Fall semester: day fifteen
This afternoon, Andrea and I were discussing dating websites like Match.com, and specifically how all of the single people in my hometown of Morgantown, West Virginia are unattractive.
"You know why?" I asked. "Because pretty single people don't use websites like Match.com. Delete your account; you're not one of them."
The them I was referring to was the people who use said website or others like it, obviously. Andrea is very pretty. She doesn't need it. While I don't believe that only ugly people populate dating websites, I do believe that said sites are indeed (for the most part, anyway) havens for those people who are desperate, socially awkward or otherwise inept at real life.
Some of you (okay, most of you) can probably point out the irony in my writing that.
This being said, I will mention that I used to be a member of at least one or two dating sites in my undergrad years at WVU, back when I was hopelessly fat, sheltered, awkward, and -- well -- not getting laid. Though I did make a friend or two through the sites, I let my memberships lapse long before the former girlfriend and I got together, which should tell you how long ago it actually was. However, Andrea and I began talking about the sorts of profiles we've written and/or seen on sites like these.
"Truthfully, I'd make my profile brutally honest," I said.
And, of course, I then began to construct one. Just for fun (believe me, I'm not joining any dating site), within our conversation. What follows is an expanded version of that mock profile I created in my conversation with Andrea, simply for your amusement. I figure if nothing else, it will let you into my head a little more:
THE OBLIGATORY "ABOUT ME" STATEMENT:
I live in the small town of Newton, KS, alone, with three cats. I will talk about said cats at length; be prepared. I wrote a book, but talk about it as little as possible in mixed company. I drive a beat-up Monte Carlo with a Decepticon logo on the hood. Because I'm a nerd. I will also talk about my car at length, including any problems it's currently having; again, be prepared. I collect comic books and comic book t-shirts, and can quote most (if not all) Kevin Smith movies verbatim. I have limited social skills, yet (most of the time) I am full of confidence and somewhat narcissistic, and due to that combination, most people find me at least somewhat grating. I've just escaped an almost seven-year relationship with a woman who tried to change almost everything about me and failed to do so, as I refuse to be anything but who I truly am. Some would say I'm an asshole, while others would say I'm one of the kindest, most introspective and caring men they've ever met. It's up to you to be the judge.
WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR:
I'm looking for a woman roughly around my age (read: rapidly approaching thirty) who doesn't want to be coy, dick around playing hard to get, or just meaninglessly date or have meaningless sex. None of that interests me. I'm getting older, and when I was younger I thought I'd be married with children by now, so I don't waste my time with people who aren't in the mindset of at least being open to the prospect of settling down for a commitment of a stable relationship and a future together. With people my age, in my profession or both, that sort of thing is extremely hard to find. Also of note: my confidence only goes so far, so even if I think we'd be a good match, if I consider you to be "out of my league" (as in way too good/pretty/popular) to date someone like me, you'll have to be the one to make the first move, as I'll not be brave enough to ask you out due to the high probability of rejection as well as a strong cynical streak I possess. Age isn't really important, though maturity is. Body shape or type is even less important, as what attracts me to a woman is more often her personality and sense of humor than her looks -- and no, that's not bullshit. Glasses are a plus, however, as I find them remarkably sexy. Non-religious, liberal types are preferred, though as long as you don't push your beliefs on me or let them affect our relationship, it doesn't matter to me what you believe in. More than anything else, though, I want someone normal -- no hang-ups, no stalking, no craziness...and certainly no yelling, throwing things, or hitting me, either.
THINGS I DO:
The first thing you should know about me, before anything else, is that I tend to live the life of a recluse, and for the most part this is my choice. In my free time I am usually closed up in my home office (or, as I call it, my "Man Cave") blogging, Facebooking/Tweeting, and downloading or listening to podcasts. When I'm not doing that, I'm either at school for obscenely long days, asleep, cleaning, or occasionally watching college/NFL football or a good nerdy movie on the couch...when I'm not reading a 400-page novel every week for my lit classes, writing new poetry, or writing/grading my students' papers and quizzes. I'm a very lonely, busy person, and there's always something on my figurative plate. Despite that, I will make as much time for you as possible, and can always clear some of those things from my schedule for a while.
MY POSSIBLY-DEALBREAKING CHARACTER FAULTS:
I smoke like a chimney, and have done so pretty much from age eighteen to the present. I am, however, willing to give it up. When I drink, I usually drink to excess and generally do not/can not stop until I am either sick or unconscious, though everyone says I'm a happy drunk. I'm overweight, but not overly so; I am not gargantuan. I am in graduate school, therefore I only make $8500 a year from teaching (before taxes) and am forced to live on student loans to survive. This, of course, means I can't really afford extravagant dates or gifts for you. My car is almost sixteen years old, has 217,000+ miles on it, and sucks gas like crazy (in addition to numerous other small problems it has). I am 24 miles from the nearest real metropolitan area (Wichita), so a willingness to actually come up here on a regular basis is a must. I do not like groups of people or the "bar scene" at all, and avoid both as much as humanly possible. I can be somewhat vain and cocky at times, though that's usually just my way of dealing with awkwardness. I drink milk from the carton, never a glass. I like to wear tie-dye shirts and mirrored aviator sunglasses, frequently at the same time. I will usually go a few weeks at a time without shaving. I am not particularly well-endowed. I have no monetary inheritances coming to me, and I have no clue where my life or career is headed after grad school, only that grad school is giving me a purpose and a job for the three years I'm attending it. I don't necessarily like the outdoors. I am much more eloquent in writing or typing than I am in person. I hate the telephone. I sing in the car. I sing in the shower. I dance, poorly, when no one is looking (and sometimes when people are). I talk to my cats too much. I have a hairy chest and back. I am slowly losing my hair and may be bald by age 40. I hate most country and rap music. I write mediocre poetry, but can't stand reading most poetry. I think Tucker Max and Seanbaby are comedic geniuses. There is a toy TIE Fighter hanging from the ceiling in my office at work, complete with pilot. I want to be Slave Leia (or Sailor Mercury) for Halloween at some point, just to see how many people I can disgust. I will eventually ask you to dress like Sailor Mercury in the bedroom. Yes, I will. You are allowed to decline this request, as everyone else I've asked has. I am still addicted to all of the Pokemon games, even at my age. I own and wear a leather motorcycle jacket, despite the fact that I have never owned a motorcycle. I am a huge proponent of the bathrobe, and see no need in getting dressed for the day if I'm not planning to leave the house. I wear sandals everywhere in the spring/summer/fall except on days when it's too cold or wet to do so. My daily vitamin regimen makes my pee neon highlighter yellow. When I write my next book, you will more than likely end up as a character in it -- and if I really like you, you may end up on the Special Thanks page.
One at a time, ladies. One at a time.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Out of It
Fall semester: day twelve
I was actually very alert and lucid for my time on campus today. This was despite the fact that I was so dog-tired before leaving the house that just moving around made me ache, and my stomach was upset from all the caffeine I'd ingested to make me a functional human being.
I did make my customary pot of coffee at work once I got there as well, though that was mostly out of habit and needing that bit of an extra boost to keep going. I taught my classes, was able to lecture without becoming too addled or flustered (though there were a few places where I tripped over my own words a little too much), and before I left my office this morning to teach, I made sure I carried all of my stuff with me in my messenger bag so that when I was done, I could go directly back to the parking lot and hop into the Monte Carlo to come home.
This was, really, exactly what happened. As soon as I was done I sped back up 135 and came home, ate the leftovers of a frozen pizza I'd made, and summarily went downstairs to pass the fuck out for about seven hours or so. I was asleep shortly after 1:30, and when I awoke fully, it was 8:30 and dark outside. I woke up only once during my slumber, when the garbagemen made an awful racket around 4:30-ish.
This, of course, means my sleep schedule has been completely thrown off once more, and that I will more than likely be awake for most of the night tonight. This is fine, really, as I don't have to be on campus tomorrow until 1:30 for one of my own classes. I'll probably actually get there around 10 or 11, as I usually do. It lets me get some stuff done around the office, and my sleep schedule will right itself tomorrow night when I have to go to bed as soon as I get home in order to get up at 5AM on Thursday.
I did not make it to the post office today to mail everyone's packages out; as you may have guessed, I was deliriously tired not only this morning, but by the time I got home this afternoon I had ridden the crest of the proverbial wave back down, and was simply ready to crash. If I get up early enough in the morning, I may mail them out then. If not, they'll have to wait until Friday, when I go back out and run errands.
Even after I slept today, my mind is still rather hazy. I had full intentions of writing my first paper for my studies in fiction class tonight, and may still do it, but I'm out of it, as they say. It's hard to focus on anything, and I'm in that phase of being tired where I'm not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to actually be motivated (or clear-minded enough) to do anything. I'm in this phase a lot, I've found, at least during the semester. I hesitate to drink more coffee to wake myself up enough to focus, as well, as I don't want to get into the cycle of staying awake 24-28 hours at a time before I actually get any real sleep. Getting into that sort of cycle would royally fuck me over for Friday, as well.
Friday, as most of you know, is the grad student mixer being held for all of us at the museum on campus. Suri has now decided not to go, as she called and found out that she can't bring her boyfriend -- we in fact cannot bring any guests at all -- so she's out. I'm planning to go, if just to get out of the house and make an excuse for myself to go to Target thereafter. The operative word here, of course, is planning. I've not committed myself to anything yet, despite everyone's insisting that I should go, show up, show my face, etc.
"You're the most...unique of all of us," Rae told me this morning, "since you never do any of this stuff."
"...thanks?" I replied. I honestly didn't know how to respond to that sort of statement.
"And I know, yes, you live up there because you want to, and you're very solitary and isolated," she added, referring to my living in Newton, "but still."
A normal person may have taken "solitary" and "isolated" as insults, but I didn't. Rae's not that type of person anyhow.
"Rae, it's a long fucking drive," I told her. "For me, anyway. That car's expensive to drive anywhere."
"I know, and I understand that," she said, "but all of us are starting to get worried about you."
This. This is what I don't get, the one piece of the puzzle that won't fit. Look, I am very, very appreciative and thankful for all of my friends on campus who care about me, worry about me, and want to include me in things, because that does indeed make me feel special and wanted, but it's not like I'm going to wither away and die up here in Newton just because I don't attend every social function anymore. A large part of it is that people don't realize the main reason why I went to most of the social functions around or involving members of the department in the past is because the former girlfriend wanted me to go with her, not because I necessarily wanted to go myself. Yes, there were a few that I genuinely wanted to go to of my own volition, such as the Halloween party last year, the department Christmas party held in the penthouse of one of our longtime professors, and Rae & Jay's end of the semester blowout in May. As for the rest? Eh.
I will say that I am up for another Halloween party this year, if only as an opportunity to get pictures of me taken dressed up like an absolute nerd. I'm thinking of going as Slave Leia this year.
I'll give you a moment to try to scrub that image from your mind before I continue.
Can't do it, can you? You're welcome.
So, really, I'm not completely sure on the grad student mixer thing on Friday. I'll try to go if I'm motivated to do so in the least (or awake, for that matter), but I'm not making any promises.
As for now, I'm going to attempt to go back to bed, and when I get up in the morning perhaps I'll be fully rested and feeling normal/ready to take on the world again.
I was actually very alert and lucid for my time on campus today. This was despite the fact that I was so dog-tired before leaving the house that just moving around made me ache, and my stomach was upset from all the caffeine I'd ingested to make me a functional human being.
I did make my customary pot of coffee at work once I got there as well, though that was mostly out of habit and needing that bit of an extra boost to keep going. I taught my classes, was able to lecture without becoming too addled or flustered (though there were a few places where I tripped over my own words a little too much), and before I left my office this morning to teach, I made sure I carried all of my stuff with me in my messenger bag so that when I was done, I could go directly back to the parking lot and hop into the Monte Carlo to come home.
This was, really, exactly what happened. As soon as I was done I sped back up 135 and came home, ate the leftovers of a frozen pizza I'd made, and summarily went downstairs to pass the fuck out for about seven hours or so. I was asleep shortly after 1:30, and when I awoke fully, it was 8:30 and dark outside. I woke up only once during my slumber, when the garbagemen made an awful racket around 4:30-ish.
This, of course, means my sleep schedule has been completely thrown off once more, and that I will more than likely be awake for most of the night tonight. This is fine, really, as I don't have to be on campus tomorrow until 1:30 for one of my own classes. I'll probably actually get there around 10 or 11, as I usually do. It lets me get some stuff done around the office, and my sleep schedule will right itself tomorrow night when I have to go to bed as soon as I get home in order to get up at 5AM on Thursday.
I did not make it to the post office today to mail everyone's packages out; as you may have guessed, I was deliriously tired not only this morning, but by the time I got home this afternoon I had ridden the crest of the proverbial wave back down, and was simply ready to crash. If I get up early enough in the morning, I may mail them out then. If not, they'll have to wait until Friday, when I go back out and run errands.
Even after I slept today, my mind is still rather hazy. I had full intentions of writing my first paper for my studies in fiction class tonight, and may still do it, but I'm out of it, as they say. It's hard to focus on anything, and I'm in that phase of being tired where I'm not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to actually be motivated (or clear-minded enough) to do anything. I'm in this phase a lot, I've found, at least during the semester. I hesitate to drink more coffee to wake myself up enough to focus, as well, as I don't want to get into the cycle of staying awake 24-28 hours at a time before I actually get any real sleep. Getting into that sort of cycle would royally fuck me over for Friday, as well.
Friday, as most of you know, is the grad student mixer being held for all of us at the museum on campus. Suri has now decided not to go, as she called and found out that she can't bring her boyfriend -- we in fact cannot bring any guests at all -- so she's out. I'm planning to go, if just to get out of the house and make an excuse for myself to go to Target thereafter. The operative word here, of course, is planning. I've not committed myself to anything yet, despite everyone's insisting that I should go, show up, show my face, etc.
"You're the most...unique of all of us," Rae told me this morning, "since you never do any of this stuff."
"...thanks?" I replied. I honestly didn't know how to respond to that sort of statement.
"And I know, yes, you live up there because you want to, and you're very solitary and isolated," she added, referring to my living in Newton, "but still."
A normal person may have taken "solitary" and "isolated" as insults, but I didn't. Rae's not that type of person anyhow.
"Rae, it's a long fucking drive," I told her. "For me, anyway. That car's expensive to drive anywhere."
"I know, and I understand that," she said, "but all of us are starting to get worried about you."
This. This is what I don't get, the one piece of the puzzle that won't fit. Look, I am very, very appreciative and thankful for all of my friends on campus who care about me, worry about me, and want to include me in things, because that does indeed make me feel special and wanted, but it's not like I'm going to wither away and die up here in Newton just because I don't attend every social function anymore. A large part of it is that people don't realize the main reason why I went to most of the social functions around or involving members of the department in the past is because the former girlfriend wanted me to go with her, not because I necessarily wanted to go myself. Yes, there were a few that I genuinely wanted to go to of my own volition, such as the Halloween party last year, the department Christmas party held in the penthouse of one of our longtime professors, and Rae & Jay's end of the semester blowout in May. As for the rest? Eh.
I will say that I am up for another Halloween party this year, if only as an opportunity to get pictures of me taken dressed up like an absolute nerd. I'm thinking of going as Slave Leia this year.
I'll give you a moment to try to scrub that image from your mind before I continue.
Can't do it, can you? You're welcome.
So, really, I'm not completely sure on the grad student mixer thing on Friday. I'll try to go if I'm motivated to do so in the least (or awake, for that matter), but I'm not making any promises.
As for now, I'm going to attempt to go back to bed, and when I get up in the morning perhaps I'll be fully rested and feeling normal/ready to take on the world again.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Nightmares and Nightmare-like Things
I went to bed around 9PM, had a terrible nightmare, and could not go back to sleep. At around 11, I gave up and came back upstairs. If I do go back to sleep tonight, it will more than likely be on the way-too-small-for-me-lengthwise couch upstairs in the living room.
