Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

One of the things I find probably most disturbing as I grow older is the repeated sensation of discovering that few things are what they seem to be, even after you've accepted that they are not what they should be. And that's hard enough. I had one of my students talk to me the other day about going to a graduate program, and he commented that he planned to start thinking about his dissertation now so that by the time he gets to his doctoral program, he'll be ready. I didn't mean to, but I burst out laughing. I apologized and told him I was not laughing at him but rather at the sudden realization that his comment brought to ME. Then, of course, I told him not to bother because it would be useless, and to focus on getting good grades, sending his creative work out to contest, etc. Focus on the stuff that actually may count for something.

I went into my doctoral program fairly sure about what I wanted it to be, what I would write my dissertation on, and how long it would take to do so. After a short while, I was sure who I wanted to work with, and what classes I would take. Now that I'm ABD and actually working on a dissertation, I laughed because it hit me that none of my so-called preparation or assuredness helped me a whit. My dissertation project daily morphs into something I can scarcely define and has little to do with anything it started out to be. This is the end of my fourth year, and instead of graduating, I'm still trying to figure out what to call my dissertation, let alone preparing to defend it. And this does not bother me in any real way because I know that whatever happens with my Ph.D. program, I'm fine. I love my jobs, my students (for the most part), and what I contribute to the world daily.

To illustrate this remarkable change, consider this: on the last day of Kiteley's class (the last class I will ever have to take in my life), I sat talking to Shawn and Kristy and the subject comes up again from hella-bitch Joan about how hard the first-years have it and how unhappy she is, blah, blah, blah. I name her openly here because I no longer care what gets back to her or if it does. She's an older student, supposedly having already achieved success, and she graces us with her presence in this program. She is sure that her writing is something special, but I have seen no evidence to support such a claim. She is hostile and also appears certain that she is above us all in one way or another. In short, I wish I could smack her and not be arrested for assault.

She's blathering on about disorganization, etc. and I find this offensive. It's never cool to bitch about your standing anywhere when others in the room have suffered more than you, and by a signficant amount. You don't tell a woman who's birthed ten children about how hard your one pregnancy is. Or stand in a Georgia church with secret rooms under the pews to hide slaves and tell the tour guide how your Irish people are just as put upon because they too were discriminated against (true but long story). While Joan is grousing, I pipe up and tell her she needs to be more grateful because the three classes before hers fought a hell of a lot of battles to make her life as good as it is. She looked over to me, in front of the entire room and said, "I was asking Brian." Dismissed me openly - again. Shawn looked at me and all but begged me to put her in her place and I might have, except that every time I went to put a scenario of what I'd say to her together in my head, I realized that I don't care enough to berate her. Let someone else fight a good fight; I'm done.