Thanksgiving Wrap Up

I just got back to school after being home for the holiday, and I already want to be home again. The amount of work I have to accomplish between now and then, however, is terrifying. I’m so happy that in exactly 3 weeks I will be back home in Florida in the sunshine and warmth surrounded by my family. And, to make it all better, I’m taking Clarkus home for the Christmas holidays again! Kitty on a plane take two. He’s already ready to go.

While I was home, I got to do some of my favorite things. My brothers and I had pizza at my favorite local pizza place. We’ve been going there for ages, and it is so delicious. Afterwards, we caught some great high school football. Go Raiders!

 

 

My mom and I set up our Snow Village. I love this part of Christmas decorating. I keep telling my parents, one day I’m going to move to Snow Village. It always seems ao idyllic in it’s little porcelain perfection.

I also found some old pictures of Snowball. I didn’t realize just how sick he looked in those last few pictures of him that I had until I saw these. This is how I remember him – all snuggled up for a nap in the sun.

 We also decorated our Christmas tree and put up lights outside, and had breakfast at another of our local staples. All in all, it was a great holiday. I’m already counting down the days until I can go home again. I can’t believe it had been a year since the last time I made it down there. Too long. Way too long.

 

It’s almost summer. Where are the boxes?

I’ve felt a little strange lately. I’m just about done with my first year of grad school. Hooray, but for some reason it doesn’t quite feel real. See, usually at this time (while trying to study for and write final exams), I’m also packing my life into cardboard boxes. Every year, since I started my undergrad education, I have moved to a new apartment over the summer. This year, I’m staying put. It feels strange. Almost like the year isn’t really over, like it never really happened. I’m not starting new, reorganizing my life, purging the old. I’m simply continuing. Just keeping on.

I should be grateful for this, right? I mean, moving is a pain. No one wants to move every year. My dad and brothers sure as hell don’t want to help me move again. But, I’m kind of not. I kind of liked moving every year. It was like a fresh start, a new beginning. I don’t know why, but it made everything feel real. Like the year’s over; time to pack; congrats, you survived another year.

I guess it’s all just part of this issue I have with liminality. I’ve felt like I’m living in this weird, crazy liminal space ever since I graduated this time last year. I’m not sure I’ve come to terms with it yet, and I probably won’t. Or if I do, it will be three days before I do finally move again. Two years is just so short. It took me two years to feel comfortable at my last university. Two years to feel like I’d found myself. Two years to build a great circle of friends.

Here, I only have two years. One, now. It just seems so fast.

Smoothies.

I think I have become addicted to smoothies. I have always always loved smoothies, but I rarely used to indulge my obsession with these blended drinks. Something about paying $5 for a chilled mush of fruits and veggies… I just couldn’t do it. Ever since I bought myself a blender, I’ve been making my own smoothies. Every day. I seriously can’t stop blending things together. It’s just so yummy, and I’ve found that smoothies make really great breakfast and lunch options. I can easily pour them into my travel cup and take them with me in the mornings if I’m running late, and they’re incredibly easy to down while I’m pouring over research during the middle of the day.

One of my favorites for lunch is this Green Monster Smoothie I found via Pinterest. Who would have though blending up some spinach and a banana would taste so good. I think I may add some honey next time to make it just a touch sweeter.

Anyone have some great smoothie recipes I can try?

Kittens and kids.

I’ve determined that I will probably be a terrible mother. Seriously. I’m worried.

You know those crazy mothers who never let their kids do anything because they might get hurt? Yeah, that’s going to be me. Have you seen Tangled? You know what I mean.

I don’t want to be this way. I don’t. Really. I want to be a good mother, a great mother, the best mother ever. But, if taking care of Clark is any indication of my mothering style, I’m definitely headed straight for Overbearing Lane.

This is the sweetest cat in the world.

See, my friends and I recently took in a stray kitten. She’s the sweetest thing. Yesterday, two of us attempted to give Josie a bath. It was not a success. She, like most cats, wanted nothing to do with being submerged in water. We tried to dunk her gently; she needed to be wet after all for the shampoo. She never tried to bite us or scratch us. Heck, she never even cried. She just started shaking and looked at us with her huge trusting eyes, and we couldn’t do it. Josie got a wet towel wipe down instead of a bath. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to add any more trauma to what was probably already a pretty terrible several weeks (at the least) on the streets.

