In the Weeds: Part 1

So I’m in the middle of finals, and frankly I’m not really sure how I ended up here. I remember thinking at one point that graduate school would be a good idea…I remember sneaking my way in to Boston College…I remember taking classes, pulling all nighters with the mentality of a college sophomore and the physical result of sustained and systemic dehydration (and I got them papers done. Usually pretty late in the game, but I got them done). Somehow, just as all roads lead to Rome all schooling leads (for the unfortunate and the unsavvy) to graduation; and mine is in approximately two weeks.

So. Yes. Holy God, I’m almost done a roughly four-year graduate degree. And in order to close the deal on that fact, I have to turn in a whole bunch of library books because apparently they don’t let you graduate if you still have library books checked out. And in order to turn in those library books, I have to finish all the papers and final exams that caused me to borrow the books in the first place. Some of you, though I doubt many (all two, anyway) of you, may be surprised to hear that I’ve had some of these books for over two years now. Anne K. Mellor might be somewhat disappointed to hear that her books are not heavily in demand at BC; in the two years I’ve had multiple books of hers on British Romanticism they have never been recalled once.

But what this also means is that I’m holed up in the library, frantically reading and writing for dear life (dear diploma?); I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, breathe and absorb/regurgitate these documents (and I work out. That’s what constitutes “fun” right now, if fun is spiking your heartrate to 180 and sweating yourself into a chill). One thing I don’t do right now is write emails, though I do make the occasional comment on the FB walls – not enough, though; I refuse to change my status more than once a week if at all possible but unfortunately since I’ve started to frame every action, opinion, impulse and observation as though it were a status update, avoiding the “real” status update is kind of moot. The point is that I never realized how much of my emailing and communication acted as a kind of creative outlet for me. I miss it—I crave it. I need my friends’ inboxes to be that blank canvas onto which I splash my pithy and colorful if somewhat trite and pointless phrases, like Jackson Pollock when he’s just not drunk enough.

Composition Number Two being the obvious exception.

In lieu of the creative process that I apparently engage in every day when I write emails to my friends, enemies, colleagues and minions, I’ve decided to start this document-blog instead. I’ve already given myself 20 minutes on it and I think that’s quite enough for one day; the fretful OCD-voice in my head has set off the anxiety tension that I can feel in the muscles of my arms and in my stomach. Again, the two of you readers will find it difficult to believe that SlobbyPants McAteer has any kind of OCD issues but they crop up from time to time. So let me begin with that, and you’ll see how I intend to format this blog for the next week or so: by keeping in the spirit of my newfound love for detailed, organized outlines.

ITEM: my cheap-ass Chinese-made faux-sneakers have finally begun to bite the dust. It’s been about six or seven months so I’m not all that surprised, but the incessant “snick-snick-snick” of my snapped right sole has begun to drive me crazy. I’m pretty sure it makes me unpopular, back here in the fourth floor alcove at O’Neill. We band of brothestudentsss…well, we’re trying real hard for silence and solidarity, and a wee bit of broken plastic can seriously compromise that delicate balance.

ITEM: I’ve gotten really good at figuring out when my blood-sugar is low. And for the next week, it’s going to be low pretty much all the time.

ITEM: So far in this finals week, I have not resorted to smoking. I’m pretty stoked about this – the habit may finally be broken. The only thing that might set me back on them would be having my backpack stolen, like what happened when I graduated LAST time.

ITEM: Seriously, folks, if I pull this off – three 20-page papers and one oral exam completed in the space of a week and a day – it may mean that I’ve actually learned something. Not about Irish Studies…oh goodness me, no!...but about how to function like a quasi-adult. If I pull this off, I’ll be insufferable. Just for a little while.

DEPRESSING FACT: My friends and fellow ex-pat West-By-God-ians and I constitute “brain drain.” I didn’t really realize this until earlier today when I put on one of my Mountaineer shirts. I might be on the brink of becoming a quasi-adult, but I’m nevertheless stymied and upset by this problem.