Phew!!

My first semester of graduate school is behind me. I knew this day would come--I visualized it. But I didn't know how good it would feel. The other night, I just sat. That's it. I sat, slouched in a chair, with my head back and my feet up and reveling in the goodness of not owing anybody anything.

I had a few several late nights, but no all-nighters. I guess I'm just not cut out for them anymore, and that's fine by me. I also had the audacity to ask for an extension, and you know what? I got it because I had 'always attended class and been prepared with insightful contributions during discussion'. Yes, I am happy to report that it does matter--that being professional and accountable to my professor and colleagues is acknowledged and appreciated. I'm thrilled by this because one of the major reasons I wanted to physically return to school (versus the online degree option) was for the in-class magic. I love discussions that make me think on my toes; they lead me to conclusions that I might never come to just ruminating alone.

I'm already excited about the spring.
**

And I would be remiss not to shout-out HomeBoy, who supported me through my procrastination and academic insecurities and group project melodramas. He made me coffee for late nights; he let me sleep when I needed to; he was a wonderful host to the family we've had visiting, keeping them entertained and occupied when I had to sequester myself in our office and bang out page after page. He's my grad school secret weapon.

Certifiable

 

Want to watch me weave a web of domestic delusion? First, give me a long-term assignment; then, sit back and let the crazy unfold. For some reason, deadlines bring out the domestic in me. If there's an assignment looming, I'll clean the bathroom. If there's a project nearly due, I'll cook dinner. Case and point, yesterday was the eve of my poetry portfolio & lit journal submission deadline. I come from work, and what do I do? I bake a lasagna. Know when's the last time I made lasagna? Never. And the night before a major assignment is the perfect time to try a new recipe, right? I am some kind of lunatic.

To my credit, I did have the drafts. I just needed to finalize them, choose the journals I wanted to submit to and write the cover letters. I just couldn't sit myself down. I watched TV and cooked and talked on the phone and ate a late dinner and then got to work on the portfolio. *And woke up he next day with rings around my eyes that made me look part raccoon. Now I've heard that procrastination can be symptomatic of a fear of failure or a fear of success, and HomeBoy and I have talked on occasion about how waiting might be a subconscious ego thing. That way, if you don't get the stellar results desired, you can hide behind the idea that you didn't really give it your all.

But knowing all this wasn't enough to get me to shape up. The other thing is, I won't turn in poor work. It will be later than late before I turn in trash for the sake of being "on time." But the inaccurate ultimatum I just established isn't even legit; it's not a choice between quality and punctuality--I create that dichotomy when I lollygag and dillydally and avoid, avoid, avoid. Honestly, I freeze up. Before I sit down to write anything that will be judged, I think it will suck. I think that I am not the writer that I've fooled myself into believing that I am; I think, "This will be the tell, some one will read it and figure out I have no idea what I'm saying...Hey, let's rearrange the living room!" It happens almost every time, seriously. In the metaphor of writers' blocks--I'm Sisyphus out this b*tch!

I don't want to fail, and for every success the stakes get higher--each success has to be bigger and better than the last one. This sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? But how can anyone compete with her/his own potential? It's maddening. Well, I got one of my giant projects done, and I've got one to go. So if the next time I post, I'm talking about macrame or microbrewery--you'll know why.

So help me...

Get Busy Living...

This year I officially entered my late 20’s. With 3 years left in this primary-post-adolescent decade, I’m thinking about goals—goals and fun, but it didn’t start there…

I’ve been reading some of the top women bloggers (in my opinion) for a good long while. One of them created what she calls her “Mighty Life List”. It’s an amazing to-do list of things she wants to accomplish in life, and I like this idea. However, with my proclivity for procrastination, I’d probably keep putting things off until I woke up one day in my 70’s or 80’s (hardly the end, but far from my prime) with a life list completely untouched. I need deadlines—preferably something closer in than before you die.

So, on my 27th birthday, I decided to make a list of my own and “30 B4 30” was born. I took some time to chew on this list; I wanted the goals to be ambitious but not impossible—meaningful but not too serious.  For some, one entry wasn't enough, hence #6 on my list: engage in 30 acts of audacity.* I included this because I have been a very grounded and safe person pretty much all my life. I’ve been “an old soul”, a “Mother Teresa”, “the responsible one”. While I don’t have a problem with any of those endearing monikers, I do believe that discomfort is fertile ground for personal growth. So bring on the uncomfortable!

*I am not suggesting, by this list, that I have not been living to this point. Nor am I implying that you have to check things off a list to feel a sense of accomplishment. Living in the moment is a beautiful thing; my only aim by having this list is that I will be more open to those moments, so fewer of them pass me by.