42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

On occasion, I wondered whether it was a good idea to return to school. Anyone who has let me blather for more than 30 seconds at them knows that I’m hanging in there, but barely. I’ve been very busy this quarter.

I don’t mind the work but I do mind never having any free time and the thought of getting a less than optimal grade because I took too much on myself.

If I continue the pace I’ve been keeping — the one that’s killing me, mind you — I can graduate in December. A year and a few months after first starting my library and information science education.

Here’s my misgivings:

• I haven’t worked in the field. The job market is harsh. My concentration is in a slightly less traditional area, but one that is growing. I don’t know exactly where I’m going to end up after graduation. As if I didn’t have enough problems trying to get a job in my old field, where I at least had more than 15 years of experience.
• I am spending a lot of money for grad school.
• I thought — as did many of my fellow students — that I would have more on-campus offerings available. Without getting into details, plans to have on-campus classes last quarter fell through. All of my coursework for this grueling quarter is done online.  If I wanted an online program, I could’ve chosen one much cheaper than this one.
• Now I’ve found out that one of my on-campus classes has been technically canceled and moved online because of low enrollment. Luckily, the prof is dedicated to teaching it to us physically anyway. I woke up rip-roaring mad, and now she’s at least reduced some of my anger and frustration.

The problem is with being mad is that I’ve actually taken enough classes that I’m enjoying myself. I know so much more than I did in September. I’m not a quitter — let’s not bring up the five-year undergrad hiatus — but I do know when the odds are against me. If I didn’t have so much loan money spent, I probably would give serious thought to the idea of quitting or transferring.

I feel a big disconnect from the sense of community that many of the graduate students on my satellite campus have. The other programs generally aren’t having problems like mine. I’ve sorta been volunteered to do some communications stuff and I’ve also volunteered to serve as a student ambassador for spring orientation. But now I question why I should bother. I’m already expending a lot of time and effort for a place that didn’t think through the demand or demographics for this program.

And the quarters in the future don’t look much better than this one; because my classmates have different interests and many of them are taking a slower route, it’s unlikely that I will be able to take any other classes on campus. There just won’t be enough demand for the stuff I need to take for my concetration.

What’s more disappointing to me is that I didn’t have a normal undergraduate experience and I thought at least with graduate school, I might get some of what I was missing back.

So, no, I’m still not having a normal experience. I can’t do anything right.

I’d like to tell myself that the education will all pay off, but I’m not sure I believe that this morning. At least not as cranky as I currently am.

I can’t get into details. If my mother had heard of the internet, I could’ve said: Momma said, never put anything on the interwebz you don’t want to be thrown up in your face later.

Let’s just say I’m annoyed with people.

I’m annoyed with know-it-alls who don’t actually contribute anything positive to a discussion, and in fact, disrespect their colleagues, whether that’s in a educational or professional setting.

I’m also annoyed by people who take and don’t give. Who don’t remember you exist until they need something. Who insist on ignoring all of your good advice, especially the solicited stuff.

You know what? I’m not helping any more. I’m a giver but I’m not stupid, and I’m not a pushover. Well, maybe I am, but I’ve had enough.

I’ve been in Sacramento since late May 2009. For quite a while, I felt unconnected and lost. I still look up directions to many places, sometimes even to places I’ve already been.

But it finally is starting to make sense, and it’s starting to feel like home.

When I came here, I had a little bit of a bad attitude. Freshly unemployed and without direction, I moved up here as I was losing my house, my identity and  my comfort zone.

Last night, I had a genuine “I live here” moment. And it’s cool.

Friend Sarah was visiting us for the first time, and we insisted on showing her the city. You come to the capital, and you get a tour. Or the tour of Sacramento as we know it, which is probably pretty entertaining in its big, gaping holes and attention to parks and the first time we ate somewhere. (You can tell we love food.)

