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jhetiIn a real, narrative frame, here is the week, day, hour.
I don't think the phone force wants me; I'm not willing to wear suit trousers five days a week and couldn't live on campus to get to the office even if I were. No, darling, pressed slacks do not make you an adult. I've seen business majors puke in the bushes, too. No one's fooling anyone else with that disguise.
The car thing is so frustrating. It's right there on the lawn, but I never have the time or the ability to practice. I still need an experienced driver awake and ready to go in the car beside me, and one of them works days and the other works nights. The odds are still against me with the thing fucking parked on my lawn.
I think my odds of the teaching assistant job are pretty damned good, but I need to be driving, habitually, and comfortable with driving to school before that can happen, and I'm so worried it won't work out.
And IF I get the teaching job and IF I can drive, I still don't know if I can do BOTH OF THOSE THINGS~ and start my second Masters degree. Like I had planned, in January, in March, in May, how hard could it be.
I don't know if I'm going to get into the second program anyway, because I forgot to ask my other professors for letters of recommendation and I sort of need them in like four days.
The other stuff isn't hard; my goal statement's perpetually two-thirds written. I just pretend I'm a product and then SELL, SELL, SELL.
I have a high Machiavellianism score, especially for a woman, and a vocabulary adequate for Stanford. Form letters are not difficult. I pretend it's about someone else and BAM! instant go-getter confidence, you betcha, win win WIN WIN WIN.
Also, I've switched pretend faces, and this new one's an optimist. I need to pretend, I need to exercise my fiction muscle, in order to feel balanced and good as a person. So do actors.
I have memories of being illiterate, of still learning what words mean, and trying to spin incredible lies, just to see how thin I could cut them and yet have people believe me.
I've learned a lot of hard lessons about words not being a game, the fine art of words as blunt instruments, as razors and prison bars. But there's still a part of me geared to trill, "Let's see if you buy this one." For the pure...skill of it.
To see if I can do it. I'd imagine that's exactly what pushed Einstein to complete his work on the bomb.
So. I might have an actual job next semester and our main car has four fabulous brand new tires on it.
I am...going to get started with all my West Africa material today. Or maybe tomorrow. I have a fat stack of anthropology readings waiting for me when I'm done. And statistics work after that.
I'm also going early voting and just making a line of bubbles for the opposition to the current majority party. In sociology and communication studies, we call this the "screw you" effect. It's the underbelly of demand characteristics, and a prominent source of validity error in social experiments.
I'd write an essay about government as social experiment based on my experiences as an intern, but that's pompous and gauche, even for me.
I want to write some poems, and I want to decide for sure if the Romulans are barred owls or what; Ayel is a common raven, Kirk is a red-tailed hawk, and FUCK sexual dimorphism, Mandana was a peacock.
~WINGS EVERYWHERE~
And if you actually read this far down, you get a survey thing as a treat.
The rest of you can stop skimming now; that thing you wanted is behind the cut.
I don't think the phone force wants me; I'm not willing to wear suit trousers five days a week and couldn't live on campus to get to the office even if I were. No, darling, pressed slacks do not make you an adult. I've seen business majors puke in the bushes, too. No one's fooling anyone else with that disguise.
The car thing is so frustrating. It's right there on the lawn, but I never have the time or the ability to practice. I still need an experienced driver awake and ready to go in the car beside me, and one of them works days and the other works nights. The odds are still against me with the thing fucking parked on my lawn.
I think my odds of the teaching assistant job are pretty damned good, but I need to be driving, habitually, and comfortable with driving to school before that can happen, and I'm so worried it won't work out.
And IF I get the teaching job and IF I can drive, I still don't know if I can do BOTH OF THOSE THINGS~ and start my second Masters degree. Like I had planned, in January, in March, in May, how hard could it be.
I don't know if I'm going to get into the second program anyway, because I forgot to ask my other professors for letters of recommendation and I sort of need them in like four days.
The other stuff isn't hard; my goal statement's perpetually two-thirds written. I just pretend I'm a product and then SELL, SELL, SELL.
I have a high Machiavellianism score, especially for a woman, and a vocabulary adequate for Stanford. Form letters are not difficult. I pretend it's about someone else and BAM! instant go-getter confidence, you betcha, win win WIN WIN WIN.
Also, I've switched pretend faces, and this new one's an optimist. I need to pretend, I need to exercise my fiction muscle, in order to feel balanced and good as a person. So do actors.
I have memories of being illiterate, of still learning what words mean, and trying to spin incredible lies, just to see how thin I could cut them and yet have people believe me.
I've learned a lot of hard lessons about words not being a game, the fine art of words as blunt instruments, as razors and prison bars. But there's still a part of me geared to trill, "Let's see if you buy this one." For the pure...skill of it.
To see if I can do it. I'd imagine that's exactly what pushed Einstein to complete his work on the bomb.
So. I might have an actual job next semester and our main car has four fabulous brand new tires on it.
I am...going to get started with all my West Africa material today. Or maybe tomorrow. I have a fat stack of anthropology readings waiting for me when I'm done. And statistics work after that.
I'm also going early voting and just making a line of bubbles for the opposition to the current majority party. In sociology and communication studies, we call this the "screw you" effect. It's the underbelly of demand characteristics, and a prominent source of validity error in social experiments.
I'd write an essay about government as social experiment based on my experiences as an intern, but that's pompous and gauche, even for me.
I want to write some poems, and I want to decide for sure if the Romulans are barred owls or what; Ayel is a common raven, Kirk is a red-tailed hawk, and FUCK sexual dimorphism, Mandana was a peacock.
~WINGS EVERYWHERE~
And if you actually read this far down, you get a survey thing as a treat.
The rest of you can stop skimming now; that thing you wanted is behind the cut.
Your Inner Muse is Melpomene |
 You are most like this muse of tragedy. While you aren't depressed, you don't shy away from sadness. Although you do tend to be gloomy, you have a sensitive side. And this sensitive side helps inspire and help others. |