The book, surprisingly, has been selling moderately well. If you look to your upper left above my profile, I've posted a direct link to the page for it on Amazon. Suri purchased a copy and has been enjoying it quite a bit, but has taken the initiative to tell me that despite the careful reads and edits I've made, she's still found a typo or two. Oh well. I went through another re-edit and re-upload of the manuscript a few nights ago, to see if I could rectify (or at least better) the formatting errors and bunched text that occurs with the transition to the Kindle format. From the preview I saw, even after spending hours upon hours trying to get the Kindle version to look like the actual manuscript -- which, I assure you, indeed is a book, and a properly-formatted one at that -- my work didn't do much good. Everything is still somewhat screwy in the transition to electronic format, and I ask you to bear with it if you're willing to purchase and read the book. For those of you who have purchased it previously and have noticed all of these weird formatting changes (excluding Suri, who bought it after I attempted to fix most of them), you might want to see if you can "reload" or what-have-you, to see if you can get the newest version to see if that helps. Like I said, I don't know why it's all screwy in some places; it doesn't affect its readability, just how it looks on the "digital page."
The problem is that it makes me look unprofessional as an author, which is what irritates me. It makes me look like I don't know what paragraphs, chapters, and line/page breaks are. In the print version, which will be coming soon (because I am sick of all of these issues, frankly) once I can figure out how to do it, it will be rectified.
I should have been asleep four hours ago. I don't know if I'll get back to sleep at all now.
I have decided I will more than likely go to the grad student mixer, even if it may not be a great idea for me. It will, however, get me out of the house, and Suri is planning to go as well -- possibly bringing her longtime boyfriend, who I have yet to meet. It looks like a lot of us -- at least those of us who already know about it -- are going to the mixer. I get the feeling that most of us usually attend the events at the museum, if only because free beer is provided, and there's no limit -- meaning, once you're there, unless you're vomiting, they won't cut you off. Even If I do nothing but get out of the house for a few hours and spend a little time with some friends before coming back home, it will be better for my mental state than sitting here staring at the cats and worrying about the papers I need to write/grade. Three of the guys, one of whom is my officemate, are musicians and are playing what appears to be at least two different shows at the Donut Whole (the best donut/coffee shop in Wichita) afterwards, which I imagine most of my colleagues will be attending as well. Depending on my state of inebriation by the time the mixer is over, I'll probably attend that as well -- though I'll be hitching a ride from someone, to be sure, if I do. If anything, coffee and donuts can only serve to sober me up.
I may be able to have an old friend from West Virginia come visit me at some point this semester for at least a few days; we've been trying to arrange something for a while now. I hesitate to say much more for fear that I'll not only jinx myself but because it's a rather private sort of thing, and it's one of those situations that I don't really feel comfortable writing about here (and I may not even write about it if she does end up coming to visit, at least not for a while anyhow), though it is someone I've mentioned here in the blog in the past month or so. If she does get to make it out here, it will be fun to catch up, and it will be like a little piece of home visiting me here in my humble abode. I've even ordered a $30 self-inflating airbed for any and all visiting guests (or me) to sleep on. Despite owning a king-size bed and only ever using one side of it, it would probably be more than a bit creepy for any of my female friends to share it with me, even with my promises that I wouldn't violate them in the night.
Hm. Violate them in the night. There's a line for one of my poems.
Anyway.
I miss my friends and family in West Virginia; that, of course, should go without saying at this point. I've not lived out there since November 2006, and that makes five years this fall. I've visited twice since I moved out here, but both times I was barely able to catch up with anyone from high school or college except for Andrea and my friends Travis and Matt. Schedule conflicts (or the fact that most of my other friends got out of the state and disappeared) hindered much other interaction with anyone I knew, and Morgantown is much different now compared to how it was when I left it. As much as I don't necessarily want to move back to West Virginia after I graduate in 2013, I may end up doing it anyway if I can find a job there or if other circumstances that shall, for the moment, remain unwritten -- fall into place.
As I said before, there are many things going on behind the scenes that I, as of yet, refuse to write about, and there are many variables in play. Nothing bad, mind you; I'm just working in a lot of different arenas right now, so to speak, and there are very few people I care to discuss it with.
No, before you ask, I'm not doing gay porn. Believe me, I'm not...ahem...talented enough to do regular porn. Shit, I'm not talented enough to be the cameraman.
I've decided that my next book isn't necessarily going to be a simple memoir of graduate school, but rather something along the lines of humorous memoir combined with tips on how to survive it. That is, of course, provided I survive it first. It will take a while to write if that's what I choose to do, and while I will include stories that I've touched upon in the blog over the years, none of the content in it will directly come from here. I fancy myself a humorist, a nonfictionist -- this sort of writing is what I'm best at, like it or not. Might as well make it work for me.
Aside from the cable bill, which arrives now on a different payment schedule since the internet account was switched into my name, today I paid all of the other bills for the house, as well as wrote out the check to the former girlfriend to repay her for the deposit on this place that she signed over to my name last month. With my trips to Walmart and the Dollar Tree on Sunday, as well as the gas I put in my car on top of that, I have spent entirely too much money in the past week, but it couldn't be avoided. We are, at least, getting paid again now -- and will actually receive three paychecks this month because of when the paydates fall -- so at least my bank account isn't bleeding itself to death anymore. Now, it's just a minor wound that's slowly oozing.
Truth be told, even with the regular paychecks, I still spend more money per month than I bring in, in bills and rent alone -- and I am not, of course, counting food for myself and the cats, or the +/-$100 in gas I'll put in the Monte Carlo over any given month of classes. We, as GTAs alone, make less than $800 a month.
No, I'm not kidding. See why any function offering free beer is so enticing to us?
It would be impossible for me to survive had I not taken the student loan I accepted for the fall/spring. My rent here is relatively low for the place I have (a place like this would easily be $800 a month in Wichita), but the cost of it at all -- as well as the cost of gas -- makes surviving on less than $400 every two weeks nearly impossible. Would I be able to save money on gas if I had a newer, more fuel-efficient car? Probably, but I can't afford a new car, and the costs would be negligible over the long run at best. Would it be cheaper to live in Wichita? Maybe, but not incredibly likely. Not with three cats, and I'd more than likely have to make the sacrifice of having about 1/2 to 1/3 of the space I have now, with no garage and the possibility of getting mugged, shot, or stabbed at any given time.
As an aside, if the Monte Carlo ever does blow a major, expensive part that I can't afford to fix, I've already made the vow that I'll be looking for another Monte Carlo of around the same model year (though hopefully in better condition) almost immediately. Even with its problems, I have to say I love that car. It's like owning a low-rent Batmobile -- it's sleek, fast, and its engine has a growl like no other car I've driven, with the exception of the '91 Trans Am I test-drove in Hutchinson a month or so before I bought the Monte Carlo.
The only reason I didn't buy that car, as some of you know, is because the gas pedal had problems -- you literally had to mash it to the floor to get the car to move, an issue indicative of much larger problems I'd eventually have to deal with, more than likely.
It is 2:15 AM. Fuck it, I said to myself. I made coffee. I'm awake for the long haul now.
Today I'll teach at 9:30 and 11, but after that I'm done and can come home to crash, if needed and/or warranted. I need to get to the post office on my way home from classes so that I can mail out a volley of thank-you packages to friends, as well as a birthday/thank-you package (with card and presents) to Andrea. Luckily, I don't have to get up early on Wednesday morning, as I don't have class until 1:30. This means, basically, that once I get home tomorrow I can go to bed and sleep any time I want for as long as I want in order to reboot my system. Damned nightmares. I was originally tired tonight, too.
The nightmare, in case you were wondering, was about the friend who may come visit me sometime this fall, and the consequences of me somehow finding a way to screw up that visit. Pretty tame, yes, but then again it's not like I lead a wild life.
X-Men: First Class comes out on DVD on Friday (yeah, I know, weird release date; I'm just going by what Amazon tells me). I'm considering organizing a watch party here at the house for those nerds and/or nerdy ladies who would like to see it on my new (small) HDTV, but who haven't had the chance yet. Phenomenal film if you read and like the comics. Highly recommended. Of course, if I'm going to do that, I actually need to purchase the film first. If anyone's interested, let me know. Please visit me; I won't molest you.
I haven't heard anything from my parents in several days; it's been radio silence from them over the long weekend, so who knows what's going on back home.
Yes, I realize this post is de-evolving into just random observations and thoughts. Right now that's what I need.
I found a can of hair mousse that the former girlfriend left behind when she moved. I'm glad she left it, because it's perfect for styling my new, shorter hair into a sort of "spiked up" look.
I showered last night before bed, but will probably shower again in about an hour or so just so I can shave, trim the beard, and re-mousse the hair. Yes, for a while at least, I'm going to be one of those guys who uses product in his hair. The very thought of it makes me shudder, but I look good, so for the moment it may be a necessary evil. I really can't wait to see my students' reactions to my haircut today in class. Hell, I can't wait to see some of my colleagues' reactions as well.
Speaking of colleagues, I've spoken with a few of them at length about getting together once a week or so to record a podcast of some sort, even if it's something that we have to record in my office on campus. Headsets and microphones are incredibly cheap -- I just bought a VOIP microphone/headphone set for Skype use on Amazon for $10 -- and with all sorts of recording software available both commercially and free (especially for Linux systems like mine) I am serious about getting some sort of podcast off the ground, hopefully involving the themes of grad school/humor/poetry/life in general. I could record it now from my house and put it on the web myself, but I really need guests/cohosts to get some good conversations going. Just me talking isn't going to do much as I live a really boring life.
As for Skype itself, as I've just installed the program within the past two weeks and have been learning how to use it, it's awesome. Almost all the time when I'm on the computer now and have free time to talk, I've got it online at the ready to make/receive calls, or talk to friends via its IM function. I don't have a camera, but I can see how it will prove indispensable in the future for contact between friends not only here in town, but in other cities/states.
On that note, as I've basically run out of anything to write about that will either keep me awake longer or keep you reading longer, I'm off to shower and, if tired enough afterwards, collapse on the couch for an hour or so before I have to start my day and head off to campus. I have the feeling that it's going to feel much longer than it actually will last. Maybe if I'm really tired I'll hold off on the post office stuff until tomorrow morning, so that I can just come home and crash.
The book, surprisingly, has been selling moderately well. If you look to your upper left above my profile, I've posted a direct link to the page for it on Amazon. Suri purchased a copy and has been enjoying it quite a bit, but has taken the initiative to tell me that despite the careful reads and edits I've made, she's still found a typo or two. Oh well. I went through another re-edit and re-upload of the manuscript a few nights ago, to see if I could rectify (or at least better) the formatting errors and bunched text that occurs with the transition to the Kindle format. From the preview I saw, even after spending hours upon hours trying to get the Kindle version to look like the actual manuscript -- which, I assure you, indeed is a book, and a properly-formatted one at that -- my work didn't do much good. Everything is still somewhat screwy in the transition to electronic format, and I ask you to bear with it if you're willing to purchase and read the book. For those of you who have purchased it previously and have noticed all of these weird formatting changes (excluding Suri, who bought it after I attempted to fix most of them), you might want to see if you can "reload" or what-have-you, to see if you can get the newest version to see if that helps. Like I said, I don't know why it's all screwy in some places; it doesn't affect its readability, just how it looks on the "digital page."
The problem is that it makes me look unprofessional as an author, which is what irritates me. It makes me look like I don't know what paragraphs, chapters, and line/page breaks are. In the print version, which will be coming soon (because I am sick of all of these issues, frankly) once I can figure out how to do it, it will be rectified.
I should have been asleep four hours ago. I don't know if I'll get back to sleep at all now.
I have decided I will more than likely go to the grad student mixer, even if it may not be a great idea for me. It will, however, get me out of the house, and Suri is planning to go as well -- possibly bringing her longtime boyfriend, who I have yet to meet. It looks like a lot of us -- at least those of us who already know about it -- are going to the mixer. I get the feeling that most of us usually attend the events at the museum, if only because free beer is provided, and there's no limit -- meaning, once you're there, unless you're vomiting, they won't cut you off. Even If I do nothing but get out of the house for a few hours and spend a little time with some friends before coming back home, it will be better for my mental state than sitting here staring at the cats and worrying about the papers I need to write/grade. Three of the guys, one of whom is my officemate, are musicians and are playing what appears to be at least two different shows at the Donut Whole (the best donut/coffee shop in Wichita) afterwards, which I imagine most of my colleagues will be attending as well. Depending on my state of inebriation by the time the mixer is over, I'll probably attend that as well -- though I'll be hitching a ride from someone, to be sure, if I do. If anything, coffee and donuts can only serve to sober me up.
I may be able to have an old friend from West Virginia come visit me at some point this semester for at least a few days; we've been trying to arrange something for a while now. I hesitate to say much more for fear that I'll not only jinx myself but because it's a rather private sort of thing, and it's one of those situations that I don't really feel comfortable writing about here (and I may not even write about it if she does end up coming to visit, at least not for a while anyhow), though it is someone I've mentioned here in the blog in the past month or so. If she does get to make it out here, it will be fun to catch up, and it will be like a little piece of home visiting me here in my humble abode. I've even ordered a $30 self-inflating airbed for any and all visiting guests (or me) to sleep on. Despite owning a king-size bed and only ever using one side of it, it would probably be more than a bit creepy for any of my female friends to share it with me, even with my promises that I wouldn't violate them in the night.
Hm. Violate them in the night. There's a line for one of my poems.
Anyway.
I miss my friends and family in West Virginia; that, of course, should go without saying at this point. I've not lived out there since November 2006, and that makes five years this fall. I've visited twice since I moved out here, but both times I was barely able to catch up with anyone from high school or college except for Andrea and my friends Travis and Matt. Schedule conflicts (or the fact that most of my other friends got out of the state and disappeared) hindered much other interaction with anyone I knew, and Morgantown is much different now compared to how it was when I left it. As much as I don't necessarily want to move back to West Virginia after I graduate in 2013, I may end up doing it anyway if I can find a job there or if other circumstances that shall, for the moment, remain unwritten -- fall into place.
As I said before, there are many things going on behind the scenes that I, as of yet, refuse to write about, and there are many variables in play. Nothing bad, mind you; I'm just working in a lot of different arenas right now, so to speak, and there are very few people I care to discuss it with.
No, before you ask, I'm not doing gay porn. Believe me, I'm not...ahem...talented enough to do regular porn. Shit, I'm not talented enough to be the cameraman.
I've decided that my next book isn't necessarily going to be a simple memoir of graduate school, but rather something along the lines of humorous memoir combined with tips on how to survive it. That is, of course, provided I survive it first. It will take a while to write if that's what I choose to do, and while I will include stories that I've touched upon in the blog over the years, none of the content in it will directly come from here. I fancy myself a humorist, a nonfictionist -- this sort of writing is what I'm best at, like it or not. Might as well make it work for me.
Aside from the cable bill, which arrives now on a different payment schedule since the internet account was switched into my name, today I paid all of the other bills for the house, as well as wrote out the check to the former girlfriend to repay her for the deposit on this place that she signed over to my name last month. With my trips to Walmart and the Dollar Tree on Sunday, as well as the gas I put in my car on top of that, I have spent entirely too much money in the past week, but it couldn't be avoided. We are, at least, getting paid again now -- and will actually receive three paychecks this month because of when the paydates fall -- so at least my bank account isn't bleeding itself to death anymore. Now, it's just a minor wound that's slowly oozing.
Truth be told, even with the regular paychecks, I still spend more money per month than I bring in, in bills and rent alone -- and I am not, of course, counting food for myself and the cats, or the +/-$100 in gas I'll put in the Monte Carlo over any given month of classes. We, as GTAs alone, make less than $800 a month.
No, I'm not kidding. See why any function offering free beer is so enticing to us?