We went to an Irish pub on J Street, and Sarah, who wanted to meet Irish guys, was disappointed by the lack of hot Irish guys and the taste of Irish whiskey. But we had a blast. It was fun to remember what good times we had with this Fresno friend, and good to show her around.

Then we ended up walking blocks and blocks to Thai Basil. I’m normally not a walker. I don’t have a problem walking somewhere, but it’s the walk back that I don’t like. However far you go, you still have to come back. We probably walked three miles round trip. But the air was crisp, we were enjoying ourselves, and finally, we were walking through the relatively healthy night life of a real city.

Then the greatest moment happened. Heather, who played for a while in a local tango band, mentioned that her friend from the tango band, Winko, would be nearby.

Winko literally is a one-man band. I’d heard much about his penchant for purple and his talent for music. And then the van.

We tried to explain to Sarah that we would be getting in his van.

“What? Where are we going? Why are we getting in his van?”

“You’ll see,” Heather says, though she actually hadn’t been in the Acoustic Sanctuary, as it’s called.

Neon lights beckoned and from inside, behind a black curtain, we could hear music and laughter.

We sat down for an intimate, entertaining time as Winko played music or told stories after prompts from his tiny audience.  There were already a couple of people in there, so it was a very tight fit; most of the back of the van is taken up by Winko’s instruments, including a piano.

I had a marvelous time. I felt like this was something you could only find in a city, with this brilliant man bringing laughter and joy in an unexpected place. And we were able to experience something cool like this and share it with a friend.

Read the rest of “Finally starting to make some sense” »

Halfway through my second quarter of grad school, I feel like an old hand. A tired, old, old hand.

I briefly contemplated the idea of going home between quarters in late March and eventually ruled it out because:

• I’m underemployed and therefore broke.
• I am so stressed it would be nice to sit on my butt for a week between quarters, rather than  brave the perils of the inefficient air transportation system.
• I don’t have a cat sitter and I feel uncomfortable asking for favors from people I don’t know that well.
• Running around and trying to see all of my favorite people in Michiana will also be stressful. I feel stretched thin, like too little butter on too much bread, to quote Bilbo Baggins.
• I want to scrape up enough money to go to the American Library Association annual conference in Washington D.C. It’s a good excuse to meet up with my buddy, and also get a tour of the awesome place he works at. I don’t think I can justify two plane trips.

I miss my family terribly. Don’t get me wrong. My brother is going through a rough time, and I haven’t seen my family since Christmas 2008.

But I’ve learned some important things about myself or grad school since I started.

• I like being busy, but I do enjoy the occasional evening off. This quarter, I feel very guilty when I do that. In fact, I did nothing yesterday except reread a lecture and sleep. I’m feeling the after-effects today as I struggle to finish some work I should’ve done yesterday. And now I’m being punished because my internet went out, and I had to go elsewhere to work. Panera gets all my money these days.
• I like sleeping. This grad student doesn’t get enough sleep.
• If a professor suggests you do not take more than one other class with a certain class: LISTEN. Do not think, oh, I’ve done this before. I can handle this. Well, Mel B. *can* handle anything, but it’s apparently at the expense of sleep, and what’s left of my sunny disposition. Those who know me well know I don’t actually have one. But I thought I’d throw that in for kicks and giggles.
• There is never enough time in the day. Naps, while nice, may make it worse. It’s hard to recover from a late night when you can’t stay awake the next day.
• Planning your days is everything. Make sure you get your work done on a certain day, even if it’s not due that day. It give you leeway for when the wheels fall of the bus, like they did last week.
• I have absolutely no idea how people do this when they have kids. None. I’m only doing this by force of will, because I’m stubborn. Taking a full-load on a quarter system is a very bad idea.

Read the rest of “Beyond stress to crazyland” »

I was in the middle of editing a PDF slideshow for a school project when it hit me: I will never do this work again. Not exactly, anyway.

Some of my pages were pretty awesome. You don’t keep copies of the humdrum days, of which there were many. But those knockout days made me realize how fulfilling it was to do a good, daring design.