Look at that little face.

This same night, I brought baby Clark over to my friend’s apartment. He was overcome with curiosity about the new cat tree she’d just purchased and was too excited not to try it out. He quickly climbed to the top and leapt onto the windowsill. Onto the windowsill next to the very open window… on the fifteenth floor. I immediately snatched him up and, for the rest of the night, positioned my body between him and the windowsill. From that moment on, he barely had to glance at the ledge before I scooped him up and held him tightly in my arms.

Why does this make me a bad mother?

Well, you see the window was not exactly wide open. The glass was raised, but between the windowsill and the outside were rather sturdy metal bars and a pretty thick screen. My third friend even assured me that her full-grown 10-pound cat had run full force at the window and not fallen out to her death.

I, however, could not get the image of Clark plummeting fifteen stories to a terrible death out of my head. I couldn’t imagine having to experience that, to know that I could have prevented it. I’d never be able to live with myself. So, as I assured my friends, I was much more content to entertain him with a toy safely in the folds of my lap far from any perilous (or maybe not so perilous) windowsills.

Extrapolate to kids: I am going to be a terrible, overbearing mother. I already know.

As additional support for my conclusion, I offer you this second anecdote.

Today, I took Clark to the vet for the first time. He’d been there once before as a tiny baby, but he wasn’t yet mine (in other words, I was not present). He needed to have some blood drawn for diagnostic tests, two kitten boosters, and a rabies vaccine. That means needles, several needles. He was terrified and kept trying to hide his face in the crook of my elbow. He looked at me with his huge, adorable, trusting kitten eyes which seemed to ask “Why aren’t you helping me?” I almost died. I could barely watch as the doctors flipped him over and tried to restrain him to stick the needles in him. As soon as they let go, he ran to me and leapt into my arms. He snuggled his face against mine, and in my heart, I felt myself saying, “I won’t ever let anything hurt you. You’re my baby.”

With a kitten, this is pretty easy. They stay inside. They can never feed themselves. They always need you for basic survival. With kids… not so much. O dear.

A lamp and a plan.

In an effort to keep myself busy over the past few days I’ve spent at my parents’ house, I’ve once again taken up my crafting habit.  I also had several in-the-works projects I needed to finish before they were ready to be packed away for the big move.  I finally finished up two of the four throw pillows I was making and also made a lamp just for fun. I’m quite impressed with the outcome of all three items and can’t wait to try my hand at a few more one-step-above-basic projects.

My dad also helped me plan out the arrangement of my new apartment.  I feel like I should explain that my father and I have been fascinated with architecture for years.  One of the best memories I have of growing up is drawing floor plans on graph paper with my dad.  I have a whole binder full of dream houses from different stages of my life.  Needless to say, we had both the materials and basic skills to make a rather detailed plan.

I’m pretty excited about the way it turned it out.  I was starting to become a little terrified of the move, but now that I can see something tangible and I can feel like I’ve worked out at least one tiny part of the puzzle, my excitement is beating out the terror.  Things will work out okay after all.  The other day I heard that Andy Grammer song “Keep Your Head Up” on the radio, and a few lyrics stuck out to me as I was driving home:

I’m buyin in the skeptics,
Skeptics mess with the confidence in my eyes.
I’m seeing all the angles start to get tangled
I start to compromise
My life and the purpose.
Is it all worth it?
Am I gonna turn out fine?