It would be impossible for me to survive had I not taken the student loan I accepted for the fall/spring. My rent here is relatively low for the place I have (a place like this would easily be $800 a month in Wichita), but the cost of it at all -- as well as the cost of gas -- makes surviving on less than $400 every two weeks nearly impossible. Would I be able to save money on gas if I had a newer, more fuel-efficient car? Probably, but I can't afford a new car, and the costs would be negligible over the long run at best. Would it be cheaper to live in Wichita? Maybe, but not incredibly likely. Not with three cats, and I'd more than likely have to make the sacrifice of having about 1/2 to 1/3 of the space I have now, with no garage and the possibility of getting mugged, shot, or stabbed at any given time.
As an aside, if the Monte Carlo ever does blow a major, expensive part that I can't afford to fix, I've already made the vow that I'll be looking for another Monte Carlo of around the same model year (though hopefully in better condition) almost immediately. Even with its problems, I have to say I love that car. It's like owning a low-rent Batmobile -- it's sleek, fast, and its engine has a growl like no other car I've driven, with the exception of the '91 Trans Am I test-drove in Hutchinson a month or so before I bought the Monte Carlo.
The only reason I didn't buy that car, as some of you know, is because the gas pedal had problems -- you literally had to mash it to the floor to get the car to move, an issue indicative of much larger problems I'd eventually have to deal with, more than likely.
It is 2:15 AM. Fuck it, I said to myself. I made coffee. I'm awake for the long haul now.
Today I'll teach at 9:30 and 11, but after that I'm done and can come home to crash, if needed and/or warranted. I need to get to the post office on my way home from classes so that I can mail out a volley of thank-you packages to friends, as well as a birthday/thank-you package (with card and presents) to Andrea. Luckily, I don't have to get up early on Wednesday morning, as I don't have class until 1:30. This means, basically, that once I get home tomorrow I can go to bed and sleep any time I want for as long as I want in order to reboot my system. Damned nightmares. I was originally tired tonight, too.
The nightmare, in case you were wondering, was about the friend who may come visit me sometime this fall, and the consequences of me somehow finding a way to screw up that visit. Pretty tame, yes, but then again it's not like I lead a wild life.
X-Men: First Class comes out on DVD on Friday (yeah, I know, weird release date; I'm just going by what Amazon tells me). I'm considering organizing a watch party here at the house for those nerds and/or nerdy ladies who would like to see it on my new (small) HDTV, but who haven't had the chance yet. Phenomenal film if you read and like the comics. Highly recommended. Of course, if I'm going to do that, I actually need to purchase the film first. If anyone's interested, let me know. Please visit me; I won't molest you.
I haven't heard anything from my parents in several days; it's been radio silence from them over the long weekend, so who knows what's going on back home.
Yes, I realize this post is de-evolving into just random observations and thoughts. Right now that's what I need.
I found a can of hair mousse that the former girlfriend left behind when she moved. I'm glad she left it, because it's perfect for styling my new, shorter hair into a sort of "spiked up" look.
I showered last night before bed, but will probably shower again in about an hour or so just so I can shave, trim the beard, and re-mousse the hair. Yes, for a while at least, I'm going to be one of those guys who uses product in his hair. The very thought of it makes me shudder, but I look good, so for the moment it may be a necessary evil. I really can't wait to see my students' reactions to my haircut today in class. Hell, I can't wait to see some of my colleagues' reactions as well.
Speaking of colleagues, I've spoken with a few of them at length about getting together once a week or so to record a podcast of some sort, even if it's something that we have to record in my office on campus. Headsets and microphones are incredibly cheap -- I just bought a VOIP microphone/headphone set for Skype use on Amazon for $10 -- and with all sorts of recording software available both commercially and free (especially for Linux systems like mine) I am serious about getting some sort of podcast off the ground, hopefully involving the themes of grad school/humor/poetry/life in general. I could record it now from my house and put it on the web myself, but I really need guests/cohosts to get some good conversations going. Just me talking isn't going to do much as I live a really boring life.
As for Skype itself, as I've just installed the program within the past two weeks and have been learning how to use it, it's awesome. Almost all the time when I'm on the computer now and have free time to talk, I've got it online at the ready to make/receive calls, or talk to friends via its IM function. I don't have a camera, but I can see how it will prove indispensable in the future for contact between friends not only here in town, but in other cities/states.
On that note, as I've basically run out of anything to write about that will either keep me awake longer or keep you reading longer, I'm off to shower and, if tired enough afterwards, collapse on the couch for an hour or so before I have to start my day and head off to campus. I have the feeling that it's going to feel much longer than it actually will last. Maybe if I'm really tired I'll hold off on the post office stuff until tomorrow morning, so that I can just come home and crash.
Variables at Play
Fall semester: day eleven
(yes, even though it's Labor Day, it still counts)
Right now, there are all sorts of things going on within my head. Some of them are good, some of them are bad, and some of them I am really not open enough with you people, no offense, to write about here yet. There are also many things going on around me outside of what I'm thinking about, outside my head -- and in some cases -- outside the state of Kansas.
Last night I wrote what could now be constituted as a "poor me" sort of blog post here. It was up for maybe an hour before it was taken down, because I wasn't comfortable with some of the things I said in it, and what those things revealed about myself. In it, I basically laid bare my mental state, while also laying out my intentions to become, basically, a social recluse -- or, as I like to call it, entering full hermitude, mainly because for the most part I don't have the time or energy to devote to social interaction, and don't really have the desire or patience to foster new friendships or relationships with anyone right now.
While all of that is true to a certain extent, I've now had the presence of mind to realize that closing myself off from most people in favor of leading a rather boring life here in Newton with the cats doesn't exactly help anything. Despite what I may think at times, I can be social and function normally.
The truth is, however, that there are all sorts of variables at play right now, and all sorts of things going on out of my control; I have to be careful with what I do and say, and I have to be careful with who I associate with and mentally attach myself to. Right now, I can't really say much more than that.
Last night, during the longest conversation I've had with the former girlfriend since our breakup, she told me that my "mood swings" are starting to concern our mutual friends, and are, more seriously, making it hard to be my friend at all.
I won't lie, I was surprised by this. I didn't realize I was having "mood swings" of any sort. To my friends, whether they're shared with the former girlfriend or not, I've always been as normal as possible, specifically so that I'm not treated any differently as a person than I was before. Keep in mind that I've written here at length in the past few weeks about how some of my ancillary friends have been walking on eggshells around me as of late, or not really talking to me at all, despite the fact that I'm fine, I still function normally -- I talk and laugh, and I'm the same Brandon I always was. For those who can't disconnect the blog from how I am in normal life around everyone else (and I do believe that is a problem, at least for some of my friends) keep in mind that the blog is an internal monologue; it's me basically talking to myself, and it is a separate entity from the person I am in public. Whether you folks read it or not, it is a place for me to sort my thoughts into neat little rows for later processing. I can't -- and no one else should, for that matter -- think of it as anything more than that. Yes, sometimes the blog will contain much different subject matter than my outward personality. It's a blog. It's a place I lay out my fears and apprehensions, my internal thoughts and inner demons. I'm a writer. That's what writers do. If anything, it should be looked on as a tool, a tool that lets me sort myself out on my own time at my own pace, and make any readers I have think "Oh, good, he's processing things, he's okay, this is just how he does it."
Call that "mood swings" if you wish, but before you do, ask yourself (if you know me in person, of course) if I've been any different in person than I was before, or if my outward personality has changed at all aside the fact that I'm now single, know it, and show it.
However, as an opposing point of view...
I like to say that I'm mature in all the ways that count, but that usually pertains to the fact that I'm an intelligent grad student and accomplished writer/instructor, yet still buy all the Pokemon games and collect action figures and comic books. When it comes to emotional maturity, however? Who knows where I am with that, to be honest. I don't have a whole lot of life experience; I lived with my parents until I was nearly 24, and I just got out of a stable six-plus-year relationship that not only moved me across the country, but kept me relatively sheltered during the years that most people normally forge the sorts of habits and relationships that shape who they are as human beings. I thought I was done. I thought my levels of adulthood had reached their apex, as I was rapidly approaching thirty and expected (well, not expected, but hoped) to be married in a few years, with nothing needed after that. As it turned out, I'm now single and can give a lot of advice on what not to do in a relationship, but that's about it.
The lady I asked out, in case you were wondering, declined my offer for a date. She has her reasons, all of which I understand fully (and, additionally, support), and there are no hard feelings about it, obviously. She is one of the few new recruits I've actually gotten to know a bit since we started school this fall, and I'm honored to be able to call her a friend. She is a very sweet, kind woman with a killer sense of humor.
As for becoming a social recluse of sorts, I'm not sure. It's true that I really don't have the time or desire to go out and mingle -- I've said it before, folks, I'm getting old. I feel old. My classes this semester are very busy, and I've found that I have to spend a lot more time devoted to my work for them than I thought I would. Gas prices are astronomical right now too; I put another $32 of gas into the Monte Carlo yesterday, and even though it seems to be getting much better gas mileage since I put the complete fuel system cleaner through it (I'm estimating it went from a previous 18mpg or so to somewhere around 24-25mpg), that doesn't change the fact that the beat-up car is expensive to drive and still ends up using around two gallons of gas every trip I make to Wichita and back, not to mention the mileage on it that keeps racking up with every week of classes. At this rate, it'll breach 220,000 by the end of the semester, and I'll probably have to get an oil change done around Thanksgiving or so.
"Stop making excuses," the former girlfriend told me. "At least go to the [museum] mixer on Friday."
"Wait...you're actually telling me to get out of the house and do something?" I replied.
"Yes. Or even take an hour or so to go over to the [student union] for a beer, or something. I still manage to get out and do stuff with my schedule. It's not easy, but I make time for it."
"You know, it's easier for you," I said. "You live down there right in the middle of everyone and everything."
This is true; the former girlfriend now lives in what can only be described as a two-mile radius of not only the vast majority of our colleagues and classmates, but around popular grad-student hangout spots.
I know I'm worrying my friends that I'm not accepting any of their invitations to do things, or go out drinking with them or what-have-you -- this afternoon, Rae and Jay are throwing a Labor Day BBQ that I also declined to attend -- but believe me, I always have reasons for not doing any of this stuff, and it's not to slight anyone who's invited me out to do any of it. I'm just really not a social person (unless it's a one-on-one, date-like thing), and it's a long drive with more gas to use. I also have things to do (a book to finish and a response paper to write), and I'm planning to make a big pot of soup tonight, which will take several hours to cook. This may sound like more excuses, and maybe they are -- but my life is just so different than everyone else's right now. Maybe in a few months I'll be more receptive to this sort of stuff, but right now I want to make it clear that I don't want to disappoint my friends or make them worry about me because I'm not doing this stuff -- it's just disinterest, and things that I need to take care of taking preference and priority.
On that note, I must take care of those things now. I've wasted the vast majority of the day sleeping and writing here.
(yes, even though it's Labor Day, it still counts)
Right now, there are all sorts of things going on within my head. Some of them are good, some of them are bad, and some of them I am really not open enough with you people, no offense, to write about here yet. There are also many things going on around me outside of what I'm thinking about, outside my head -- and in some cases -- outside the state of Kansas.
Last night I wrote what could now be constituted as a "poor me" sort of blog post here. It was up for maybe an hour before it was taken down, because I wasn't comfortable with some of the things I said in it, and what those things revealed about myself. In it, I basically laid bare my mental state, while also laying out my intentions to become, basically, a social recluse -- or, as I like to call it, entering full hermitude, mainly because for the most part I don't have the time or energy to devote to social interaction, and don't really have the desire or patience to foster new friendships or relationships with anyone right now.
While all of that is true to a certain extent, I've now had the presence of mind to realize that closing myself off from most people in favor of leading a rather boring life here in Newton with the cats doesn't exactly help anything. Despite what I may think at times, I can be social and function normally.
The truth is, however, that there are all sorts of variables at play right now, and all sorts of things going on out of my control; I have to be careful with what I do and say, and I have to be careful with who I associate with and mentally attach myself to. Right now, I can't really say much more than that.
Last night, during the longest conversation I've had with the former girlfriend since our breakup, she told me that my "mood swings" are starting to concern our mutual friends, and are, more seriously, making it hard to be my friend at all.
I won't lie, I was surprised by this. I didn't realize I was having "mood swings" of any sort. To my friends, whether they're shared with the former girlfriend or not, I've always been as normal as possible, specifically so that I'm not treated any differently as a person than I was before. Keep in mind that I've written here at length in the past few weeks about how some of my ancillary friends have been walking on eggshells around me as of late, or not really talking to me at all, despite the fact that I'm fine, I still function normally -- I talk and laugh, and I'm the same Brandon I always was. For those who can't disconnect the blog from how I am in normal life around everyone else (and I do believe that is a problem, at least for some of my friends) keep in mind that the blog is an internal monologue; it's me basically talking to myself, and it is a separate entity from the person I am in public. Whether you folks read it or not, it is a place for me to sort my thoughts into neat little rows for later processing. I can't -- and no one else should, for that matter -- think of it as anything more than that. Yes, sometimes the blog will contain much different subject matter than my outward personality. It's a blog. It's a place I lay out my fears and apprehensions, my internal thoughts and inner demons. I'm a writer. That's what writers do. If anything, it should be looked on as a tool, a tool that lets me sort myself out on my own time at my own pace, and make any readers I have think "Oh, good, he's processing things, he's okay, this is just how he does it."
Call that "mood swings" if you wish, but before you do, ask yourself (if you know me in person, of course) if I've been any different in person than I was before, or if my outward personality has changed at all aside the fact that I'm now single, know it, and show it.
However, as an opposing point of view...
I like to say that I'm mature in all the ways that count, but that usually pertains to the fact that I'm an intelligent grad student and accomplished writer/instructor, yet still buy all the Pokemon games and collect action figures and comic books. When it comes to emotional maturity, however? Who knows where I am with that, to be honest. I don't have a whole lot of life experience; I lived with my parents until I was nearly 24, and I just got out of a stable six-plus-year relationship that not only moved me across the country, but kept me relatively sheltered during the years that most people normally forge the sorts of habits and relationships that shape who they are as human beings. I thought I was done. I thought my levels of adulthood had reached their apex, as I was rapidly approaching thirty and expected (well, not expected, but hoped) to be married in a few years, with nothing needed after that. As it turned out, I'm now single and can give a lot of advice on what not to do in a relationship, but that's about it.
The lady I asked out, in case you were wondering, declined my offer for a date. She has her reasons, all of which I understand fully (and, additionally, support), and there are no hard feelings about it, obviously. She is one of the few new recruits I've actually gotten to know a bit since we started school this fall, and I'm honored to be able to call her a friend. She is a very sweet, kind woman with a killer sense of humor.
As for becoming a social recluse of sorts, I'm not sure. It's true that I really don't have the time or desire to go out and mingle -- I've said it before, folks, I'm getting old. I feel old. My classes this semester are very busy, and I've found that I have to spend a lot more time devoted to my work for them than I thought I would. Gas prices are astronomical right now too; I put another $32 of gas into the Monte Carlo yesterday, and even though it seems to be getting much better gas mileage since I put the complete fuel system cleaner through it (I'm estimating it went from a previous 18mpg or so to somewhere around 24-25mpg), that doesn't change the fact that the beat-up car is expensive to drive and still ends up using around two gallons of gas every trip I make to Wichita and back, not to mention the mileage on it that keeps racking up with every week of classes. At this rate, it'll breach 220,000 by the end of the semester, and I'll probably have to get an oil change done around Thanksgiving or so.
"Stop making excuses," the former girlfriend told me. "At least go to the [museum] mixer on Friday."
"Wait...you're actually telling me to get out of the house and do something?" I replied.
"Yes. Or even take an hour or so to go over to the [student union] for a beer, or something. I still manage to get out and do stuff with my schedule. It's not easy, but I make time for it."
"You know, it's easier for you," I said. "You live down there right in the middle of everyone and everything."
This is true; the former girlfriend now lives in what can only be described as a two-mile radius of not only the vast majority of our colleagues and classmates, but around popular grad-student hangout spots.
