My life is more like a roller-coaster ride than a life, and I spend a lot of time trying to decide if I like it like this or if it is killing me.
I could go off on a string of roller-coaster-related analogies – climbing the tracks in anticipation, exhilarating terror at the fall off, the fact that I am about as lapsed religious as they come but whenever I’m standing in line at Cedar Point, I always say a little prayer for myself and for my sister, Betsy, who actually hasn’t been on a roller coaster with me in years, and my GOD what does THAT mean?
But I won’t. There are too many to choose from. You get the idea.
I don’t really remember the last time I had a day off without homework or certain-responsibility looming over my head, but I think that day was probably in August, and I was probably at my parents’ house. Although, visiting home comes with a startling long list of responsibilities of its own: people to see, teeth to be cleaned, hair to be cut. We spent a little over a week in the great state of Michigan, and I saw 2 friends and their families, spent 2 days in Lapeer, had 2 appointments, junked my car, got my cat spayed, went to a cross-country meet, and spent 2 days in Mansfield, Ohio.
Yes, one of those days was my last day off.
My life reached fervor pitch last June, when I found myself working 20 hours a week, taking a rigorous course taught my two of the smartest women who teach at my school, and hauling out to Somerville two days a week to a swanky internship.
And I survived, I really did. I picked up a lot of great survivalist habits, like camping out at Starbucks at 6 a.m. with my homework before launching into a 9-hour work/school day. And I learned lots of handy migraine fighting techniques along the way.
But somehow the overextended sprint turned into an overextended marathon. With two major assignments due last week, I found myself really questioning my ability to keep this up. What little time I wasn’t doing homework or reading or trying to write a g.d. novel, I was most likely weeping. All of the justifications I made for my choices started to dissolve. I had clearly packed my schedule to the brim not so I could be successful, but so I could be miserable. Maybe it was time to say “no.”
I thought about this all last week while I recovered from the previous week’s academic horror. I brainstormed ways that I could do more than survive next semester: I wanted to survive and also spend a little time not feeling like I would rather fall off the face of the earth than wake up in the morning.
And then, on Friday night, the roller coaster throws me another g.d. loop. Of course.
So I return to where I was last May, quietly contemplating the decision before me. That first internship, the one that hastily rejected me, has come a-calling.
And for those of you who question my capacity for idealism, I give you this: I still want to get in line for the stupid roller coaster. I’m saying a prayer for Betsy. I’m imagining that, somehow, with ingenuity and a schedule so carefully stacked it might crumble with a slight shift in the wind, I think I can do it and I think I can be happy doing it.
I love the internet, but I’m pretty sure it’s bad for me.
You see, for every enlightened person who can manipulate the internet to make their life AMAZING, there is a person who gets sucked IN and can’t ever get out and I think that person is me.
It’s not just the TimeSuck factor, though. I’m perfectly fine with using the Internet to fill my recreation time. Even though it’s much easier for me to lose hours of my life surfing the web than it is to watch TV, I think I can limit myself with discipline,if things are getting out of hand.
No, what I worry about is this:
Let’s say I have a whim. Any whim. I would like to know which YA books are popular, for example, and I wonder how many of those books I have read.
So if I had no internet access, I would have to think about who I knew who might have this information. I could contact a librarian, or poll my friends, or maybe pick up a list of award winners from the library or a bookstore. If it was that important to me, I might do one of those things, but I probably couldn’t do it immediately. I would be forced to negotiate whether or not this was REALLY important to me, and where it might fit in my schedule. If I decide to take one of these actions, I would also strengthen my relationships with the people I asked, or had some kind of visceral experience looking at books in a library, or actually pick up one of those books, or whatever.
If I do have internet access, I stop what I’m doing and run to Google. I lose track of whatever work I was doing, I find any number of lists that are published by people I do not know and will never talk to. I print them off, and then I get out my highlighter and go through the list, indulging my anal retentive side, taking pleasure in marking off things on my mental checklist. “Check off which popular YA books I’ve read. Done. (Until I come across ANOTHER list of popular YA books, in which case, good thing I have 7 different colors of highlighter!)”
At this point, I’ve lost sight of whatever I was doing, of course, but that’s also not the point. I still believe that my brain is smarter than my Internet habits. I could, with focus and discipline, curb the distractions long enough to get something done.
What really bothers me is this: in that moment when I decide that indulging in whatever Whim it is that is Whimsying me, my basic, reptilian desire for the pleasures of instant gratification is satisfied, and my ego is satisfied, too. “Oh, look, I found what I was looking for! That’s great, I’m great, and so is the Internet!
And whatever self-centered, ego-massaging, personal maintenance task that struck my fancy? That process is glorified as well. I print off list after list of books and highlight line after line, thinking this is somehow better than the Life Without Internet option, or perhaps… oh… reading one of those popular books and judging for myself?