The other day these lyrics resonated with me, and I gave in once again to my fears.  I started to wonder if this crazy path I’ve chosen, pursuing an esoteric field and a position in academia that may be hitting its expiration point soon, is worth it.  Then tonight after dinner with some old family friends who asked me all about my new school and campus and my crazy, wacky love for what I study, I realized that I could talk to them about my passion all night.  They just answer with blank stares and nods most of the time as I go off on some tangent about an obscure poem I read or about an idea I had for my Master’s thesis.  Everyone tells me that they can see how happy I am and how much I love what I do all the time.  I guess I never realize because I never feel like I’m working when I’m doing what I love.  I feel like society has taught me that work is supposed to feel onerous and painful, but I’ve never felt like that while dissecting the use of medieval motifs in Harry Potter or while reading Shakespeare or while learning Middle English.  I’ve never felt like I’m working or killing myself to get a paycheck.  I find myself going back to it, reading articles, finding new books and authors to investigate, during my down time.  And that, right there, is when the rest of the song’s lyrics hit me:

This is just a journey
Drop your worries
You are gonna turn out fine.
Oh, you’ll turn out fine.
Fine, oh, you’ll turn out fine.

Maybe not so terrible after all.

Life has been pretty great lately.  Despite my many doubts, I successfully defended my thesis on Thursday.  Hooray.  It’s over.  I’m done.  Publication here I come.  Things seem to be falling into place a little bit more lately (and I mean, extremely lately – Did I forget to mention that I got denied from my dream school at 1:00am the morning of my defense?  Awesome, right).  Well, that was a blow, but at least after that, I’ve returned to my normal, generally successful self.  I found out that my thesis chair was genuinely disappointed about my slew of rejections which quelled my fears that he had written me a horrible recommendation.  I passed my thesis defense with only minor revisions to be made before final publication.  I made about 50 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to help feed the homeless in Orlando, and I spent a wonderful day at the park with a pretty great guy.  Then, to top off all of my happiness, my best friend and boyfriend organized a great little surprise dinner to celebrate my successful thesis defense.  All in all, things are looking up.  The sun is shining, and despite the terrible Florida heat that has already set in for the summer, I am happy.  I feel like I have grown and changed a lot in a short amount of time.  I think I can attack another round of grad school applications with a new perspective.  I think I can be happy about it and know that I am on my way, on my way to where I need to be.

I think I’ve found my faith again.

Lemons.

You know the old saying “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  I’ve been trying to make that proverb work for me for a little while now.  I thought I was doing well.  I’ve been happy, genuinely happy, for a while now, but yesterday and today kind of sucked.  There isn’t even a more eloquent way to say it.  It just sucked.  I’ve been thrown so many lemons lately that my lemonade has turned to lemon juice.  O well, lemonade gives me a headache anyway.

I just feel like I’ve lost all motivation.  I used to be so on top of things.  Now I don’t even care if I’m anywhere near target.  Due dates seem like suggestions, and nothing seems to be working out the way I want.  I mean, there are exceptions of course.  Some things are wonderful.  I have people in my life who make me smile every day, someone who can meake me smile even when I’m purposefully trying to be sad.  As weird as it is, the most upsetting thing for me is that I know I will make it through this.  I know I will come out okay on the other side.  This will not be the end for me, but then I feel like nothing really matters at all.  It’s kind of a vicious cycle.

For instance, I just got rejected from one of my dream schools.  As it turns out, the University of Oregon does not want me to be a Duck as badly as I want to be a Duck.  Great Saturday night news, right?  Now I’ve hit that point where I’m beginning to wonder if I was just kidding myself.  Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.  I mean, who’s to say that I can make it in a PhD program.  Me?  What are my credentials?  Zero.  Perhaps, I’m just not meant for that life, not cut out for it, not able to handle it.  As much as I want it, maybe it’s not for me.

My mom tells me that she believes I will get into the school I am meant to attend.  She believes that God has a plan for me and that He will work everything out perfectly.  I wish I could be as sure as she is.  Sometimes, though, I wonder if she understands.  She says not getting into any schools is not the end of the world.  I disagree.  It will be the end of my world, my small microcosm of now.  I have no backup plans.  I put all of my eggs in the grad school basket, so to say.  What happens if that basket breaks?

I’m afraid.

I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to handle this.  Yes, everyone reminds me that I still have 5 schools with outstanding applications.  Yes, everyone reminds me that 9,000 things attribute to an adcom’s decision.  Yes, I know these things.  It’s just hard to sit here and have faith when I’m repeatedly being told that I’m not good enough, that I’m not the right fit.  Well, what if I’m not the right fit for anywhere?  Then what?

I’d have to redefine my whole life.  Everything would change.  I’m not ready for that.