My Affect, it is Not So Flat . . . But Still

By circe on February 20, 2012 2:53 PM

Heard back with acceptance from a second PhD program. This program means something to me. I feel a lot of things, but happy isn't one of them. I mean, I am honored and gratified to be accepted -- very much so. But I feel sad. Reading my acceptance/congratulations email made me sad. I'm thinking I can't do it. Can't do any kind of PhD thing. That I just can't.

I'm thinking: Wow, they want me in their program. They think so well of me. They're offering me a scholarship and a fulltime assistantship teaching thing . . . But why don't they know that I can't do this? That I'm just . . . worn out. Tired. Sad. That I just can't do it.

Tears probably are not the right response to acceptance into a PhD program.

Right?

Eh.

***

I don't think Comments are coming back to this blog. I can be reached at circe68[AT]gmail[DOT]com.

My favorite turkey also has her own FB account.

I'm busy scooping up my zillions of archives and saving them in a horribly jumbled form as Word docs. Maybe I'll pick up and move my whole blog, maybe I'll put it to rest; I don't know.

How Many More Miles?

By circe on February 19, 2012 1:28 PM

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

--Frost

Nothing much new. More of the same. The lawyer with whom I consulted is blowing me off. I feel too apathetic/defeated to look into getting another lawyer. At this point I don't even think having an attorney would do me any good. I don't think it matters. I called the sheriff's office last week, arranged a time/place and accepted the court summons stuff. Although the AG told me that I was being charged with illegal homeschooling and breaking a federal law, I didn't see any mention of either one of these things in the paperwork. It looks like they just want to end child support and try to get me to cover the children's health insurance under my job. (Tangent: I can't even afford to cover myself under the policy available through my university employment. I cancelled my policy a year-and-a-half ago. Covering the children would take up almost my entire paycheck. I guess they can force me to do it, but maybe not, as my salary definitely qualifies the children for Medicaid. I guess they can try . . . )

I took Sierra to a neurologist on Friday. Conservative treatment before surgery. PT three times per week for the next month, then reevaluate. I can't even write about this. The whole thing is so terrifying. I just wish, wish so much, that I could take this disease away from Sierra, take it upon myself.

I don't know if it's the big things or all the little things that are killing me. The trailer is bad. The kitchen sink leaks steadily into the cupboard underneath; it's constantly soaked and smells badly. I tried to fix it but the plastic pipe pieces won't come apart. The toilet in my bathroom is terminally clogged. I keep trying and trying to fix it but nothing works. I got the toilet in the kids' bathroom working-ish, but five people and one toilet is not good bathroom math. The Oldsmobile keeps having "electrical problems." That's what it says on the dash, and then everything goes out. It doesn't have ac and so if a window is open when this electrical issue happens, I'm out of luck. Frankie and I tried and tried to manually push/pull the window up the other day, but couldn't do it. Driving with my window open in the rain at 44 degrees depressed me in a way somehow deeper than the whole AG court thing.

I get angry at myself: Crying over a toilet when a lot of people don't even have bathrooms? Over a car window that won't shut when a lot of people don't have cars? What's wrong with me?

I don't know.

I want everything to stop.

I don't think it's going to stop anytime soon.

I like my dogs Fraction and Pi. They make me feel better. My children are all doing good things, leading good lives, and I love them and they make me feel better. I think that my English class is going well.

I just . . . Eh. I don't know. I guess I'm just tired.

Here's what I want:

My children to be happy and well.

My assorted non-human animal companions to be happy and well.

A home that is comfortable and clean and pretty and safe.

A car that is better.

Enough money to be secure and safe.

A profession that I mostly enjoy.

To feel safe.

Eh. None of that is going to happen anytime soon. So I guess I better just deal with everything, work harder, try to not-think.

My Affect, it is Flat

By circe on February 7, 2012 6:03 PM | 1 Comment

Heard back from one PhD program. Accepted.

Why don't I feel, idk, happy or relieved or something?

