It has again been a while since I wrote something, anything, that was not a part of a report, an assignment, a critique. It has been a while since I have indulged myself in word-play. My journal waits patiently too. There's so much I want to write, so much I should not let pass without some mention that will help me relive it again - the thrill of the memory, or its heartbreak, or both. So, I will try not to venture into the really very vague with this.
I have been so overwhelmed with work lately that every time I see myself running out of time (its more often than where 'often' averages) that I subject myself to some serious questioning, on my true intention to get a PhD.
"If this continues I will die, I will die a spinster in this room", with books and my computer and other meager possessions I have cared to bring with me, or acquired in the process of living on my own (the Calvin and Hobbes comic book, for example)
"PLEASE love me more, God... I am a very nice person you know"
My self-confidence, the precious little of it that I have, shaves another layer off itself every time I am not where I expect myself to be. People who know me well have observed that I am too hard on myself. I don't know if that opinion is not completely biased with their affection for me. So it never really figures in my life agenda - to take it easy. (Also, I am incapable of taking it easy.)
Mondays are when I have to talk at length about my progress, and this particular Monday meeting was especially brutal. I had been running away from my research work for the entire week (because I hate how lost I feel trying to find a direction). I don't know how to do research, yet. I feel especially cheated because I am not being given the time to learn. It was such a defeat- my incapacity to communicate my frustration, and their incomprehensibility.
American manners and polite-ness are so glossy that it takes a while to recover from their blinding effects and hear what is *really* being said. I am a long way from becoming deft at translations.
It seemed like I needed to talk to someone who could be more objective than was in my power. I did, and worded (not very tactfully I am afraid) all that was troubling me. I was listened to, and on being asked whether I was being hysterical, told that I was not. The conversation ended in a warm, comforting hug. I felt blessed, and at ease, and could find my feet again. Being away from familiar places people and things can be so lonesome. This, was a heartwarming exception.
Some moments in life can be such happy surprises!