I miss it. I don’t miss the malarkey. I don’t miss the daily battles, nor the clamp on my creativity by a new sheriff.

But I miss the respectability of full employment. I miss the paycheck. The health insurance. The life insurance. The sense of direction. I miss my house.

I gave up a lot when I moved to Sacramento. And then I decided to attend graduate school in hopes of changing careers, to restart my creativity in a what I hope is a healthier field.

I was sad tonight. My pages were beautiful. Sometimes unloved, unsung, or cooked with too many cooks in the kitchen. But they were mine. They were something I could point to and say I did this. I have value. My work is seen by 200,000 people every day.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m excited about my new beginnings. But I think it’s OK to miss what was and what shall never be again. I watch morbidly as another one bites the dust, or a few more former coworkers land in the same boat of unemployment. It’s a little like watching the deterioration of a beloved friend, due to illness or booze or drugs. I want to love you. I still love you. I just can’t get too near you anymore. It hurts. Please don’t call me anymore.

As you may have notice, my blog posts have become more and more irregular. Much of the blathering I’ve done over the last five years on this blog has been relegated to Twitter or Facebook.

I’m also absolutely swamped with school right now. I have many words of advice to LIS grad students trying to take three classes at a time on a quarter system, but they can be easily summarized into three: DON’T DO IT.

Last quarter wasn’t that bad. I was busy. This quarter is murderous, for many reasons I won’t get into. Mostly because this very second, I should be working. In fact, there is not a time where I should not be working on something for school. Even when I’m sleeping.

I have thought about abandoning this blog entirely, but the thought of it makes me sad. We’ve had a good long run, me and the blog, and I’m not ready to call it quits.

Anyway, I don’t have many regular readers, which is fine. And most of you are on Facebook, so are subject to my randomness there in a mercifully more brief format. (The notable exception being my dad. Eh hem. Dad, if you get on Facebook and only friend me and my brother, you will be able to keep up with me.)

But the big plus of the blog is that I have more room here. Which I suppose I could use if I ever found the time.

I’m sorry if you feel neglected, blog. It’s nothing personal.

“I Grieve”

It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
There’s nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
It’s just the way that you would tied in
Now there’s no-one home

I grieve for you
You leave me
’so hard to move on
Still loving what’s gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on

– Peter Gabriel, I Grieve, from the album Up

This is a hard time of year for me. It has been for the last 15 years. Or rather, the last 14 years. Fifteen years ago, my life changed forever.

Each passing day, then week, then month, calculated in my head. It was only one day ago… One simple day. A few minutes that could have made a difference.

I’d like to think that I’ve moved on in many ways since I lost my mother. I know people don’t really want to know how I feel or what I think about being a motherless child some 15 years after the fact.

So I’ll just say this. I still grieve. It’s still like yesterday sometimes. Maybe I’m too emotional.

My brother and I had a conversation the other day. It was a painful conversation in a painful time, so we kept it short. He said he didn’t know if 15 years was supposed to be some kind of milestone.

I think it is. Not for anyone else, but it is for us.

I’ve thought about all the milestones throughout the years. The first birthday and Christmas without her. My first college graduation, without her. When my brother had his first child, I thought, mom threatened to kill me if I made her a grandmother before 50. That would’ve made her feel old.

I miss my mom in so many ways I can’t express to people who haven’t lost a parent young. And now I’m no longer young. I can’t believe it’s been so long, and I can’t believe it still hurts so much sometimes.

The next big milestone will be in a few years, when I turn the same age my mother was when she died. I’d like to think that I won’t even think about it, but the chances are I will.

I think part of my problem is I have so many regrets and so many unspoken words. So sometimes it helps me to talk about it, or helps me to be sad. And sometimes, life carries on, in the words of Peter Gabriel.

Life carries on
In the people I meet
In everyone that’s out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on

It’s just the car that we ride in
A home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
And life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on

Did I dream this belief?
Or did I believe this dream?
Now I can find relief
I grieve