I'm really tired. It seems as though that's all I ever say. I did the staff meeting thing yesterday, plus, as requested by my department chair, I attempted to share some sort of academic wisdom with the incoming grad students. (I was personally underwhelmed by my own words and think that in the future I should strive to confine my communication --academic and otherwise-- to the cyber realm.
This afternoon I'm meeting with the instructor-of-record for the f2f course I'm assisting. (Oh Syntax... What's wrong with that sentence? And why am I too tired to fix it?)
Yesterday in the staff meeting, I was quasi-consumed with despondency. I sat there thinking, 'Here we go again... It's never going to end. What am I doing? And why?'
Eh.
I'm not complaining, exactly. Not exactly. I like this whole academia thing. I mean, I really like it. And feeling as though I don't...quite...fit in here is better than feeling that I don't fit in somewhere else, right? Right? And the whole "fitting in" thing is probably one of those social myths, anyway, right? Right?
Oh well.
***
Although I know I shouldn't do it, although I know it's wrong, and although I know it's both meaningless and inaccurate, I have a scale in my head. A Circe Smith Scale™ upon which I can't help but measure everyone/thing. And everyone/thing always comes up short. And even as I know that the criteria of measure are messed up, I can't help but do it. Like, the other day I helped some guy who sprained his ankle and when the EMS guys did that pain assessment thing and he stated that the pain was the worst he's ever felt in his whole entire life, behind my benign and less-than-brilliant exterior persona, my Circe Smith Scale kicked in and in my head I was all, Srsly? SRSLY? And when my mother's nonfunctioning garbage disposal is an urgent, all-consuming nightmare of household appliance catastrophe, behind my silent lack of expression my scale ricochets violently to the big-red-letter point of SRSLY? And, sigh, I could unfortunately give a zillion more recent examples. I need to stop, because I know that the things I count as "good," "strong," "stoic," and "practical" in my own self are probably crazy things. Things I shouldn't apply to other people. Standards I shouldn't expect normal people to have to adhere to.
Eh.
***
In other news, I'm into my sixth year of rigorous and probably conclusive celibacy. (I know! And Hallmark is utterly cardless!) How does one celebrate impressively extended self-imposed celibacy? Hang on -- lemme grab a Diet Pepsi... Okay. I'm back. And apparently I've answered my own question: One celebrates long-term celibacy with unhealthy diet drinks. (Yay me!)
I spend some portions of my pesky commute time pondering my celibacy, trying to figure out what --if anything-- it means, trying to figure out how it started, why it's continuing, where I'm going with it. In my poor programmed-for-dualistic-thinking mind, I still pretty much believe that there's a brain/body binary going on here and that I can't be both sexual and smart, that it's some either/or thing, that it's salacity versus my 4.0 GPA, and that between the carnal and the cerebral I better damn well go for the cerebral.
Or something. I don't know. And I guess I better go. I'm trying to get a slight head start on my textbooks (in tandem with my burned-out exhaustion). I guess I should hope my Diet Pepsi kicks in with the caffeine and I can get at least one book read by Monday.
It's just... geez. I don't know what it is. I feel like an alien, a mutant, a freak. I feel lonely even as I can't stand to be around most people. I feel... I don't know. Am I sad? Am I okay? Am I doing what I'm supposed to be? Moving in the right direction? And what direction is that, exactly? I feel constantly on my guard even/especially in this new academic setting, trying to figure out what's going on around me, what people are thinking, what they want.
I better go.
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