Technology is great. Maybe too great for me.
It’s too easy, Internet. You just don’t give me a chance to think.
This is my little sister Dorothy. She is a runner!
I am not a runner, I have never BEEN a runner, and I actually hate the physical act. It hurts. I can’t breathe. I can’t run for any significant distance, despite other indicators of my physical fitness. I would much rather chug away for an hour on an elliptical machine than run a mile.
This hatred was born a long time ago. I was in elementary school when I was first instructed to run around the white circle on the blacktop. I remember the first half of a lap was great – I was fast! I was in first place! Once I finished the second half of the lap, things started to suck, and I came in just ahead of the asthmatics.
Things got worse in middle school. Every year, students were enrolled in three quarters of gym and one quarter of health. Gym class activities varied depending on what quarter it was – first and last semester always included twice weekly timed outdoor runs around Tuccamirgan Park. The gym teachers claimed we weren’t graded on our times, but I was averaging a 16 to 14 minute mile, and during those quarters, I was averaging a B in gym.
On a side note, my GPA fixation started early. I was also a B student in math, and whenever I had spring or fall gym, I studied extra hard for my pre-algebra tests because I knew I was going to get a B in gym because I just couldn’t run.
Anyway, despite all that, I am running. I am running because my school’s gym is inconveniently located, because gym memberships in Boston are prohibitively expensive, and because even if I could find one cheap enough, Lance and I can’t figure out where there would be a gym conveniently located for both of our schedules.
So I’m trying this new trick. It’s called MAN, I LOVE RUNNING! I CAN’T WAIT TO RUN!! GAH WHAT A RUNNER’S HIGH! MY LEGS ARE GETTING SO STRONG AND I AM GETTING FASTER AND THIS IS GETTING EASIER! WOW! WOW! WOW! I AM GOING TO RUN RIGHT NOW EVEN THOUGH I DON’T WANT TO BECAUSE WHAT IF I DON’T GET A CHANCE TO LATER?? THAT WOULD BE TRAGIC!!
I’m holding down my mental shift key, basically.
And it’s kind of working.
Of course, I choose to start pursue this habit about 5 minutes before the temperatures dip below freezing and the running paths ice over… but I’m going with it.
These things help, too:
1) I walk
I’ve chanced upon a disproportionate number of blogs written by casual marathoners (as in, people who run marathons but not to the point where they are too busy running to blog and entertain me). Most of them mention that they walk during not just actual marathons, but even long training runs. This floored me – I’ve always held this opinion that runners are so in shape they don’t have to walk. That if you have to stop and walk (like I do, often), you might as well give up.
Of course, I TRY not to walk, but if I have to walk, I remember all those marathon runners, walking when they get exhausted, just like me, and then I make sure I run again.
2) I engage in mental aerobics.
Without resorting to caps-lock affirmations, I definitely trick myself into keeping at it.
If I start to talk myself out of running because it’s too cold/too hot/I’m too tired/I just ate/I’m too hungry, I slap myself in the face and say “Well, who cares? Just go out and have a cold/hot/full/hungry run. When you get back, you’ll be cold/hungry/full/hungry, but you won’t be dead. And if you feel like dying, you can walk home, you idiot!”
(I never said my mental aerobics were particularly kind)
While I’m running, I often want to stop and walk (aka die). Now, I force my mind to reason with my body before I stop: I have to think of a compelling reason to stop running, and I have to keep going until I think of it. And of course, while my mind takes inventory of my reasons to stop, my caps-lock brain kicks in.
For example,
I think, “I should stop because my legs really hurt.”
and my perky caps-lock brain says,
“WELL! You are getting stronger! Your legs need to grow more muscles, so of course it will hurt, but once they are done growing, it will be easier! Also, you are going up a hill! Once you start descending, it won’t be so bad!”
Repeat for: lack of oxygen, throat pain, slightly painful ankles or knees, or boredom.
And I find that when I do need to stop to walk, my brain and body are pretty much in agreement.
3) I distract myself
This is not as easy as it seems. When I started running outdoors, the only thing that would keep my mind off the pain was movies/TV on my iPod, even if the screen was in my pocket. Not-so-unfortunately, I only had one movie on my iPod: Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
Side note: Mental Aerobics during this period often included “Come on, Jessica! Keep going! Keep running until this awesome song is over!
Over time, I figured out how to focus on an audiobook, which is handy because I’m almost always listening to one, or even a This American Life podcast.
And now, my brain is finally trained enough to occasionally 1) Think of my own independent thoughts while I’m running or 2) Listen to music.
4) I listen to exclusively awesome music
This may involve making a new playlist for EVERY RUN, but whatever.