I know I'm worrying my friends that I'm not accepting any of their invitations to do things, or go out drinking with them or what-have-you -- this afternoon, Rae and Jay are throwing a Labor Day BBQ that I also declined to attend -- but believe me, I always have reasons for not doing any of this stuff, and it's not to slight anyone who's invited me out to do any of it. I'm just really not a social person (unless it's a one-on-one, date-like thing), and it's a long drive with more gas to use. I also have things to do (a book to finish and a response paper to write), and I'm planning to make a big pot of soup tonight, which will take several hours to cook. This may sound like more excuses, and maybe they are -- but my life is just so different than everyone else's right now. Maybe in a few months I'll be more receptive to this sort of stuff, but right now I want to make it clear that I don't want to disappoint my friends or make them worry about me because I'm not doing this stuff -- it's just disinterest, and things that I need to take care of taking preference and priority.
On that note, I must take care of those things now. I've wasted the vast majority of the day sleeping and writing here.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Knowing the Real Me
Logging in here this morning was a totally new experience for me, as between yesterday afternoon and now, Blogger has completely changed around their entire dashboard and posting system, giving it a fancy, Star Trek-ish overhaul to seemingly streamline things. It's pretty enough I suppose, but it's something I'll have to get used to.
I have not yet received one of those two most frightening words/answers in the English language of "Yes" or "no" from the lovely lady I asked out on a date this weekend. She's just as busy as the rest of us, though, so it's not like I've been sitting here staring at my screen, waiting for a reply with great anticipation -- I've been taking care of the stuff I have to do this weekend just like everyone else.
It's just as well for the moment, anyhow; I've got so much work to do this weekend that I'm using the blog as a reason to procrastinate. Hell, today is the first Saturday of the long-awaited return of college football, it's on television right now, and I'm sitting here typing in silence.
I don't remember when I went to bed last night; it was late, and I fell asleep here in my chair at my desk beforehand for an undetermined amount of time. When I went downstairs, I realized that since I'd washed the bedsheets/pillowcases/mattress pad, the mattress was still bare. I was too tired to care, grabbed a sheet and a pillow, and slept on the bare mattress -- cats gathering around me on the bed in various places shortly thereafter.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the life of a single man, a guy who doesn't care if he sometimes sleeps on a bare mattress.
Could be worse; before the ex got a frame for the bed about a year ago, it simply sat on the floor -- mattress and box springs flat on the carpet. I don't like the frame that much, but it was too big to take with her in her move, and at least the bed's no longer on the floor.
Today would be the perfect day to mow the grass, were I actually motivated to do so in the least. I'm still fatigued and tired, and if I have to choose between mowing the grass and getting my schoolwork done this afternoon, schoolwork is going to win that battle. Truthfully, schoolwork wins every battle. This is why I'll have no real social life to speak of this semester, and why I rarely leave the house -- every second spent doing something else (like...um...blogging) is a second that I'm not getting everything I need to do done.
Rae sent me a text last night saying that she'd read my blog, and that I should come down there to hang out -- she and Jay (her longtime boyfriend and a close friend of mine as well) would be my "dates." I declined politely, as I was forty minutes or so into baking a set of turkey cutlets for dinner, but otherwise I probably would've taken her/them up on the opportunity.
I'm afraid I'm beginning to be thought of as the "lonely charity case" within the department, the single guy who lives 24 miles north of town, by himself in a large house, and talks to his cats way more often than he should. Or, the guy who had a rough summer, went through a breakup, and needs to get out of the house more. While all of those things may be true, it's not like I want to be thought of in those ways. I love having friends who genuinely care and want me to spend time with them -- believe me, they wouldn't ask me to do stuff with them if they didn't want me around -- but I'm really hoping they're not asking out of a "poor Brandon, he's all alone" mentality, or some sort of mental obligation they have to include me in things. Because, believe me, I'm fine -- I live up here in Newton because I choose to stay here, and stay isolated, not because I have to. It may be a tad inconvenient at times, but I've weighed the options carefully. If I lived in Wichita, I would turn into a drunk, I would get myself into situations and drama that I don't want to be in, and I would never, ever get any of my work done. For now, at least, staying put and remaining in good academic standing at the university is the top priority, because really, that good academic standing is all I have going for me in life.
This afternoon (in about three hours, in fact) is the EGSA's party/mixer thing in Wichita. I had been iffy on it for most of the week, and despite numerous requests to go to it (again, see previous paragraph), I was never sure of whether or not I'd attend -- even though the lovely lady I asked on a date yesterday will more than likely be there. It came down to my motivation levels, how much gas I had in the car, and how much work I'd gotten done by that point, in addition to who else was going.
Well, I haven't filled the gas tank in the car (it seems to be getting around 25 miles to the gallon now, oddly enough; perhaps that fuel system cleaner helped it somewhat), I have done very little actual work this weekend thus far, and if my motivation levels were higher I would've mowed the grass this morning when I woke up.
It looks like it's going to be most of the guys of the department anyway -- guys who I get along with and who like me, but who I don't have much reason to hang out with outside of class or around campus, as they're fun but their personalities are vastly different than my own, and we don't have much in common. As for anyone else, such as Rae and Jay, or Suri (the latter of whom I sincerely doubt will be there), I spend inordinate amounts of time with them on campus already anyhow, since I'm stuck there a lot during the week. So, three hours from now when this "party" thing starts, I will be sitting on the couch in the living room, reading, writing, and doing school-related tasks, and will not be in attendance.
Next Friday, however, is the museum's Grad Student Mixer, something that I have already made my vows to attend -- provided, of course, that nothing happens to me, my car, or my workload between now and then. As I already know that it will be a somewhat wild night, even a week in advance, I already foresee parking the Monte Carlo somewhere in Wichita early in the evening and crashing for the night at a friend's place to avoid driving home, more than likely. Whose place, obviously, remains a mystery. It may be the one and only night between now and the end of the semester that I'll actually be open to going out drinking and socializing with a group of friends, something that (as you know) I am usually quite opposed to, despite the amount of fun I tend to have when I do.
I'm probably getting the reputation of the boring guy in the department already, even though (once people get to know me well) they realize I am anything but. I can, even now, imagine conversations going like this:
"Who's not here?" they'll ask. "Everyone's here but him, I think."
"Oh, well, that's Brandon for you. He never does this stuff. Never leaves the house."
That's fine, really; I'm content with only letting a very small handful of people here really get to know the real me. Suri knows the real me, and so do Rae and Jay, for the most part, along with maybe one or two others who I won't name here (as I've not yet been given permission to write about them or name names). I'd be happy to let the lovely lady I asked out get to know me better as well, obviously. Otherwise? Eh. As long as I have some friends somewhere, it's not a huge concern. Let people think what they want about me, boring or otherwise.
On that note, I shall now retire to the living room couch, where I will spend the rest of my day, evening, and probably part of the night working on class-related things. I may lead a boring life, but I get shit done.
I have not yet received one of those two most frightening words/answers in the English language of "Yes" or "no" from the lovely lady I asked out on a date this weekend. She's just as busy as the rest of us, though, so it's not like I've been sitting here staring at my screen, waiting for a reply with great anticipation -- I've been taking care of the stuff I have to do this weekend just like everyone else.
It's just as well for the moment, anyhow; I've got so much work to do this weekend that I'm using the blog as a reason to procrastinate. Hell, today is the first Saturday of the long-awaited return of college football, it's on television right now, and I'm sitting here typing in silence.
I don't remember when I went to bed last night; it was late, and I fell asleep here in my chair at my desk beforehand for an undetermined amount of time. When I went downstairs, I realized that since I'd washed the bedsheets/pillowcases/mattress pad, the mattress was still bare. I was too tired to care, grabbed a sheet and a pillow, and slept on the bare mattress -- cats gathering around me on the bed in various places shortly thereafter.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the life of a single man, a guy who doesn't care if he sometimes sleeps on a bare mattress.
Could be worse; before the ex got a frame for the bed about a year ago, it simply sat on the floor -- mattress and box springs flat on the carpet. I don't like the frame that much, but it was too big to take with her in her move, and at least the bed's no longer on the floor.
Today would be the perfect day to mow the grass, were I actually motivated to do so in the least. I'm still fatigued and tired, and if I have to choose between mowing the grass and getting my schoolwork done this afternoon, schoolwork is going to win that battle. Truthfully, schoolwork wins every battle. This is why I'll have no real social life to speak of this semester, and why I rarely leave the house -- every second spent doing something else (like...um...blogging) is a second that I'm not getting everything I need to do done.
Rae sent me a text last night saying that she'd read my blog, and that I should come down there to hang out -- she and Jay (her longtime boyfriend and a close friend of mine as well) would be my "dates." I declined politely, as I was forty minutes or so into baking a set of turkey cutlets for dinner, but otherwise I probably would've taken her/them up on the opportunity.
I'm afraid I'm beginning to be thought of as the "lonely charity case" within the department, the single guy who lives 24 miles north of town, by himself in a large house, and talks to his cats way more often than he should. Or, the guy who had a rough summer, went through a breakup, and needs to get out of the house more. While all of those things may be true, it's not like I want to be thought of in those ways. I love having friends who genuinely care and want me to spend time with them -- believe me, they wouldn't ask me to do stuff with them if they didn't want me around -- but I'm really hoping they're not asking out of a "poor Brandon, he's all alone" mentality, or some sort of mental obligation they have to include me in things. Because, believe me, I'm fine -- I live up here in Newton because I choose to stay here, and stay isolated, not because I have to. It may be a tad inconvenient at times, but I've weighed the options carefully. If I lived in Wichita, I would turn into a drunk, I would get myself into situations and drama that I don't want to be in, and I would never, ever get any of my work done. For now, at least, staying put and remaining in good academic standing at the university is the top priority, because really, that good academic standing is all I have going for me in life.
This afternoon (in about three hours, in fact) is the EGSA's party/mixer thing in Wichita. I had been iffy on it for most of the week, and despite numerous requests to go to it (again, see previous paragraph), I was never sure of whether or not I'd attend -- even though the lovely lady I asked on a date yesterday will more than likely be there. It came down to my motivation levels, how much gas I had in the car, and how much work I'd gotten done by that point, in addition to who else was going.
Well, I haven't filled the gas tank in the car (it seems to be getting around 25 miles to the gallon now, oddly enough; perhaps that fuel system cleaner helped it somewhat), I have done very little actual work this weekend thus far, and if my motivation levels were higher I would've mowed the grass this morning when I woke up.
It looks like it's going to be most of the guys of the department anyway -- guys who I get along with and who like me, but who I don't have much reason to hang out with outside of class or around campus, as they're fun but their personalities are vastly different than my own, and we don't have much in common. As for anyone else, such as Rae and Jay, or Suri (the latter of whom I sincerely doubt will be there), I spend inordinate amounts of time with them on campus already anyhow, since I'm stuck there a lot during the week. So, three hours from now when this "party" thing starts, I will be sitting on the couch in the living room, reading, writing, and doing school-related tasks, and will not be in attendance.
Next Friday, however, is the museum's Grad Student Mixer, something that I have already made my vows to attend -- provided, of course, that nothing happens to me, my car, or my workload between now and then. As I already know that it will be a somewhat wild night, even a week in advance, I already foresee parking the Monte Carlo somewhere in Wichita early in the evening and crashing for the night at a friend's place to avoid driving home, more than likely. Whose place, obviously, remains a mystery. It may be the one and only night between now and the end of the semester that I'll actually be open to going out drinking and socializing with a group of friends, something that (as you know) I am usually quite opposed to, despite the amount of fun I tend to have when I do.
I'm probably getting the reputation of the boring guy in the department already, even though (once people get to know me well) they realize I am anything but. I can, even now, imagine conversations going like this:
"Who's not here?" they'll ask. "Everyone's here but him, I think."
"Oh, well, that's Brandon for you. He never does this stuff. Never leaves the house."
That's fine, really; I'm content with only letting a very small handful of people here really get to know the real me. Suri knows the real me, and so do Rae and Jay, for the most part, along with maybe one or two others who I won't name here (as I've not yet been given permission to write about them or name names). I'd be happy to let the lovely lady I asked out get to know me better as well, obviously. Otherwise? Eh. As long as I have some friends somewhere, it's not a huge concern. Let people think what they want about me, boring or otherwise.
On that note, I shall now retire to the living room couch, where I will spend the rest of my day, evening, and probably part of the night working on class-related things. I may lead a boring life, but I get shit done.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Art of Courting, and a Lack of Hair
Fall semester: day ten
This afternoon, I was finally able to cut my hair. Afterwards, the upstairs bathroom looked like I murdered a wookiee.
Is it short? Well, yeah, but not too short. I tried to get pictures (not of the hair cut off, but of me afterwards) but my camera isn't being as cooperative as I'd like. Lots of dark and shadows. This is about the best one I can offer, and it's a few years old -- from the last time I had hair this short. You should get the idea, as it's about the same -- though the lighting's not great on this one either:
Yeah, so, eh. I will say that my head definitely feels a lot lighter and cooler. The hardest part about doing it was not the emotional attachment to my hair (as many of you may have been expecting), but shaving the back of the neck without two large mirrors. I had to engineer a hand mirror balancing precariously on the shelves in the bathroom, turn around with my back to the main mirror, and keep my arm out of the line of sight while shaving -- which is even harder than it sounds, trust me.
My actual hair ended up being a little bit shorter than I'd like, but that's always the case when it comes to using clippers, so whatever works. At least it's not as short as I had it during high school and/or at the end of my undergraduate career at WVU, when I had several unflattering photos taken of me looking like a skinhead.
No, I am not going to share those photos with you here -- because they're horrible -- though my high school graduation photo (taken eleven years ago) is still on Facebook, I believe. I don't suggest looking for it -- if you thought I was babyfaced without the full beard now, you should've seen me then.
Anyway, at least I know this time around that if I end up not liking it too much, it'll grow out more in a few weeks. No biggie. In the meantime, perhaps I won't sweat as much when it's 110 degrees outside now, as it has been for the majority of this week.
In other news, I've not been sleeping well. Last night I had two separate nightmares, which are rare for me to begin with, but to have two in one night is nothing short of bizarre. I think my mental state is changing. Obviously, life is stressful -- everyone's life is to a certain extent -- but apparently my underlying stress channels itself through nightmares. Of course, it could have also been that when I went to bed, I'd been awake for almost 24 hours straight, and was deliriously tired. Might've hit REM sleep hard and fast, and might've started the bad dreams then. I was so tired that I don't even know what time of night/early morning I had them, but I know that after around 10 or so, I couldn't sleep anymore.
Also, for those of you who may be interested, I haven't asked she who shall not be named out yet.
According to my friend Jane, my reasoning for not doing so is because the word "no" is the scariest word in the English language. I asked Jane what the second-scariest word was, already knowing the answer that she would tell me a few moments later: "Yes."
Why am I so afraid? I've never been afraid of anything or anyone, at least in this sense, ever before. Yet now, when I'm at the most independent stage of my life I've ever had, when I'm single and can afford groceries, gas for the car, and occasionally a nice dinner and/or movie date, why am I at my most apprehensive to move forward? Especially despite all of my wanting to and desire to do so.
It's not just those words yes and no. I've been thinking about this for a few days. It's because I've never really dated anyone before -- or, as Suri would call it, I have no experience in the art of courting. My first real girlfriend, when I was an undergrad at WVU, was in a relationship with me for about six weeks. I've never talked about her here on the blog for fairly obvious reasons, but she was three years older than me, a great deal more experienced in life, and we never actually dated. We met, immediately felt some sort of connection, and dealt with it the only way two college students of that age know how, ahem, without going into details, before the relationship dissolved over the course of that summer. There were no actual "dates," there was no actual "courting."
Of course, with the former girlfriend, most of you know the story already -- we met online in 2005, I moved out here in 2006, and we were together until earlier this summer. While we would later have many dinner-and-movie dates, it was after I'd moved out here and long after we'd established ourselves as an exclusive couple; any "courting" of any sort was done online, over the first few weeks we were talking but not yet a couple. She is also almost five years younger than I am.
