Notice: This post is chock full of bitchery. I know I brought it on myself, but shuddup.
It's days like these, when I've been grading papers for 2 hours--and can only see a long day of shit spread out before me that won't end before 8 or 9pm-- that I wonder why I'm in this field. I'm 25, I live at home, I work two jobs--roughly 60 hours a week including schoolwork and all the bullshit I do from home, and I make no money. While other people are buying houses, going out, reading, getting married, havin' babies, taking vacations, etc. I'm wound so tight over my thesis that if you stuffed me full of coal you'd have an assload of diamonds in roughly 3 days. My future success lies with a handful of professors and the decision of a few PhD admissions committees.
I'm out of Excedrin, I feel myself winding down, and I wanna throw something. No Zoloft in the house, no alcohol in the house that's legal to drink according to South Beach, some Ativan but I don't have time to go to sleep. St. John's Wart! Nature's tranquilizer. Comere, babies!
To do this week:
Write the review for the journal (totally blocked up because I know nothing about multi-ethnic lit)
Draft my thesis proposal (no problem, just another 15 pages!)
Grade another 80 essays plus the ones from the jc (knocked off 40 position papers this morning but there's always more to do)
Read the chapters my classes are discussing tomorrow
Get a chunk read for a class review that's due next week
Do stuff for the conference we're throwing
Smile...lest people think I'm stressed out or unfriendly. God forbid.
Listening: The Killers...because Hot Fuss is the best album I've heard in 5 years.