I don't know. I just feel nothing. Nothing tinged with sad.

Saw a lawyer yesterday. Again with the nothing. Nothing tinged with dread.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Lawyer

By circe on February 5, 2012 9:34 AM

I drove back from a faculty meeting the other evening, taking the back roads, through the dusk and the dreary Texas winter landscape. I thought about my impending court hearing. I thought of how I am not entitled to a court-appointed lawyer for a family law hearing. I thought of how I'm going to be completely demolished in court next month, how I will lose child support, how I will be unable to defend myself, my rights. I thought that "fair" is a condition available to those who can afford it. I thought of all the shit I've had to take for all these years. Shit that I had to eat because I had no money/power with which to defend myself. I thought of all this anger piled up in my head --all the things I will always remember, never let go. Is this going to be one more of them? How much more can I take?

I've had my Sirius stock for a year or so. I've been saving it for either an emergency or for something good. Its value is just shy of three thousand dollars. I think that this is the emergency.

I may still lose my child support, lose the zillions of dollars I'm owed in arrears, but I'm going to hire a lawyer to represent me, to assert my rights, to fight for my fair.

I don't want this to be another one of those times, those times when I am weak, vulnerable. I have a feeling that I don't have the capacity to bear many more of these times. I have a feeling that my anger can't pile up much higher without something very bad happening.

Yesterday via email, a person from academia said this: "I have often thought that pessimism stems from disappointment as one's optimistic worldview is shattered or (to be less dramatic) disappointed, repeatedly."

This resonates with me. This confirms my decision to use money I cannot easily spare (I feel kind of sick at the thought of selling this stock and spending it, gambling it in this way . . .). I want to be able to stand up for myself and the years have taught me that it takes money in order to do so. I think of crying in the food stamp office, begging the callous, contemptuous caseworkers. I think of all these years of fear. All this resentment, fury, bitterness. I think that I can't do it anymore.

Eh. I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe I'm making a terrible, very costly mistake. But I think that I'm going to err on the side of making it.

But What About teh Pee Aitch Dees?

By circe on February 2, 2012 9:25 AM

Exactly. What about the PhD thing?

I'm in the waiting stage -- the stage within which I am supposed to sit back and wait.

I wish that my brain had a better understanding of this stage, of the whole sitting back, waiting thing.

I keep thinking: What if I don't get accepted to any of the programs? What if I get accepted to them all? What to do? What to do? What to do?

I think that I've finished my thesis prospectus and now will be awaiting its approval. I need to use this thesis waiting time to turn out a seminar paper for my English class. Plus all the other things I need, need, need to do immediately if not yesterday.

My puppy Pi is going through that awkward tween stage. She looks funny and she's clumsy. I'm thinking that her alleged Labrador half is asserting itself as she's been eating unpleasant things and "digging" in the water dish. (See also: Extreme flatulence.) Here, let me see if I can post a pic from about a month ago (when she was still in her cute stage):

Mad at All the Things

By circe on February 2, 2012 9:10 AM

I just feel mad. Possibly depressed. Mad, with the possibility of depression.

The Attorney General is taking me to court in March. How do I get a court-appointed attorney? I guess I call some agency other than the AG.

You know what I want? I mean, besides health/happiness for my children and for my animal-identified companions, besides getting out of this fucking trailer. I want to have enough money to not be devastated by the loss of child support, I want the children to be able to go to good doctors, I want to have enough money to by food -- to not be constantly rationing, making the children ration, food. I want to be able to turn on the furnace or ac without being scared about the bill. I want a dishwashing machine. I want a dryer (how many years has it been since we've had a dryer? I can't even recall). I want toilets that consistently work. I want to live without roaches. I want a home that doesn't smell horrible. I want to have a degree of social power so that I no longer have to always keep my mouth shut, lie, pretend, keep under the proverbial radar. I don't want to have to take so much shit; I want the social leverage to resist, assert my rights. I don't want to be so afraid.

Eh.