Lately, I require these offensive little ditties of questionable musical quality:
5) I finally bought workout clothes that fit (sort of).
My shoes no longer make my ankles hurt or make my toes go numb. My sports bra doesn’t cut off my breathing apparatus. I am still wearing a pair of XL Adidas shorts that lost their drawstring, but it’s nothing a little creative hiking-up can’t help.
6) I run so slowly that leaves falling from trees pass me.
I have trouble pacing myself (see: Elementary School Blacktop), so I started running as slow as I possibly can. At times, I have slowed down to the point that I wonder if I could walk faster.
So I stop running for a second and walk, and yes, I can and do routinely walk faster than I run.
I ignore judgments from fellow runners as they pass me. Even Lance leaves me behind when we run together.
I get over it. I AM THE SLOWEST RUNNER ALIVE AND I AM AWESOME!!!!!
~
Anyway, I’m not any sort of running expert (obviously), and I’m mostly writing this so I can look at it in the spring when I want to start running again but fall back into my previously non-running ways. But in the past few weeks, without any concerted effort to run faster, I’ve cut almost a minute off my Seriously Slow mile time, I’ve run 2 miles with stops and 1.75 miles without, which is a Lifetime First, and far exceeds my 6th grade dreams of running a mile in under 16 minutes.
I don’t know if my time would get me that coveted A minus yet, we’re moving in some sort of forward direction.
I live in one of the most walkable cities in the US, a city that also boasts a slightly unreliable but mostly efficient public transportation system,
and I miss my car.
A lot.
I am that spoiled.
What’s worse is that I’ve never been a big driving person to begin with. I delayed getting my driver’s license in high school, and even after I did, I was the friend who everyone offered to pick up or drop off, because if they didn’t offer, I’d find some sneaky way to ask.
Also, I drove a 1983 Oldsmobile Omega that had a bad habit of losing the will to drive while idling at red lights and then refusing to restart for an hour or so. That might have had something to do with it.
And I didn’t buy my own car until I was almost 21, and I pretty much HAD to find one so I could get from my apartment to my classes. If I had moved to Appian Way rather than Deerfield Village, I wouldn’t have bothered.
But driving freely around the state and the country for 3.5 years really ruined me.
I miss NPR.
I miss buying drinks at gas station stores.
I miss blasting music and singing at the top of my lungs.
I miss having an extra sweater or hairband or pair of shoes or 75 cents stuffed in between the seats.
I miss road trips.
But most of all…
I miss being able to manage my extreme forgetfulness with a quick U-turn,
because on days such as today,
when I got up at 6 a.m.
so I could go to Starbucks for a few hours and work on a paper at my leisure,
and realize once my dear darling boyfriend has dropped me off,
that both the book upon which my paper should be written,
AND the extensive lunch I delicately packed, full of healthful snacks to get me from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m.
were both still in my apartment,
that U-Turn could have come in handy.
Alas, alack,
I am stuck
watching trains pull up and pull away at Brookline Village, waiting for one empty enough for one-more-person to squeeze on
(third time’s the charm!),
procrastinating on my homework, despite my best intentions,
and spending 10 dollars
at the lousy salad bar
again.
Car, I miss you. I hope to see you again, someday, in Auto Salvage Heaven.
When I was but a wee undergraduate, each new semester was an excitement. Any minute shift in my schedule would change my life. No more class on Friday? My life is complete. No Thursday night 9 to mid shift at the library? I can finally go out to a bar with my friends! Early classes and afternoons off? Nap! Gym! Homework!
I must have lost my youthful exuberance since January of 2007, because I harbor no such delusions about Ye Old Grad School. At the beginning of each semester, I close my eyes, pinch my nose, and jump.
And every semester is a different cold, black-watered pool, swimming with things that bite. This fall, I have to survive:
LIS 403: Evaluation of Information Services
CHL 423: 19th Century Children’s Literature
20 hours a week in Honors
9+ hours a week at the reference desk
Organizing and making-liveable a new apartment
The usual onslaught of household chores, finance-keeping, social obligations, and personal maintenance.
So I’m assuming this semester will be trying, because it will be. I’m assuming there will be a rhythm, but I won’t know what that rhythm is for a few weeks.
I’m not trying to force anything here.
However, I have a few hopes for this fall semester:
1) I will take pride in my academic writing. Because I’ve turned in far too many a paper without even a proper proofread…
2) I will continue to prioritize healthy eating, exercising, and sleeping. Why bother with grad school if you’re just going to be grumpy and sick?
3) I will write things down. Which is less intuitive than you’d think.
4) I will be experimental with my caffeine intake. My vending machine has vanished, I can’t afford $4+ on Starbucks everyday, and I’m trying to cut back on fake sugar products. So stay tuned to see how THAT all works out…
5) I will apply what I’ve learned in my LIS classes to my new Ref Desk gig. Which is, surprisingly, fun!