This new girl I've been talking to is, really, not a girl at all but a woman. She's two years older than I am. She's lived in various areas of the country (as well as around the world) and more than likely has much, much more life experience than I do, judging solely by the conversations we've had. She's mature in all the ways I still may not be or ever be, though she does have a biting sense of dry humor that I greatly adore and appreciate. I'm also skirting a fine line by even saying this much, as I know she's read this blog before -- at least one or two posts, anyway -- though I'm not sure she's a regular reader. I sadly haven't had the opportunity to talk to her enough since then to know otherwise, therefore if she is reading this, it may be either a very good or very bad thing.
Regardless, I'm skewing away from the point, and the point is that she is the type of woman that I would like to court. She's the type that, in my eyes, needs and deserves to be courted, dated, and the type that I'd like to get to know better with no expectations. That last part, to me at least, is important. With no expectations, I should be experiencing no fear, and should have no real fears of rejection or eventual letdown. So why do I?
Those of you who have read recent posts here may be thinking that this sort of rationale violates my code of "don't actively pursue anything, but pay close attention to anything that comes my way" or whatever it was I wrote before, and you're probably right with that assumption, but here's the thing -- I don't read signals well. I can't tell when or if someone is cautiously interested in me, or would be receptive to interest from me. As I told Suri, I've been out of the game far too long, and getting back into it now is all new and confusing. I'm also one of those guys who don't tend to pick up on a lot of subtleties, and occasionally need to be bashed over the head with the proverbial "obvious stick."
"Look," Suri said. "It's clear that she wouldn't be talking with you or making time to hang out with you if she wasn't at least interested a little bit."
"Is it?" I replied. "I really don't know. I can't read minds, I'm not psychic. I don't know what you women are thinking about anything."
As you know, this is the problem that has plagued all males since the beginning of time.
"Besides," I added, "I just don't know enough information about the big picture. I've definitely been known to misinterpret things over the years. This could be one of those 'you're nice, so I'm going to be nice and friendly in return' sort of situations that I'm grossly, totally misinterpreting. I have no clue."
Rose-colored glasses and all that, seeing things the way I want to see them, or seeing things that aren't there. Not only is that certainly possible, but due to my scathing inner cynicism, I wonder if it's not more probable than possible.
And that, I think, is what's holding me back the most. Yes, I'm over-analyzing things. Yes, I've been stressed out and tired, and my mind may not be necessarily firing on all cylinders, which could certainly contribute to some sort of long, drawn-out misunderstanding. When I'm fatigued, my outer optimism gets replaced by my inner cynicism, and I find myself second-guessing everything.
"Whichever way you roll," Suri told me, "It'll work out, I'm sure."
Of course, this long, detailed post about my haircut and hemming and hawwing over something as trivial as asking someone out for a simple date would not be complete if I did not tell you that I finally relented, and actually did so. The two of us have been talking back and forth via private message on Facebook for the past week and a half or so (as well as in person when we're both free for a few hours of the day), so this afternoon -- shortly before finishing this post, I took the initiative and asked her if she wanted to get out of the house and do something this weekend. Fortune favors the bold, etc.
Yes, those were my exact words, though at the end I added "You and me?" at the end of it so that she wouldn't think it was a group activity or something.
So, as in all cases, we'll see what happens. I am cautiously optimistic for the time being.
This afternoon, I was finally able to cut my hair. Afterwards, the upstairs bathroom looked like I murdered a wookiee.
Is it short? Well, yeah, but not too short. I tried to get pictures (not of the hair cut off, but of me afterwards) but my camera isn't being as cooperative as I'd like. Lots of dark and shadows. This is about the best one I can offer, and it's a few years old -- from the last time I had hair this short. You should get the idea, as it's about the same -- though the lighting's not great on this one either:
Yeah, so, eh. I will say that my head definitely feels a lot lighter and cooler. The hardest part about doing it was not the emotional attachment to my hair (as many of you may have been expecting), but shaving the back of the neck without two large mirrors. I had to engineer a hand mirror balancing precariously on the shelves in the bathroom, turn around with my back to the main mirror, and keep my arm out of the line of sight while shaving -- which is even harder than it sounds, trust me.
My actual hair ended up being a little bit shorter than I'd like, but that's always the case when it comes to using clippers, so whatever works. At least it's not as short as I had it during high school and/or at the end of my undergraduate career at WVU, when I had several unflattering photos taken of me looking like a skinhead.
No, I am not going to share those photos with you here -- because they're horrible -- though my high school graduation photo (taken eleven years ago) is still on Facebook, I believe. I don't suggest looking for it -- if you thought I was babyfaced without the full beard now, you should've seen me then.
Anyway, at least I know this time around that if I end up not liking it too much, it'll grow out more in a few weeks. No biggie. In the meantime, perhaps I won't sweat as much when it's 110 degrees outside now, as it has been for the majority of this week.
In other news, I've not been sleeping well. Last night I had two separate nightmares, which are rare for me to begin with, but to have two in one night is nothing short of bizarre. I think my mental state is changing. Obviously, life is stressful -- everyone's life is to a certain extent -- but apparently my underlying stress channels itself through nightmares. Of course, it could have also been that when I went to bed, I'd been awake for almost 24 hours straight, and was deliriously tired. Might've hit REM sleep hard and fast, and might've started the bad dreams then. I was so tired that I don't even know what time of night/early morning I had them, but I know that after around 10 or so, I couldn't sleep anymore.
Also, for those of you who may be interested, I haven't asked she who shall not be named out yet.
According to my friend Jane, my reasoning for not doing so is because the word "no" is the scariest word in the English language. I asked Jane what the second-scariest word was, already knowing the answer that she would tell me a few moments later: "Yes."
Why am I so afraid? I've never been afraid of anything or anyone, at least in this sense, ever before. Yet now, when I'm at the most independent stage of my life I've ever had, when I'm single and can afford groceries, gas for the car, and occasionally a nice dinner and/or movie date, why am I at my most apprehensive to move forward? Especially despite all of my wanting to and desire to do so.
It's not just those words yes and no. I've been thinking about this for a few days. It's because I've never really dated anyone before -- or, as Suri would call it, I have no experience in the art of courting. My first real girlfriend, when I was an undergrad at WVU, was in a relationship with me for about six weeks. I've never talked about her here on the blog for fairly obvious reasons, but she was three years older than me, a great deal more experienced in life, and we never actually dated. We met, immediately felt some sort of connection, and dealt with it the only way two college students of that age know how, ahem, without going into details, before the relationship dissolved over the course of that summer. There were no actual "dates," there was no actual "courting."
Of course, with the former girlfriend, most of you know the story already -- we met online in 2005, I moved out here in 2006, and we were together until earlier this summer. While we would later have many dinner-and-movie dates, it was after I'd moved out here and long after we'd established ourselves as an exclusive couple; any "courting" of any sort was done online, over the first few weeks we were talking but not yet a couple. She is also almost five years younger than I am.
This new girl I've been talking to is, really, not a girl at all but a woman. She's two years older than I am. She's lived in various areas of the country (as well as around the world) and more than likely has much, much more life experience than I do, judging solely by the conversations we've had. She's mature in all the ways I still may not be or ever be, though she does have a biting sense of dry humor that I greatly adore and appreciate. I'm also skirting a fine line by even saying this much, as I know she's read this blog before -- at least one or two posts, anyway -- though I'm not sure she's a regular reader. I sadly haven't had the opportunity to talk to her enough since then to know otherwise, therefore if she is reading this, it may be either a very good or very bad thing.
Regardless, I'm skewing away from the point, and the point is that she is the type of woman that I would like to court. She's the type that, in my eyes, needs and deserves to be courted, dated, and the type that I'd like to get to know better with no expectations. That last part, to me at least, is important. With no expectations, I should be experiencing no fear, and should have no real fears of rejection or eventual letdown. So why do I?
Those of you who have read recent posts here may be thinking that this sort of rationale violates my code of "don't actively pursue anything, but pay close attention to anything that comes my way" or whatever it was I wrote before, and you're probably right with that assumption, but here's the thing -- I don't read signals well. I can't tell when or if someone is cautiously interested in me, or would be receptive to interest from me. As I told Suri, I've been out of the game far too long, and getting back into it now is all new and confusing. I'm also one of those guys who don't tend to pick up on a lot of subtleties, and occasionally need to be bashed over the head with the proverbial "obvious stick."
"Look," Suri said. "It's clear that she wouldn't be talking with you or making time to hang out with you if she wasn't at least interested a little bit."
"Is it?" I replied. "I really don't know. I can't read minds, I'm not psychic. I don't know what you women are thinking about anything."
As you know, this is the problem that has plagued all males since the beginning of time.
"Besides," I added, "I just don't know enough information about the big picture. I've definitely been known to misinterpret things over the years. This could be one of those 'you're nice, so I'm going to be nice and friendly in return' sort of situations that I'm grossly, totally misinterpreting. I have no clue."
Rose-colored glasses and all that, seeing things the way I want to see them, or seeing things that aren't there. Not only is that certainly possible, but due to my scathing inner cynicism, I wonder if it's not more probable than possible.
And that, I think, is what's holding me back the most. Yes, I'm over-analyzing things. Yes, I've been stressed out and tired, and my mind may not be necessarily firing on all cylinders, which could certainly contribute to some sort of long, drawn-out misunderstanding. When I'm fatigued, my outer optimism gets replaced by my inner cynicism, and I find myself second-guessing everything.
"Whichever way you roll," Suri told me, "It'll work out, I'm sure."
Of course, this long, detailed post about my haircut and hemming and hawwing over something as trivial as asking someone out for a simple date would not be complete if I did not tell you that I finally relented, and actually did so. The two of us have been talking back and forth via private message on Facebook for the past week and a half or so (as well as in person when we're both free for a few hours of the day), so this afternoon -- shortly before finishing this post, I took the initiative and asked her if she wanted to get out of the house and do something this weekend. Fortune favors the bold, etc.
Yes, those were my exact words, though at the end I added "You and me?" at the end of it so that she wouldn't think it was a group activity or something.
So, as in all cases, we'll see what happens. I am cautiously optimistic for the time being.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Burnout and Crash, Part II
When we last left our intrepid hero...
According to my friend Suri, who just started reading this blog over the past few days (and has since read all of it since its reboot), apparently I tend to reveal a bit more about my character and personality on here than I ever realized. Well, at least until this afternoon, when she told me things like "Yeah, I knew about that, I read it on your blog."
Hm. And close to 80-90% of my friends and colleagues now read my blog.
Oh dear. This can't be good for my modesty.
...waitaminute. What modesty?
Look on the bright side, folks -- at least all of the potentially-troublesome things I've written have been about myself, and nobody else. Well, at least nobody that I've named. And if I haven't named them it's mainly to cover my own ass.
As I mentioned before, though, it's not like my life isn't an open book anyway for those who care to ask the questions. It's just that few care -- or have time -- to ask the questions, especially when most of them get answered here (in a roundabout fashion, of course). I've not exactly made anything a secret if you know how to read things and decipher key clues within this text, and don't plan to start anytime soon.
I just know that some of you will now begin reading back through these posts again trying to "decipher key clues."
Good luck.
Anyway.
There is a reason these two posts today have been entitled "Burnout and Crash," and it's probably not a reason I have to fully explain (especially for those of you who are GTAs as well). Fall semester is a killer, folks. It is one of those times that as a student, will wear you down and make you completely sleep-deprived, at least for the first few weeks. Spring semester is easier; there's only a month's break between the two, there are less students in the classes you'll teach (generally speaking, anyway), and at least for the first-years, they'll have enough experience under their belts to get back into the swing of things quickly and with much vigor. But fall? Fall just saps the life out of your bones. There's always something to be read, something to be written or graded, or something to take precedence over sleep, socializing, and generally living any semblance of a normal twenty-something's (or, for some of us, thirty-something's) life.
As you've probably guessed, it is Thursday night (or, as the clock suggests, 12:52 Friday morning), and I have basically failed in my attempts to find something to do this weekend, or a date.
This is, of course, entirely my fault.
I've been asked by several of the guys of the department to, y'know, seriously consider coming to the EGSA party-mixer-thing on Saturday afternoon, being held at some bar/restaurant in one of the nicer areas of town (I received directions as to how to get there early this morning, in case I wanted to go).
"You guys realize that anywhere I go I have to drive back and forth from Newton, right?" I asked.
For those of you new to the blog, Newton is 24 miles north of Wichita if you take I-135, which is a straight shot between my house and the city. My beat-up Monte Carlo, as you may recall, likes interstate driving just fine for the most part, but it gets an estimated 18 miles per gallon. On a good day. So every trip to Wichita and back is a fair amount of gas money to spend, as you might imagine, and that adds up with gas prices out here hovering around $3.60 now. Between leaving the house Monday and pulling back into my driveway tonight, I put 152 miles on the car this week alone. And that's about average for a week of classes and various small errands around town.
"You're the one who's always saying you need to get out of the house more," one of the guys said. "Well, here's your chance."
"And point taken," I replied, "but you know me and the bar scene, man. I'm just not a fan of that, I don't go out and mingle that well when I'm...well...around people I know."
This was, of course, the most gentle way I could put it. Truth be told, as some of you know, me + bar + friends + cheap beer or other drinks = Brandon gets into lots of trouble. I am not a fan of trouble, yet when I'm drunk it seems to find me in one way or another. Or, rather, for some reason I tend to go looking for it. Either way, it never ends well. This is why I rarely drink with others, or at least others in public.
Attempts to find some sort of a "date" over this long weekend have also failed, and that is also entirely my fault.
"You know you're going to ask her out," Suri told me this afternoon, the "her" in question being someone I've been talking with this week. "I can tell. Just do it. The worst she can do, of course, is say no."
As an aside here, I have been friends with Suri, continuously, since we both entered the program last fall. We've had several classes together, have worked on projects and presentations together, and this semester we're even working on a presentation for the novel Comfort Woman for our Middle Eastern/Asian lit class together. I trust her without question, and she probably knows me -- and my personality -- the best out of anyone else in the department, and knows many things about me and about my life that I wouldn't necessarily write here. She is also one of the most frequent purchasers of my tie-dye t-shirts I make and sell as a hobby during the summer. So, when I say here that she knows me, and knows how I think, she does.
"I don't know how to go about dating again," I said. "I've been out of the game for way too long. I'm old now. I'm not sure I can interact anymore with anyone but myself."
This, I will freely admit, is true. The sense of what the former girlfriend described as complacency, though there is probably a better term for it, is what partially led to our breakup, though there were many other reasons -- almost all of them my fault as well. Suri herself isn't single; she's been in a long-term, serious relationship for quite some time.
noun, plural -cies.
Yeah, that's about right.
Anyway.
"You'll do it," she said. "I know you will. Stop analyzing it so much."
It's not that simple, I wanted to say. There are lots of variables involved. Options to weigh. Possible outcomes to predict. Problems unforeseen. Awkwardness to ensue.
Yeah. Suri's right. I'm over-analyzing things.
I'm not sure what my plans are for tomorrow yet. I probably won't awaken until around noon, which at this point could only be a good thing. I really need to mow the grass this weekend, but I've been so addled with work/school-related stuff that I haven't even had the chance to check the weather, and I'm long past the ability to care about anything tonight but sleep and kitty-time.
According to my friend Suri, who just started reading this blog over the past few days (and has since read all of it since its reboot), apparently I tend to reveal a bit more about my character and personality on here than I ever realized. Well, at least until this afternoon, when she told me things like "Yeah, I knew about that, I read it on your blog."
Hm. And close to 80-90% of my friends and colleagues now read my blog.
Oh dear. This can't be good for my modesty.
...waitaminute. What modesty?
Look on the bright side, folks -- at least all of the potentially-troublesome things I've written have been about myself, and nobody else. Well, at least nobody that I've named. And if I haven't named them it's mainly to cover my own ass.
As I mentioned before, though, it's not like my life isn't an open book anyway for those who care to ask the questions. It's just that few care -- or have time -- to ask the questions, especially when most of them get answered here (in a roundabout fashion, of course). I've not exactly made anything a secret if you know how to read things and decipher key clues within this text, and don't plan to start anytime soon.
I just know that some of you will now begin reading back through these posts again trying to "decipher key clues."
