So, we have different goals. Her opening salvo was to make fun of me and to invalidate my entire life when she was assigned to introduce me to the class. Nice, huh? She is an ESTJ and I am an ENFP--which basically means we are outgoing opposites of one another. I am touchy-feely; she is all business. It can be a good thing--in a yin/yang kind of way--if we don't kill one another.

I am not responsible for these people. I shouldn't be carrying them through school. Yeah, my degree is in Human Resource Development--but I didn't bargain for having to start out implementing a major intervention. I mean, that's supposed to be the final project not the opening move!

Send chocolate.

The Year of Magical Thinking...

With apologies to Joan Didion* for stealing her title, I am doing that thing. You know the thing I mean? Where you do the "year ago today" thing and look back and think about what you were doing a year ago and sort of relive last year while living this year and feel like you are in two places at once.

It fucks with my head.

Magical thinking.

See, magical thinking is based in patterns. We think we see patterns where there aren't patterns or create patterns where we want them to be. So, if I really want to believe something, I will start looking for proof and--as if by magic--I find it!

It might be my thinking if I wait to have children until my mother did (at least 24 years old) then it isn't an "accident" and my children will be welcome and approved.

It might be my thinking that if I have always fallen in love in the fall and it is now fall that--wha la!--I should be running into Mr Right (Now) at any moment.

It might even be that if I could turn back the clock to those moments before the events that sent me reeling toward right now occurred that I could, somehow, avert them.

It doesn't matter that my mom was divorced within 4 years of giving birth. (I didn't follow the logic past the "approval" to see if the pattern held, I would be a single mom shortly.)

It doesn't matter that the reason I have always fallen in love in the fall is because that is when you go back to school and hook up with a new guy. (Yeah, I am back in school--but all of the guys are either married or gay which makes them somewhat unsuitable for my love interest.)

It doesn't even matter that I can't turn the clock back and even if I could that I couldn't change anything except--perhaps--the day it all finally blew apart. (The wasband's temper was hardly within my control.)

I am still doing it. Magical thinking. Looking for the pattern. Trying to find control when, frankly, I have none.

There is a time for looking back. It helps to understand what got you where you are. But at some point, you have to point forward. I am working toward the balance between reflection and action.

Driving home tonight I was absolutely terrified for about 20 seconds. Why? I realized that I was on the road with my little kids and no one expected me at the other end. I could vanish from the earth and it would be at least 12 hours before anyone noticed. I felt completely disconnected. It was an acute attack of the larger unease I have been feeling the last few days. Generally, I am a pretty upbeat, expecting-the-best kinda girl. The last few days have found me worried about everything--money, health, death, school, friends, love, car, and so on--and unable to accomplish much of anything.

I think it is the Magical Thinking pushing me in this direction. As scary things happen to the people around me, I can't help but wonder if I am on a bad-luck stretch of the highway. I am looking for the clues that my turn to get sideswiped is comin'. Enough already.

I need a good night's sleep. I need to make a list of the stuff that I need to accomplish. I need to pat myself on the back for successfully navigating one of the hardest years of my life--while managing to graduate from school, homeschool two children, and stay at goal weight.

I can do this--whatever this might be. And I don't have to resort to magic.


*OMG if you haven't read this book, go now and find it! It seems trite to use words like "breathtaking" and "perfect" but The Year of Magical Thinking is both. I read it in two sittings and am going back to read it again. It is one of those books that sets you to making lists of people who need copies. I feel like I should write Joan Didion a thank you note for opening up her soul. But that seems even more trite than saying her book is "perfect."

Life and Death...

It is such a fine, fine line between here and there. Two of my very favorite people have been dancing on that line for the last bit. One is hanging on with every ounce of her being. One just teetered over the edge.

I'll start with the still living. Gammy--as my kids call her--was out of my life for 21 years in spite of being one of the kindest people I have ever encountered. I got to reconnect with her this summer when I reintroduced myself to my paternal clan--and we are very early in the rebuilding stages. She went in for "routine"* surgery last week, was sent home the next day, and should have been fine. But she wasn't. I'll spare you the details, but she has been through 3 additional surgeries and tons of trauma (she needed some 6 pints of blood and 4 pints of plasma on Sunday alone!!) and is--amazingly--alive.

How close?? How close did I come to never seeing her again? My sisters and dad are almost speechless with fear and exhaustion and I feel like I am watching the whole thing through binoculars. It is impossible to describe the feeling of being so tightly emotionally bound to people you barely know. I want to gather them in and nurture them--but I don't even know them well enough to have a clue what they would consider nurturing! I am just praying that I get the chance to learn. I almost didn't.

Tracey's mom, Noreen, was one of those women who just gave--and not the leftovers--she gave her best. When I married the wasband, Tracey and her brother were both in the wedding. Now, Tracey is an incredibly talented artist--with style in surplus--who did all sorts of wonders for my wedding. But, as a bridesmaid, isn't that part of the job?

But her mom? Her mom didn't get an official title in the production, but she sure should have. She made Tracey's dress, drove a 15 passenger van full of guests across 3 states (and earned the nickname "Maria Andretti") , assisted with the video, posed for pictures, offered sound advice, entertained the hotel staff, managed to smile the whole time, and then returned that van load safely home.

I can't even look at the pictures right now. It reminds me that I have let some people slip away. I sort of lost some of them in the divorce. I got "too busy" to keep up with others. I missed the opportunity to reconnect with others.

Yeah, I believe in an afterlife--and all the solace that provides--but I am still very, very sad for those of us who will miss her amazing ability to be so casual about what a big deal she was. I am very, very sad that she got away without a goodbye. I had plenty of warning. She fought cancer for a very long time. I thought about calling, sending a card, sending flowers. I thought. I didn't. I let her get away. Shame on me.



*I have always corrected anyone who called surgery "routine." It is routine only for the medical personnel involved. I know there are folks who have lots of surgeries--but I doubt even they consider turning off their bodies, having them sliced open, having things rearranged and removed, sewing the whole package back up, and then waking up to round-the-clock vitals checks as a "routine" part of their day.