6) I will write things down in fancy, expensive notebooks. Exclusively.
3. You really REALLY don’t want to move in Boston on September 1st.
4. Your current apartment will want you out of your place on August 31st, so they can clean. Your new apartment will not let you move in until 1 p.m. on the 1st, so they can clean. Raise your hand if you would rather have that $130 for the moving van and $100 for a hotel room than that probably-not-that-much-cleaner apartment?
5. Things you can give away for free on Craigslist within 12 hours:
– parts of a broken hookah
– those Emergen-c packets you hate, the ones that taste like your tongue is decaying with every sip
– 3 jigsaw puzzles
– that deck of novelty drinking game cards you had two sets of from your Christmas stockings
– an air conditioner
6. We are, obviously, pack rats. Lance worse than I. He’s the one that wouldn’t let me throw away the silly package of bar cards.
7. Lance, however, is not as sentimental about his beloved soup pot as I once thought. We broke its lid in a freak accident months ago, and it is now time to say goodbye.
8. Moving is a fugue state. I used to feel this way about exam week in undergrad: it sucked, because I had to take exams and study and it was stressful, but I didn’t have to go to classes, most of my exams lasted less than an hour, my work schedule was different. So even though it wasn’t exactly fun, I did get to do things like sleep in, study leisurely with ample breaks for playing Super Nintendo emulators on my computer, go out with friends.
This week, my job is Move. It is stressful, and it sucks, but when I’m not actively packing or making plans or running errands, I really have not much to do.
And instead of fretting over what to cook each day, we decided to take our grocery money and use it to eat out when we want. The cost won’t be terribly more than our grocery spending, and it’s just more convenient. I have eaten Qdoba twice this week and had my favorite sandwich from my favorite sandwich place. So more fun, too.
It’s a mixed bag.
9. Due to #4, you will have to abandon all of your frozen and refrigerated goods. Please, dear movers, acknowledge this reality months before your move, and do not allow your chronically optimistic boyfriend to delude you until it’s too late to eat all of your frozen goodies.
10. You can pack an entire box of your own belongings without making a visual dent in the amount of crap left in your apartment. Actually, you can keep packing boxes with the same effect, for at least 15 boxes, most likely more. I’ll keep you posted.
11. Moving Day Suckitude does not necessarily decrease with the distance of the move. Yes, it would be hard to beat a 24 hour, sleeping at rest stops, move in at eleven p.m. by yourself up three flights of stairs…. but given #4 and the complications of… oh… having to go to work the morning after and go to work and class on Friday? Well, this one could take the cake.
12. I am no longer infatuated with a new apartment. Any new apartment.
Everyone kept asking me “When are you leaving?” I would say “tomorrow,” but they would ask “what time?” And then I would make a grumpy noise and left the room because there’s nothing more debilitating that thinking about waking up before the sun, just so you can drive for 15 hours to get back to your messy apartment that needs to be packed in less than a week and a variety of other various small, annoying decisions and responsibilities.
That “tomorrow” was yesterday, and I am now back in Boston, sitting in a pool of annoying nonsense.
And also: it won’t stop raining.
It rained all through Massachusetts, then started pouring when we pulled up (ONTO THE SIDEWALK!!) in front of our building and continued to soak us through while we hefted loads of crap up and down the stairs.
I was thinking: what is all this crap, and aren’t we just going to have to move it all to our new apartment in less than a week? Why did I sign up for this, exactly?
I went to bed hoping I would be that stupendously motivated woman I often think about being when I’m falling asleep. The next morning, why, maybe I would go for a walk before breakfast! But I woke up to more rain. The kind of rain where you don’t have to second-guess bringing the embarrassingly large umbrella or wearing the rubber rain boots that match zero outfits.
I was thinking: it hasn’t rained like this all summer, Jessica, and aren’t you a lucky girl to have walked to and from work all summer long without such jeans-soaking rain to chain you to the 39 bus schedule?
But it was raining now and it will be raining later and I will be wet and taking the 39 and our apartment needs to be packed up and we still don’t have our new car and Lance needs to call UHaul and I have to read Little Women AND Tom Sawyer in the next 10 days and goshdarnit why are books so long?
And why am I old enough that I can’t sleep on my parents’ couch for a week without inducing daily migraines and mysterious, lingering hip pain?
And doesn’t anyone know that I don’t WANT to be annoyed right now? I don’t WANT to forward my mail/pack things/eat up the food in my fridge/read Little Women/set an alarm.
I want to sleep in and read Under the Banner of Heaven and play Mario Kart and take a nap and when I wake up, somebody has moved all of my belongings into my new apartment, including me, sleeping on top of my bed.