Good luck.
Anyway.
There is a reason these two posts today have been entitled "Burnout and Crash," and it's probably not a reason I have to fully explain (especially for those of you who are GTAs as well). Fall semester is a killer, folks. It is one of those times that as a student, will wear you down and make you completely sleep-deprived, at least for the first few weeks. Spring semester is easier; there's only a month's break between the two, there are less students in the classes you'll teach (generally speaking, anyway), and at least for the first-years, they'll have enough experience under their belts to get back into the swing of things quickly and with much vigor. But fall? Fall just saps the life out of your bones. There's always something to be read, something to be written or graded, or something to take precedence over sleep, socializing, and generally living any semblance of a normal twenty-something's (or, for some of us, thirty-something's) life.
As you've probably guessed, it is Thursday night (or, as the clock suggests, 12:52 Friday morning), and I have basically failed in my attempts to find something to do this weekend, or a date.
This is, of course, entirely my fault.
I've been asked by several of the guys of the department to, y'know, seriously consider coming to the EGSA party-mixer-thing on Saturday afternoon, being held at some bar/restaurant in one of the nicer areas of town (I received directions as to how to get there early this morning, in case I wanted to go).
"You guys realize that anywhere I go I have to drive back and forth from Newton, right?" I asked.
For those of you new to the blog, Newton is 24 miles north of Wichita if you take I-135, which is a straight shot between my house and the city. My beat-up Monte Carlo, as you may recall, likes interstate driving just fine for the most part, but it gets an estimated 18 miles per gallon. On a good day. So every trip to Wichita and back is a fair amount of gas money to spend, as you might imagine, and that adds up with gas prices out here hovering around $3.60 now. Between leaving the house Monday and pulling back into my driveway tonight, I put 152 miles on the car this week alone. And that's about average for a week of classes and various small errands around town.
"You're the one who's always saying you need to get out of the house more," one of the guys said. "Well, here's your chance."
"And point taken," I replied, "but you know me and the bar scene, man. I'm just not a fan of that, I don't go out and mingle that well when I'm...well...around people I know."
This was, of course, the most gentle way I could put it. Truth be told, as some of you know, me + bar + friends + cheap beer or other drinks = Brandon gets into lots of trouble. I am not a fan of trouble, yet when I'm drunk it seems to find me in one way or another. Or, rather, for some reason I tend to go looking for it. Either way, it never ends well. This is why I rarely drink with others, or at least others in public.
Attempts to find some sort of a "date" over this long weekend have also failed, and that is also entirely my fault.
"You know you're going to ask her out," Suri told me this afternoon, the "her" in question being someone I've been talking with this week. "I can tell. Just do it. The worst she can do, of course, is say no."
As an aside here, I have been friends with Suri, continuously, since we both entered the program last fall. We've had several classes together, have worked on projects and presentations together, and this semester we're even working on a presentation for the novel Comfort Woman for our Middle Eastern/Asian lit class together. I trust her without question, and she probably knows me -- and my personality -- the best out of anyone else in the department, and knows many things about me and about my life that I wouldn't necessarily write here. She is also one of the most frequent purchasers of my tie-dye t-shirts I make and sell as a hobby during the summer. So, when I say here that she knows me, and knows how I think, she does.
"I don't know how to go about dating again," I said. "I've been out of the game for way too long. I'm old now. I'm not sure I can interact anymore with anyone but myself."
This, I will freely admit, is true. The sense of what the former girlfriend described as complacency, though there is probably a better term for it, is what partially led to our breakup, though there were many other reasons -- almost all of them my fault as well. Suri herself isn't single; she's been in a long-term, serious relationship for quite some time.
noun, plural -cies.
m-1. a feeling of quiet pleasure or security, often while unaware of some potential danger, defect, or the like; self-satisfaction or smug satisfaction with an existing situation, condition, etc.
Yeah, that's about right.
Anyway.
"You'll do it," she said. "I know you will. Stop analyzing it so much."
It's not that simple, I wanted to say. There are lots of variables involved. Options to weigh. Possible outcomes to predict. Problems unforeseen. Awkwardness to ensue.
Yeah. Suri's right. I'm over-analyzing things.
I'm not sure what my plans are for tomorrow yet. I probably won't awaken until around noon, which at this point could only be a good thing. I really need to mow the grass this weekend, but I've been so addled with work/school-related stuff that I haven't even had the chance to check the weather, and I'm long past the ability to care about anything tonight but sleep and kitty-time.
Burnout and Crash, Part I
Fall semester: day nine
I'd like to think that, eventually, I'll get used to the lack of sleep I accrue over a week's time, and that getting up at 5AM will no longer affect me in the way it does now. I'd like to think that, eventually, it won't be over 90 degrees outside when I go to bed at night, or over 80 still when I get up in the morning a few short hours later.
My work week doesn't appear to be long to a lot of you, as I'm only on campus three days a week, but over those three days I've realized that I spend a total of about 30-32 hours either in class, in my own office at work, or teaching class. Roughly estimated, of course. That can be bumped up to 35 hours if you count the time spent in the car driving back and forth from Newton.
When all of us second-years started grad school last fall, our director told us never to actually do the math and count up the time spent on campus and/or doing school-related tasks to compare to our stipend as GTAs to see exactly what we'd make "per hour" as if it were an hourly job. Doing so, he told us, would be excruciatingly depressing and demoralizing.
Because I've never wanted to be depressed, I've never been curious enough to crunch the numbers myself. I will tell you, however, that when I worked at Cash Register Hell / New Hell -- the setting of my recently-released book -- I made more than double than what I make as a GTA every year. More than double. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why for people like myself, student loans are a dire necessity if one wants to survive, eat, and pay bills. It's not a pleasant necessity, but unless you're independently wealthy otherwise, it's a necessity.
I'm beginning to get to know a few of the new recruits a bit better, albeit slowly. Most of them have schedules that don't really mesh well with mine (shocking, I know, considering how much I'm there), and therefore, during the many hours per week I'm in town and/or otherwise on campus, most of the department tends to be empty. Apparently, I have a fairly unique schedule. This week, a lot of the students up there are celebrating a five-day weekend, as they have a Monday-through-Wednesday class/teaching schedule -- which means they not only have today off, but they have our normal Friday off as well as Labor Day. Still, in what little free time I have, I've been hanging out with a few of the new people who have the time, and they seem really friendly.
"Seems we have a really friendly group this year," the director told me yesterday afternoon when he and I were discussing the semester.
"I think so too," I said. "some of them certainly seem to be more social than some of us were when we started."
I would later learn that the director knows that the former girlfriend and I broke up, though he didn't want to bring it up before out of respect for both of us and our working environment there in the department. He mentioned that in his years there, he'd seen many relationships begin and end between graduate students, and that it was good at least that ours ended amicably. I gave him the brief rundown, as I've given pretty much anyone in the department who was curious about what happened -- though I did not, of course, tell him about this blog, and completely forgot to tell him about the book. He has two books of his own and is always working on another, so I didn't want to make him think I was trying to get money/publicity/etc. from him or anyone else by mentioning it.
I've been slowly gaining readers to this blog; it seems now that about 80-90% of my colleagues and fellow grad students -- even a few of the new recruits -- at least know about it, if not read it regularly. Many of them have found it through my Twitter (as most of us with Twitter tend to follow one another), while others have found it via Rae's site, tracing my comments on her posts back here. There are a few people I didn't expect to be reading it, but as almost all of my unique hits now come from Wichita or the surrounding area, I can tell that I have a growing following and fanbase, which is both something to be proud of as well as something humbling. If I thought my life was an open book before, it's now even more open. I'm fine with that, though; it's not like I have any secrets to hide.
I have been mostly unsuccessful in trying to find something to do this weekend, though it's not for lack of trying. One of the things I've found about being single is that my confidence, as shaky as it was to begin with, is starting to come back -- and therefore, I don't feel apprehensive or nervous, really, about asking people (especially women) "Hey, have any plans for the weekend? Want to do something?" It may come as a shock to a lot of you that I've ever had any confidence issues at all, as laid back/open and blunt I am in casual conversation, but it's true -- throughout my high school and undergraduate years, I was a very quiet, brooding, perpetually shy person with very little self-esteem.
Fast forward 5-10 years or so and you'll find that I now perceive myself to be awesome and want everyone to know it. It's like a night-and-day switch, isn't it?
Regardless, I have not yet made plans of any sort for the weekend. The EGSA is doing some sort of get-together on Saturday afternoon that all of us have been invited to, but (of course) it entails going out to a bar of some kind, from what I can tell, and at this point you folks should know what I think of that sort of activity.
On that note, I'll continue this later, as now I have to hop in the car for that delightful morning jaunt to Wichita, not returning home until well after 10PM. It can't come soon enough.
I'd like to think that, eventually, I'll get used to the lack of sleep I accrue over a week's time, and that getting up at 5AM will no longer affect me in the way it does now. I'd like to think that, eventually, it won't be over 90 degrees outside when I go to bed at night, or over 80 still when I get up in the morning a few short hours later.
My work week doesn't appear to be long to a lot of you, as I'm only on campus three days a week, but over those three days I've realized that I spend a total of about 30-32 hours either in class, in my own office at work, or teaching class. Roughly estimated, of course. That can be bumped up to 35 hours if you count the time spent in the car driving back and forth from Newton.
When all of us second-years started grad school last fall, our director told us never to actually do the math and count up the time spent on campus and/or doing school-related tasks to compare to our stipend as GTAs to see exactly what we'd make "per hour" as if it were an hourly job. Doing so, he told us, would be excruciatingly depressing and demoralizing.
Because I've never wanted to be depressed, I've never been curious enough to crunch the numbers myself. I will tell you, however, that when I worked at Cash Register Hell / New Hell -- the setting of my recently-released book -- I made more than double than what I make as a GTA every year. More than double. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why for people like myself, student loans are a dire necessity if one wants to survive, eat, and pay bills. It's not a pleasant necessity, but unless you're independently wealthy otherwise, it's a necessity.
I'm beginning to get to know a few of the new recruits a bit better, albeit slowly. Most of them have schedules that don't really mesh well with mine (shocking, I know, considering how much I'm there), and therefore, during the many hours per week I'm in town and/or otherwise on campus, most of the department tends to be empty. Apparently, I have a fairly unique schedule. This week, a lot of the students up there are celebrating a five-day weekend, as they have a Monday-through-Wednesday class/teaching schedule -- which means they not only have today off, but they have our normal Friday off as well as Labor Day. Still, in what little free time I have, I've been hanging out with a few of the new people who have the time, and they seem really friendly.
"Seems we have a really friendly group this year," the director told me yesterday afternoon when he and I were discussing the semester.
"I think so too," I said. "some of them certainly seem to be more social than some of us were when we started."
I would later learn that the director knows that the former girlfriend and I broke up, though he didn't want to bring it up before out of respect for both of us and our working environment there in the department. He mentioned that in his years there, he'd seen many relationships begin and end between graduate students, and that it was good at least that ours ended amicably. I gave him the brief rundown, as I've given pretty much anyone in the department who was curious about what happened -- though I did not, of course, tell him about this blog, and completely forgot to tell him about the book. He has two books of his own and is always working on another, so I didn't want to make him think I was trying to get money/publicity/etc. from him or anyone else by mentioning it.
I've been slowly gaining readers to this blog; it seems now that about 80-90% of my colleagues and fellow grad students -- even a few of the new recruits -- at least know about it, if not read it regularly. Many of them have found it through my Twitter (as most of us with Twitter tend to follow one another), while others have found it via Rae's site, tracing my comments on her posts back here. There are a few people I didn't expect to be reading it, but as almost all of my unique hits now come from Wichita or the surrounding area, I can tell that I have a growing following and fanbase, which is both something to be proud of as well as something humbling. If I thought my life was an open book before, it's now even more open. I'm fine with that, though; it's not like I have any secrets to hide.
I have been mostly unsuccessful in trying to find something to do this weekend, though it's not for lack of trying. One of the things I've found about being single is that my confidence, as shaky as it was to begin with, is starting to come back -- and therefore, I don't feel apprehensive or nervous, really, about asking people (especially women) "Hey, have any plans for the weekend? Want to do something?" It may come as a shock to a lot of you that I've ever had any confidence issues at all, as laid back/open and blunt I am in casual conversation, but it's true -- throughout my high school and undergraduate years, I was a very quiet, brooding, perpetually shy person with very little self-esteem.
Fast forward 5-10 years or so and you'll find that I now perceive myself to be awesome and want everyone to know it. It's like a night-and-day switch, isn't it?
Regardless, I have not yet made plans of any sort for the weekend. The EGSA is doing some sort of get-together on Saturday afternoon that all of us have been invited to, but (of course) it entails going out to a bar of some kind, from what I can tell, and at this point you folks should know what I think of that sort of activity.
On that note, I'll continue this later, as now I have to hop in the car for that delightful morning jaunt to Wichita, not returning home until well after 10PM. It can't come soon enough.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Reinvention of Brandon, Part IV
This morning, one of the guys in the department was shocked at my still-in-progress new look, which entailed my hair being tied back into a long ponytail, my hipster-ish clear sunglasses, and my new, mostly-shaven face.
"Going for a new look?" he asked me. "I was afraid you'd cut your hair."
"That'll come next week once I get a new guard for my clippers in the mail," I replied.
"Naw, really? Don't cut your hair. Just keep it tied back like that."
Granted, this guy is older and balding himself, yet he doesn't know about my own hair loss problems, or just how much shampoo and conditioner it takes to keep my hair looking as nice as it does on a daily basis. Not to mention the amount of sweat it soaks up when it's hot, like it was today. However, my hair is one of the few things about my appearance I take pride in, and take time to actually make look pretty. I can't believe I just typed that. Somebody stop me.
"I'd rather not go through a bottle of shampoo every week," I told him. If I shower every day and actually want to get my hair clean, this is pretty accurate. "It needs to come off now so that it has time to grow back over the fall months before it gets cold again."
Y'know, if it decides to grow back on certain sections of my head at all. After all, I am drawing first blood here with the whole haircut thing.
"Well, you do what you want," he said, "it's your hair. But I think you should keep it. Rock it, own it."
It's still coming off. I'd be tempted to use the clippers now if I didn't want it to be so short that I couldn't stand it for a month or so. That's why, obviously, I need the guide comb I'm still waiting on.
Already this semester I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and over-tired. My friend Andrea thinks that it's because I'm not used to getting up early again yet, not used to teaching every other day, and staying out until 10PM for classes -- not to mention being exposed to the germs of all my students and colleagues again, which my immune system is probably working overtime to fight off (even though I'm not sick). While all of that is at least partially true, the biggest concern for me right now is the boredom and loneliness of living alone in a house 24 miles north of Wichita. Yes, I have the cats, and yes, I have plenty of work to do (and I do it, if begrudgingly at times) but I can't help but reiterate how strange and new it is to live alone, with no noise in the house other than the cats chasing one another, my own breathing, and whatever music I'm playing on my PC at the time. Music that I've kept playing almost constantly whenever I'm at home, because otherwise the silence gets too unnerving. While I'm sure I'll get used to all of it eventually, right now it's just...well, strange.
This afternoon after I got home, I noticed the cats were meowing and crying in my room, the kind of meowing that has the distinct tonal quality of hey dad, we caught something alive, come see us play with it. I walked back into my room from the kitchen where I had been washing dishes to see them gathered around one of my sneakers. When I shooed them away (pun intended), I saw that inside the heel of my very nice pair of black sneakers was a very, very large brown recluse spider. As in, the size of a 50-cent-piece large. May be the biggest one I've seen in the house.
