update

So, I read somewhere on tumblr that the weather is acting drunk - we're having our second snow day in two weeks, and might have a third tomorrow. Yes, the weather has imbibed too much. A lot of roads are closed because people down here have no idea how to drive when the temperature won't rise above freezing all day, and the sky keeps dropping water on us. *sigh*

I spoke to my advisor yesterday. She read over what I have for my presentation for the conference (two weeks away! holy shit!) and said it looked fantastic. That was such a relief to hear. Like, holy shit. I thought it was awful. We really are our own worst critics, aren't we? The whole conference is informal; it's just for graduate students to get their feet wet, basically. Everyone who's presenting are babies. (Including me.) (Definitely me.)

The main problem is that, at the end of last semester, I read two of my poems aloud for part of my final project in one of my classes. I read two of my poems aloud in front of my class. I had never done that before. I'd never read my poetry aloud to anyone. Yes, I've had my little sister and mom read my poetry; of course I have. But I'd never read it to them.

I felt terrified the whole time I was up there. I pretty much got over my public speaking thing in middle school; sometimes, I would have to stop to laugh at the beginning of my presentations, but I didn't fear them. But I spent most of December and January in a sort of bone-deep dread at the thought of this conference, which I only submitted to because my advisor told me that I should. I didn’t expect them to actually accept my proposal, but since this is a conference for baby grad students, they probably accept every proposal, you know?

I’m not reading my poetry this time, of course. I’ll be talking about what I plan to do for my thesis, and I am excited about that. I lost my give-a-damn sometime at the beginning of December; the break between semesters was so short, and I didn’t get any of my planned work done because I just didn’t give a shit, at all. But I think I’m starting to care again.

It’s just… sometimes, I’m glad to be an adult. I’m in grad school. I’m editing reports that affect things. I’m living in my own apartment and paying my own bills. I turn 26 in a month. (Like, actually a month since I don’t have a birthday this year.) I spent all of last summer working 45 hours a week, and this upcoming summer, I’m going to interview old people about their lives and history with reading.

But also, a large part of the time, I want to crawl back to kindergarten. I lay awake at night wondering what the fuck I’m doing in grad school, what the fuck I’m going to do after it, what the fuck I’m doing at all. Is all of adulthood like that? How does anyone ever get anything done?

When she was my age, my mom already had me. And the career she’s been working at her entire life. I really should stop comparing myself her (which I’ve been doing since I was 18). I always come up short. *sigh*

I guess… I think I’m mostly happy. Sometimes, I want to run away, or just curl up on my bed and not move, or get into some sort of horrible accident so that I don’t have to make any decisions for myself – but mostly, I wake up in the mornings happy. So that’s good.

Anyway. This post started out in a good place, and then I seemed to meander somewhere not so good. Oops. So, here, have a poem:

Roses are red.
Violets are purple
(which is the best color, you know)
The weather outside is fucked up, dude.
How are you?

*sporfle*


ETA: yes, tomorrow will also be a snow day.

And I've realized that I've been functioning at a low-level stage of misery since last summer because my head always hurts.