11/28/12

Notes on the day:

Thank you, Trader Joe's stacking guy, for pointing me to the last three bags of peppermint pretzel thins, and giving them such an accurate description as "dank". You and my daughter are of the same mind.

Buying thank you presents for people that have written you letters of recommendation is probably harder than asking for a letter in the first place. Today I had to make the decision, is my boss's opinion of me worth 18 dollar port or 45 dollar port? Please don't ask me which one I chose. I'm already regretting my decision.

There is a fine line, for a post doc giving a faculty candidate seminar, in the amount of data vs results to show. Today that line was not even remotely crossed. What I learned: this guy can really run a western.

Personality tests. How much are we supposed to believe in them? I'm a feeling personality, not a thinking. Does that mean I should not go into a thinking profession? Does the fact that I am even thinking about this mean that I am a crazy-over-thinker and thereby give me a thinking personality and shows that I will be okay in a thinking profession? (Dear god, send me back to the Trader Joe's stacking boy...if only life was so simple that everything can be "dank" or "whack".)

Underused phrases. "From your mouth to god's ears."

December's almost here. Lena's almost five.

What a long strange trip it's been.

from your mouth to god's ears!

plan b

It's been, what, a week since I submitted my grad applications? Update: still haven't heard back yet. 

I've decided that if I don't get in anywhere, I'm going into the food industry. I'm talking food trucks. And I have the best business plan: pie.

Everyone loves pie! I am going to have a pie food truck. We'd do handheld pies! Sweet ones and savory meaty ones and Indian ones and Mexican ones and maybe we'll skip the Chinese ones, but PIES filled with NOODLES yeah, well, we'll see how long that one lasts on the tasting. 

Pies. That's my plan b. 

Butterflies in winter

Handheld pies! Sweet and savory ones! Admit it, it's a genius idea. 

All in

That's it. It's here. The time has come. All my grad applications are in. I've put my best foot forward, metaphorically-sealed-the-envelope, and sent all my little application babies on their way. You know, as a mother, there comes a time when you just have to let go, and let your children make their way in the world on their own...

...clearly this was a very emotional time for me.

But that's it. So now my nights and days are oddly anxiety-free, I don't feel the need to proofread anything, or research faculty at universities, or agonize over how personal a personal statement should be. (My take, not that personal.)

It's cool and it's also not because now I'm just waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

I'll let you in on a little secret, Dear Blog, because I'm not really saying it out loud yet and no one will really believe me anyway if I do. I think if I get into a California school I'm going to California. Because that's the dream, man, California. That's always been the dream. I guess the real truth is I'm just prepping myself in case I have to make that decision. Just getting my mind and my heart ready for it, so if it does come time to choose, I'm not just so afraid of it that I reject it out right.

I guess the other truth/secret is that I also hope I only get into one school, and then I don't have to make any hard decisions. Because avoidance behavior! Yay! (Just as long as that one place is not State. Please get in anywhere but State.) (No offense meant, but you know, state.)

Since you asked...

This really funny thing happened.

My boss asked me to write sort of bullet points of like, my life events, so he could better write me a letter of recommendation for grad school.

You know what's really funny? Putting your life into a series of bullet points.

e.g.

• Here's when I fell in love with the boy that liked Creedence Clearwater Revival
• This is when we dropped acid
• Two friends from high school that I have been camping with are now dead
• I wrote a ton of poetry

I mean weird, right? I mean those aren't defining moments of my life, but like, thinking about things in terms of bullet points. Weird.

So then he asks me how I would rank my adolescence (18-22) on a scale of 1-10 for tumultuousness. 

And I was like, what?

I mean, sure I was in a really shitty abusive relationship, and I was working too much in a restaurant while also being a full time student, and I was experimenting with what type of person I was becoming, and then I got pregnant and pushed out a kid without any painkillers (baller!) but tumultuous? Really?

You know what is tumultuous? Having a crush on a jerkwad that you see at work every day and never knowing whether they are going to say hi or completely ignore you. That is tumultuous. Having a kid? that's just what you gotta do to get shit done. 

Or something. Gosh. You know what really though? Childbirth is way easier than figuring out if someone likes you. I mean one way or the other the kid comes out. In the alternative scenario, anything can fucking happen.

(I did not mention in the email to my boss my romantic woes and how that retroactively explains my undergraduate gpa.)

That's the other thing. I have a shitty undergraduate GPA. It's not really because I had a kid, although I'm sure people would love to think that. It's really because I was a shitty student. And still sort of am. I just don't study very well. Or take tests very well. Sometimes things just...are. My life wasn't tumultuous. (God I really need a synonym right about now.) It just...was. And I wouldn't do anything differently, either. (Well. Within reason.) And if I saw Lena doing the same things I was doing, I'd let her. While simultaneously telling her that she was beautiful and wonderful and loved, and for goodness-sakes-use-a-condom, but for the most part, I'd let her do her own thing.

Because you know what is not tumultuous? 9:30 PM, the pitter-patter of Lena feet coming into my room, and that cute not-quite-whiny-but-almost-there voice saying, Mommy? I'm going right back to bed, but can you unstick these two Legos for me?

AND OH MY GOD DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER HOW HARD IT IS TO PRY TWO LEGOS APART THAT ARE REALLY STUCK TOGETHE--Here you go Lena.

And then she says, thank you, and turns to walk out. She has a post-it note stuck to her butt. And I don't say anything about it. 

Tumultuous? 

More like really fucking wonderful.