I dumped it out and immediately killed it (obviously), checked my other shoes and clothes laying around the room out of sheer paranoia, and then immediately went downstairs to the garage's storage room, where I got out the half-full gallon bottle/sprayer of Ortho Home Defense I purchased two years ago when the former girlfriend and I moved into the house. I then proceeded to completely douse, as if I were making magic circles, every outside door/entryway/crevice/window (those I could reach, anyway), making sure to take special care to soak down the areas around the back door, garage door, and the door that goes from the inside of the garage into the house, as well as making a perimeter around the foundation of the house as well as possible with that liquid I had. Even though I took special care not to get any inside the house (as, obviously, it wouldn't be great for the cats) I did get it all over my skin, hands, and clothes due to the sprayer. Once I'd emptied the bottle of bug poison and was satisfied enough that nothing else would be able to get into the house unless it had a countenance of steel, I threw away the bottle, stripped (throwing my clothes in the washer as I went) and took a shower to scrub it all off. Never again, spider-fucks. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The spiders don't even creep me out, really. When you live in the midwest, having hundreds (if not thousands) of brown recluse in your house with you at any given point in time is nothing new, and generally, they don't cause problems; it's when they actually try to invade my space -- like, say, my shoes -- that pisses me off.
You may be thinking something along the lines of so wait, Brandon, are you trying to say that you killed this spider on principle, as an honor killing? Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Almost any other kind of spider I'd be fine with just letting the cats kill and eat, because they do that. I killed this one as a warning to the others. Cue the dramatic music.
While I was down there, I cleaned out a large chunk of the garage as well, because -- really -- what else was I going to spend my afternoon doing? Got rid of a lot of junk, but nothing big or important; there's still some furniture and other stuff down there that I'll keep and use if the former girlfriend doesn't eventually want it back when she moves out of Wichita, like a file cabinet and some unfinished tables/chairs -- but the junk I'll never use became the latest victims of "The Trashing." At this rate, I may actually get my money's worth out of the exorbitant fees the city of Newton charges for trash and recycling.
I also need to mow the grass at some point again soon. It's getting tall and nasty. I won't have time to do that before Friday, however. Maybe I'll do it Friday morning, especially if I've not made any "weekend plans" before then. As I was only on campus for about four hours today, I didn't really have the chance to talk to anyone about any plans or future gathering-like things. Tomorrow will more than likely be my best shot to see if I can set anything up with anyone, really. I'll be on campus for a little less than twelve hours, but most of that time I'll just be there more than anything else. I do have two classes, but I doubt either of them will last the entire time. Well, the workshop probably will. I have a feeling that's going to be a very interesting class tomorrow night, for various reasons.
This morning, Rae told me "by the way, just a warning, I'd try to date outside the department if I were you."
I blinked a few times. "Oookay..."
"No, I mean in general. I told [the former girlfriend] that too. Dating within the department will just cause all sorts of entanglements and problems down the road. No good for anyone involved."
"I wasn't planning on dating anyone within the department," I told her, which is mostly true. Mostly. "However, if it happens, or I'm offered a date by someone here -- hey, I'm not going to complain."
This has always been the rough plan, really -- actively pursue nothing, but also actively pay quiet attention to anyone who may have more than a passing interest in me. As it stands, I may have one or two leads as it is, and no, I will not say whether they're in the department or not. Frankly, it's nobody's business but mine. I will say, however, that I've had the ability as well as the time (imagine that!) to make a few new friends since I've been single, friends that I treasure having in my life and will probably become part of a new core group of tightly-knit friends I'll have throughout the rest of my graduate school career. That's certainly interesting to think about, at least.
Last I checked, I haven't sold any more copies of the book. I'm going to wait a few weeks to see if any other classmates/colleagues purchase it once we get our long-awaited first paychecks of the semester on Friday before I spread anything else about it via word-of-mouth. Just curious to see what happens, really. I've brainstormed several ideas for a follow-up but haven't put anything on paper yet. Interestingly enough, none of my own family members have purchased the book yet. This doesn't really surprise me, as none of them have really made any bones about the fact that while they support my choice in career and education as an English instructor as well as a writer, and they're glad I'm making something of myself in a roundabout way, they don't really care to actually read any of my writing. Save for my parents, of course. My mother has always been a big fan of this blog. As for everyone but my parents? I'm glad they're sending positivity my way for the first time since I entered graduate school, at least, but I totally respect if they're not interested in reading any of my stuff. It's not like my style and subject matter is everyone's proverbial cup of tea.
On that note, I must get ready for bed. I don't have to get up early in the morning, but I do have to get up and make the trip in there to class at some point, the earlier the better (for a better chance at getting a somewhat decent parking spot). I don't actually have class until 1:30, and all my work for it is already done. So it looks like tomorrow will be a sort of "lounge about" day until my classes. Maybe I can use some of that "lounge about" time to my advantage.
"Going for a new look?" he asked me. "I was afraid you'd cut your hair."
"That'll come next week once I get a new guard for my clippers in the mail," I replied.
"Naw, really? Don't cut your hair. Just keep it tied back like that."
Granted, this guy is older and balding himself, yet he doesn't know about my own hair loss problems, or just how much shampoo and conditioner it takes to keep my hair looking as nice as it does on a daily basis. Not to mention the amount of sweat it soaks up when it's hot, like it was today. However, my hair is one of the few things about my appearance I take pride in, and take time to actually make look pretty. I can't believe I just typed that. Somebody stop me.
"I'd rather not go through a bottle of shampoo every week," I told him. If I shower every day and actually want to get my hair clean, this is pretty accurate. "It needs to come off now so that it has time to grow back over the fall months before it gets cold again."
Y'know, if it decides to grow back on certain sections of my head at all. After all, I am drawing first blood here with the whole haircut thing.
"Well, you do what you want," he said, "it's your hair. But I think you should keep it. Rock it, own it."
It's still coming off. I'd be tempted to use the clippers now if I didn't want it to be so short that I couldn't stand it for a month or so. That's why, obviously, I need the guide comb I'm still waiting on.
Already this semester I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and over-tired. My friend Andrea thinks that it's because I'm not used to getting up early again yet, not used to teaching every other day, and staying out until 10PM for classes -- not to mention being exposed to the germs of all my students and colleagues again, which my immune system is probably working overtime to fight off (even though I'm not sick). While all of that is at least partially true, the biggest concern for me right now is the boredom and loneliness of living alone in a house 24 miles north of Wichita. Yes, I have the cats, and yes, I have plenty of work to do (and I do it, if begrudgingly at times) but I can't help but reiterate how strange and new it is to live alone, with no noise in the house other than the cats chasing one another, my own breathing, and whatever music I'm playing on my PC at the time. Music that I've kept playing almost constantly whenever I'm at home, because otherwise the silence gets too unnerving. While I'm sure I'll get used to all of it eventually, right now it's just...well, strange.
This afternoon after I got home, I noticed the cats were meowing and crying in my room, the kind of meowing that has the distinct tonal quality of hey dad, we caught something alive, come see us play with it. I walked back into my room from the kitchen where I had been washing dishes to see them gathered around one of my sneakers. When I shooed them away (pun intended), I saw that inside the heel of my very nice pair of black sneakers was a very, very large brown recluse spider. As in, the size of a 50-cent-piece large. May be the biggest one I've seen in the house.
I dumped it out and immediately killed it (obviously), checked my other shoes and clothes laying around the room out of sheer paranoia, and then immediately went downstairs to the garage's storage room, where I got out the half-full gallon bottle/sprayer of Ortho Home Defense I purchased two years ago when the former girlfriend and I moved into the house. I then proceeded to completely douse, as if I were making magic circles, every outside door/entryway/crevice/window (those I could reach, anyway), making sure to take special care to soak down the areas around the back door, garage door, and the door that goes from the inside of the garage into the house, as well as making a perimeter around the foundation of the house as well as possible with that liquid I had. Even though I took special care not to get any inside the house (as, obviously, it wouldn't be great for the cats) I did get it all over my skin, hands, and clothes due to the sprayer. Once I'd emptied the bottle of bug poison and was satisfied enough that nothing else would be able to get into the house unless it had a countenance of steel, I threw away the bottle, stripped (throwing my clothes in the washer as I went) and took a shower to scrub it all off. Never again, spider-fucks. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The spiders don't even creep me out, really. When you live in the midwest, having hundreds (if not thousands) of brown recluse in your house with you at any given point in time is nothing new, and generally, they don't cause problems; it's when they actually try to invade my space -- like, say, my shoes -- that pisses me off.
You may be thinking something along the lines of so wait, Brandon, are you trying to say that you killed this spider on principle, as an honor killing? Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Almost any other kind of spider I'd be fine with just letting the cats kill and eat, because they do that. I killed this one as a warning to the others. Cue the dramatic music.
While I was down there, I cleaned out a large chunk of the garage as well, because -- really -- what else was I going to spend my afternoon doing? Got rid of a lot of junk, but nothing big or important; there's still some furniture and other stuff down there that I'll keep and use if the former girlfriend doesn't eventually want it back when she moves out of Wichita, like a file cabinet and some unfinished tables/chairs -- but the junk I'll never use became the latest victims of "The Trashing." At this rate, I may actually get my money's worth out of the exorbitant fees the city of Newton charges for trash and recycling.
I also need to mow the grass at some point again soon. It's getting tall and nasty. I won't have time to do that before Friday, however. Maybe I'll do it Friday morning, especially if I've not made any "weekend plans" before then. As I was only on campus for about four hours today, I didn't really have the chance to talk to anyone about any plans or future gathering-like things. Tomorrow will more than likely be my best shot to see if I can set anything up with anyone, really. I'll be on campus for a little less than twelve hours, but most of that time I'll just be there more than anything else. I do have two classes, but I doubt either of them will last the entire time. Well, the workshop probably will. I have a feeling that's going to be a very interesting class tomorrow night, for various reasons.
This morning, Rae told me "by the way, just a warning, I'd try to date outside the department if I were you."
I blinked a few times. "Oookay..."
"No, I mean in general. I told [the former girlfriend] that too. Dating within the department will just cause all sorts of entanglements and problems down the road. No good for anyone involved."
"I wasn't planning on dating anyone within the department," I told her, which is mostly true. Mostly. "However, if it happens, or I'm offered a date by someone here -- hey, I'm not going to complain."
This has always been the rough plan, really -- actively pursue nothing, but also actively pay quiet attention to anyone who may have more than a passing interest in me. As it stands, I may have one or two leads as it is, and no, I will not say whether they're in the department or not. Frankly, it's nobody's business but mine. I will say, however, that I've had the ability as well as the time (imagine that!) to make a few new friends since I've been single, friends that I treasure having in my life and will probably become part of a new core group of tightly-knit friends I'll have throughout the rest of my graduate school career. That's certainly interesting to think about, at least.
Last I checked, I haven't sold any more copies of the book. I'm going to wait a few weeks to see if any other classmates/colleagues purchase it once we get our long-awaited first paychecks of the semester on Friday before I spread anything else about it via word-of-mouth. Just curious to see what happens, really. I've brainstormed several ideas for a follow-up but haven't put anything on paper yet. Interestingly enough, none of my own family members have purchased the book yet. This doesn't really surprise me, as none of them have really made any bones about the fact that while they support my choice in career and education as an English instructor as well as a writer, and they're glad I'm making something of myself in a roundabout way, they don't really care to actually read any of my writing. Save for my parents, of course. My mother has always been a big fan of this blog. As for everyone but my parents? I'm glad they're sending positivity my way for the first time since I entered graduate school, at least, but I totally respect if they're not interested in reading any of my stuff. It's not like my style and subject matter is everyone's proverbial cup of tea.
On that note, I must get ready for bed. I don't have to get up early in the morning, but I do have to get up and make the trip in there to class at some point, the earlier the better (for a better chance at getting a somewhat decent parking spot). I don't actually have class until 1:30, and all my work for it is already done. So it looks like tomorrow will be a sort of "lounge about" day until my classes. Maybe I can use some of that "lounge about" time to my advantage.
The Reinvention of Brandon, Part III
Fall semester: day seven
I went to bed last night a little after 8PM, not because I was ungodly tired (though I was, indeed, ready for sleep) but because it was much cooler downstairs than upstairs. As it had been thoroughly pleasant outside most of the day yesterday, I had turned the air conditioner off to save money on the electric bill -- a bill that has steadily been climbing as the summer months go on into the fall -- and because of that, by the evening the upstairs of the house had reached close to 90 degrees (95.1 in my Man Cave before I went to bed). I was sweating through my clothes, and had begun to develop a sinus headache due to the rain/storms that were supposed to be moving in during the overnight hours, so I just said fuck it, put away the sausage I had thawing on the counter to cook for dinner, and went to bed.
I awoke shortly after 4AM, got up and had my customary cigarettes and coffee before showering, tying my hair back for the day, and getting dressed. Off in the distance, I can see/hear lightning and low rumbles of thunder, which means I may be driving through some rather nasty weather this morning to get to school. This will also be the first day this semester I wear socks and actual shoes, as I'm not a big fan of having wet feet all day if it does decide to downpour on me.
Yesterday's errands were short-lived; I got up yesterday morning not feeling too great, but knowing I had a lot to do. I didn't have my next volley of packages ready to mail out yet, so I decided to forego the post office for this week and instead try to mail some more things out next week. As you know, I've been mailing out thank-you packages of tie-dye shirts (as well as other things) to those friends who helped me get back on my feet by sending me either small appliances or furniture after the breakup with the former girlfriend. I've still got three or four packages to prep, and should be able to get those done over this coming weekend.
I've learned that it's probably not the best idea to trust the Monte Carlo's gas gauge; yesterday, before I did anything else, I pulled into the gas station near my house to "fill up" for the week. According to the gauge, I had a little more than 1/4 tank left, and my trip meter read 150 miles exactly. Knowing that my car usually took about nine gallons or so on each fill-up, I wasn't expecting anything more than that.
It took 12.4 gallons and could have taken more -- it just kept filling and filling. As the price entered ludicrous territory, I stopped it, because at that point, I had paid for $43 worth of gas at $3.52 a gallon. How that car could take that much gas is beyond me, but it either means that it has a good-lord-huge gas tank of 16 or 18 gallons, or that my fuel gauge isn't exactly being honest with me, and I'd run it down much further than it would tell me. From this point forward, I'll be relying on the trip meter above my odometer only, and when it gets to that 150-mile point (or somewhere around there) I'll fill it up. That, at least, I know is accurate.
After spending $43 on gasoline alone, I was in no mood to hit up the Dollar Tree, so I bypassed that as well and went directly to Walmart, proceeding to spend more money there than I'd originally planned as well. I did, however, get a new rug for the kitchen, and finally purchased a paper shredder there (so that I don't eventually have to order one from Amazon), amongst other household things and foodstuffs. I was home by 10:45 AM, after which I spent a good thirty minutes chopping up celery to place into baggies for snacks/lunches this week. I'm trying to eat healthier, eat more fruits and vegetables, etc -- it's one of the reasons I asked my mother to send my dehydrator out here if she can, so I can make dried apples and kiwi slices to take to work with me on my long days. If I can keep up the habit of eating lots of fruit and vegetables again, not only will I begin to slim down a lot more in the weight department but I'll also be able to better balance my food budget.
My hair clippers arrived in the mail yesterday, and they're very nice. I can't wait to use them. The biggest clip that came with them, however, was a 1" clip, and while I want my hair short, I don't want it that short. So yes, I do have to wait until I get the other guide clip in the mail, whenever that may be. That's why I've tied my hair back today -- I'm trying to get used to the idea of myself with less visible hair and no full beard anymore, so that every time I look in the mirror I'm not surprised by what looks back at me.
Today should be mercifully short; I teach at 9:30 and 11, and have a thought-provoking lecture planned for my students. Depending on how long said lecture lasts for each class, I should be able to get out of there and come back home a little after the noon hour, and won't have to return until tomorrow in the late morning or early afternoon hours (my first class tomorrow is at 1:30). Tuesdays are, as I've said before, my easy day, which I'm thankful for because it's not only the shortest day of the week for me, but the only day of the work week where I don't have to attend any classes.
The Reinvention of Brandon is slowly progressing; as you know, I'm changing my looks and eating habits, but the other thing I'd like to do is find something to do (other than homework) over this long weekend ahead of us. As you probably know, next Monday is Labor Day, and everyone's off work/school. I'm going to try to find somewhere to go, find someone to come visit me up here in Newton, or perhaps try to find a date for one of the weekend nights -- even a friendly one, and even if it means I have to run myself ragged and end up doing something on Thursday night after class (though I hope it doesn't come to that, as I'll be dead tired). If I'm unsuccessful in finding something to do, that's fine of course -- I will, after all, have more than enough homework to take care of over the weekend -- but still, I'd like to do something fun. I think I've earned it, I think I deserve it. Tomorrow will mark a full month of my being single, and I've yet to actually do anything interesting with that newly-acquired single status, not just dating-wise, but actually getting-out-of-the-house-more-wise. We'll see what happens.
On that note, I must pack up and leave the house for the day to get to campus. It's dark enough to where I'll have to use my headlights (and wipers, of course, if it's raining) to be able to see.
I went to bed last night a little after 8PM, not because I was ungodly tired (though I was, indeed, ready for sleep) but because it was much cooler downstairs than upstairs. As it had been thoroughly pleasant outside most of the day yesterday, I had turned the air conditioner off to save money on the electric bill -- a bill that has steadily been climbing as the summer months go on into the fall -- and because of that, by the evening the upstairs of the house had reached close to 90 degrees (95.1 in my Man Cave before I went to bed). I was sweating through my clothes, and had begun to develop a sinus headache due to the rain/storms that were supposed to be moving in during the overnight hours, so I just said fuck it, put away the sausage I had thawing on the counter to cook for dinner, and went to bed.
I awoke shortly after 4AM, got up and had my customary cigarettes and coffee before showering, tying my hair back for the day, and getting dressed. Off in the distance, I can see/hear lightning and low rumbles of thunder, which means I may be driving through some rather nasty weather this morning to get to school. This will also be the first day this semester I wear socks and actual shoes, as I'm not a big fan of having wet feet all day if it does decide to downpour on me.
Yesterday's errands were short-lived; I got up yesterday morning not feeling too great, but knowing I had a lot to do. I didn't have my next volley of packages ready to mail out yet, so I decided to forego the post office for this week and instead try to mail some more things out next week. As you know, I've been mailing out thank-you packages of tie-dye shirts (as well as other things) to those friends who helped me get back on my feet by sending me either small appliances or furniture after the breakup with the former girlfriend. I've still got three or four packages to prep, and should be able to get those done over this coming weekend.
I've learned that it's probably not the best idea to trust the Monte Carlo's gas gauge; yesterday, before I did anything else, I pulled into the gas station near my house to "fill up" for the week. According to the gauge, I had a little more than 1/4 tank left, and my trip meter read 150 miles exactly. Knowing that my car usually took about nine gallons or so on each fill-up, I wasn't expecting anything more than that.
It took 12.4 gallons and could have taken more -- it just kept filling and filling. As the price entered ludicrous territory, I stopped it, because at that point, I had paid for $43 worth of gas at $3.52 a gallon. How that car could take that much gas is beyond me, but it either means that it has a good-lord-huge gas tank of 16 or 18 gallons, or that my fuel gauge isn't exactly being honest with me, and I'd run it down much further than it would tell me. From this point forward, I'll be relying on the trip meter above my odometer only, and when it gets to that 150-mile point (or somewhere around there) I'll fill it up. That, at least, I know is accurate.
After spending $43 on gasoline alone, I was in no mood to hit up the Dollar Tree, so I bypassed that as well and went directly to Walmart, proceeding to spend more money there than I'd originally planned as well. I did, however, get a new rug for the kitchen, and finally purchased a paper shredder there (so that I don't eventually have to order one from Amazon), amongst other household things and foodstuffs. I was home by 10:45 AM, after which I spent a good thirty minutes chopping up celery to place into baggies for snacks/lunches this week. I'm trying to eat healthier, eat more fruits and vegetables, etc -- it's one of the reasons I asked my mother to send my dehydrator out here if she can, so I can make dried apples and kiwi slices to take to work with me on my long days. If I can keep up the habit of eating lots of fruit and vegetables again, not only will I begin to slim down a lot more in the weight department but I'll also be able to better balance my food budget.
My hair clippers arrived in the mail yesterday, and they're very nice. I can't wait to use them. The biggest clip that came with them, however, was a 1" clip, and while I want my hair short, I don't want it that short. So yes, I do have to wait until I get the other guide clip in the mail, whenever that may be. That's why I've tied my hair back today -- I'm trying to get used to the idea of myself with less visible hair and no full beard anymore, so that every time I look in the mirror I'm not surprised by what looks back at me.
Today should be mercifully short; I teach at 9:30 and 11, and have a thought-provoking lecture planned for my students. Depending on how long said lecture lasts for each class, I should be able to get out of there and come back home a little after the noon hour, and won't have to return until tomorrow in the late morning or early afternoon hours (my first class tomorrow is at 1:30). Tuesdays are, as I've said before, my easy day, which I'm thankful for because it's not only the shortest day of the week for me, but the only day of the work week where I don't have to attend any classes.
The Reinvention of Brandon is slowly progressing; as you know, I'm changing my looks and eating habits, but the other thing I'd like to do is find something to do (other than homework) over this long weekend ahead of us. As you probably know, next Monday is Labor Day, and everyone's off work/school. I'm going to try to find somewhere to go, find someone to come visit me up here in Newton, or perhaps try to find a date for one of the weekend nights -- even a friendly one, and even if it means I have to run myself ragged and end up doing something on Thursday night after class (though I hope it doesn't come to that, as I'll be dead tired). If I'm unsuccessful in finding something to do, that's fine of course -- I will, after all, have more than enough homework to take care of over the weekend -- but still, I'd like to do something fun. I think I've earned it, I think I deserve it. Tomorrow will mark a full month of my being single, and I've yet to actually do anything interesting with that newly-acquired single status, not just dating-wise, but actually getting-out-of-the-house-more-wise. We'll see what happens.
On that note, I must pack up and leave the house for the day to get to campus. It's dark enough to where I'll have to use my headlights (and wipers, of course, if it's raining) to be able to see.
Monday, August 29, 2011
My Mid-American Review Rejection Story
Inspired by a story from my dear friend Rae, who keeps a blog of her own over at The Red Glasses (and doesn't hide her identity there, so I won't give her a codename here), comes a story of a personal rejection. She had submitted some of her work to the Mid-American Review, a journal quite well-known and respected within the literary community, and was written a personal rejection letter by the editorial staff. As I too have submitted to MAR, I have received letters like this as well, and thought I'd share the story of one of them that sticks out in my mind as, by far, the most amusing.
The year was 2005, and I had just graduated from West Virginia University with my Bachelor's in English and Creative Writing (which, at the time, was basically a double-major at that school). It was the summer, and I'd fancied myself a real, full-fledged writer, full of hope and promise -- having just finished a major screenplay I'd shopped to places like Tokyopop and Viz Entertainment to see if it could be turned into a graphic novel, and had also sent off several short stories to different publications, journals, and magazines to try to get my foot in the door of the world of publishing.
Please note that this was when I was young and naive, and did not yet know how much being an unemployed writer trying to make his way in the literary world would utterly suck. I truly thought that places like The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and The Kenyon Review would jump at the chance to publish what, in my mind, was absolutely breathtaking poetry and fiction. I had not yet ventured into the realm of nonfiction (aside from the online diary I kept back then) in a serious fashion.
Anyway, one of the pieces I sent out was entitled "The London Flat," and it was about a mentally-ill man who -- on the verge of a nervous breakdown -- left his wife, children, and all of his worldly possessions behind to go live in London and live there without telling anyone where he'd gone. The story was written in a series of diary entries by the main character, and at the end of the story it is heavily implied that the man has been dead and has been a ghost the entire time, and that his delusions and visions he was haunted by weren't ghosts he thought he'd been seeing in his apartment or drug-fueled hallucinations, but actual people moving in and out of the building over many years. It was a little Sixth Sense-y, perhaps, but even now I still think it was original enough, as well as one of the best stories I've ever written. I followed all of the submission directions, readied my SASEs, and mailed this story off to Mid-American Review, in hopes that they'd find it interesting.
I will say that back then at least, MAR wasn't as well-known as it is now. Yes, it was out there, and yes, it was one of the journals you'd heard of if you were in academia or literary circles like I was, but in my opinion it was far from one of the country's "premier" journals, being -- in my eyes at least -- second-or-third-tier at best. I could've been wrong even then, but the fact is that I don't think the journal got nearly as much respect then as it does today.
So, I waited. And waited some more. I created an account on Duotrope, which I'm sure at this point has been deleted due to inactivity on my part for the past six years, and slowly began to send out other submissions to other publications, both fiction and poetry. At the time, my fiction was most important, as I thought (and confirmed, by looking at it again several years later) that my poetry during that time was mostly crap. I also passed the time by looking for writing jobs, as I was fresh out of college and had a writing degree that I wanted to use -- so even if my work was rejected by the places I'd sent to, I might yet find a job that would let me write and publish through it.
One by one over that summer the submissions came back to me, all rejections -- sometimes via a short letter saying that the publication regretted to inform me that they couldn't use my work, sometimes by returning the entirety of the manuscript I sent them in my SASE, and sometimes via email. Rejections don't faze me now, of course -- getting hundreds of rejection letters throughout my writing career is nothing new; it is the calling card of a seasoned writing vet, and if anything makes me try harder to succeed -- but back then, before I learned to steel myself and become more jaded, they were crippling to my psyche and morale, and each one was like getting a telegram that told me another dream was dead. My screenplay/premise for a graphic novel had been rejected by both Viz and Tokyopop, all of my fiction and poetry had either been rejected and/or rejected and returned to me, and the one thing I had left that I was waiting on was my Mid-American Review submission of "The London Flat."
Finally, near the end of that summer, I received a thick envelope in the mail from MAR. Inside it was a rejection letter, of course, as well as my original manuscript, but it was one of the most unique rejection letters I've ever seen -- and I'm going to paraphrase to the best of my ability to remember, anyhow, what it said below (as I no longer have the original letter in my possession, but it is still in my parents' house in West Virginia because I wanted to eventually frame it):
Dear Brandon,
We regret to inform you that we are unable to accept your piece entitled "The London Flat" at this time. We at MAR feel that your piece is derivative and cliched in many ways, and could greatly benefit from stronger character development and a more refined narrative style. Because of this, we cannot include it in our publication, but thank you for allowing us the opportunity to read it.
Mid-American Review
That, to the best of my knowledge, is what it said, though my wording via paraphrase is probably a little off. I do, however, distinctly remember the phrase about it being "derivative," needing "stronger character development" and "a more refined narrative style."
I couldn't help but laugh at the letter, really, as laughing would keep me from crying about it (remember, I was much younger, and much more naive). More than anything else, it was this letter that made me realize how hard it would be to make it as a writer in this world, and was the real beginning of a long list of rejection letters that would come over the years. I have still, in the six years since, yet to publish any of my professional creative writing, save for my book (which I self-published) and all of the articles I wrote for both the newspaper here in Newton as well as for the newspaper back home. I have since submitted more work over the years to Mid-American Review, but never received another rejection letter that amusing from them -- just the standard fare, sadly. The next time I visit my parents, though, I will find that letter and bring it back to Kansas with me so that I can scan it into a picture file for you folks to see.
So, there's my personal Mid-American Review rejection story. Amusing, no?
The year was 2005, and I had just graduated from West Virginia University with my Bachelor's in English and Creative Writing (which, at the time, was basically a double-major at that school). It was the summer, and I'd fancied myself a real, full-fledged writer, full of hope and promise -- having just finished a major screenplay I'd shopped to places like Tokyopop and Viz Entertainment to see if it could be turned into a graphic novel, and had also sent off several short stories to different publications, journals, and magazines to try to get my foot in the door of the world of publishing.
Please note that this was when I was young and naive, and did not yet know how much being an unemployed writer trying to make his way in the literary world would utterly suck. I truly thought that places like The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and The Kenyon Review would jump at the chance to publish what, in my mind, was absolutely breathtaking poetry and fiction. I had not yet ventured into the realm of nonfiction (aside from the online diary I kept back then) in a serious fashion.
Anyway, one of the pieces I sent out was entitled "The London Flat," and it was about a mentally-ill man who -- on the verge of a nervous breakdown -- left his wife, children, and all of his worldly possessions behind to go live in London and live there without telling anyone where he'd gone. The story was written in a series of diary entries by the main character, and at the end of the story it is heavily implied that the man has been dead and has been a ghost the entire time, and that his delusions and visions he was haunted by weren't ghosts he thought he'd been seeing in his apartment or drug-fueled hallucinations, but actual people moving in and out of the building over many years. It was a little Sixth Sense-y, perhaps, but even now I still think it was original enough, as well as one of the best stories I've ever written. I followed all of the submission directions, readied my SASEs, and mailed this story off to Mid-American Review, in hopes that they'd find it interesting.
I will say that back then at least, MAR wasn't as well-known as it is now. Yes, it was out there, and yes, it was one of the journals you'd heard of if you were in academia or literary circles like I was, but in my opinion it was far from one of the country's "premier" journals, being -- in my eyes at least -- second-or-third-tier at best. I could've been wrong even then, but the fact is that I don't think the journal got nearly as much respect then as it does today.
So, I waited. And waited some more. I created an account on Duotrope, which I'm sure at this point has been deleted due to inactivity on my part for the past six years, and slowly began to send out other submissions to other publications, both fiction and poetry. At the time, my fiction was most important, as I thought (and confirmed, by looking at it again several years later) that my poetry during that time was mostly crap. I also passed the time by looking for writing jobs, as I was fresh out of college and had a writing degree that I wanted to use -- so even if my work was rejected by the places I'd sent to, I might yet find a job that would let me write and publish through it.
One by one over that summer the submissions came back to me, all rejections -- sometimes via a short letter saying that the publication regretted to inform me that they couldn't use my work, sometimes by returning the entirety of the manuscript I sent them in my SASE, and sometimes via email. Rejections don't faze me now, of course -- getting hundreds of rejection letters throughout my writing career is nothing new; it is the calling card of a seasoned writing vet, and if anything makes me try harder to succeed -- but back then, before I learned to steel myself and become more jaded, they were crippling to my psyche and morale, and each one was like getting a telegram that told me another dream was dead. My screenplay/premise for a graphic novel had been rejected by both Viz and Tokyopop, all of my fiction and poetry had either been rejected and/or rejected and returned to me, and the one thing I had left that I was waiting on was my Mid-American Review submission of "The London Flat."
Finally, near the end of that summer, I received a thick envelope in the mail from MAR. Inside it was a rejection letter, of course, as well as my original manuscript, but it was one of the most unique rejection letters I've ever seen -- and I'm going to paraphrase to the best of my ability to remember, anyhow, what it said below (as I no longer have the original letter in my possession, but it is still in my parents' house in West Virginia because I wanted to eventually frame it):
Dear Brandon,
We regret to inform you that we are unable to accept your piece entitled "The London Flat" at this time. We at MAR feel that your piece is derivative and cliched in many ways, and could greatly benefit from stronger character development and a more refined narrative style. Because of this, we cannot include it in our publication, but thank you for allowing us the opportunity to read it.
Mid-American Review
That, to the best of my knowledge, is what it said, though my wording via paraphrase is probably a little off. I do, however, distinctly remember the phrase about it being "derivative," needing "stronger character development" and "a more refined narrative style."
I couldn't help but laugh at the letter, really, as laughing would keep me from crying about it (remember, I was much younger, and much more naive). More than anything else, it was this letter that made me realize how hard it would be to make it as a writer in this world, and was the real beginning of a long list of rejection letters that would come over the years. I have still, in the six years since, yet to publish any of my professional creative writing, save for my book (which I self-published) and all of the articles I wrote for both the newspaper here in Newton as well as for the newspaper back home. I have since submitted more work over the years to Mid-American Review, but never received another rejection letter that amusing from them -- just the standard fare, sadly. The next time I visit my parents, though, I will find that letter and bring it back to Kansas with me so that I can scan it into a picture file for you folks to see.
So, there's my personal Mid-American Review rejection story. Amusing, no?
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