Expectations and Expectorations

The final rejection for the 2014-2015 academic year has come in, leading to the distinct sensation of having been spewed from the mouth of academia, for I was neither hot nor cold. In the process, I seem to have accumulated a number of ways to apply the skills I have so laboriously acquired in the paper mines. It remains a constant source of wonder to me that, in the soi disant 'real world', one can actually exchange labor for sweet filthy lucre.

The extent to which one can, in fact, do so is, though, hotly debated. One certainly accumulates skill sets in the process of graduate education. Writing, editing, organization, presentation, management of a sort, particular kinds of research and research methods. Though academia may or may not value such talents, the world at large seems quite enamored of them. The immediate problem that I have encountered is that the application of such talents in a business context tend to be gated by particular specialized competencies as well as substantial expectations for experience. Three to five years of experience is always to be desired, I'm sure, but at the entry level it seems malicious. With time, that most precious of commodities, such barriers may be overcome. Mote it be.

Marching as to Sloth

Our cat Sushia, AKA Kittypants, AKA Schmoofins, AKA Schmadoofles, AKA Snausages, AKA Meowfles, is so excited about the open window that I've almost come to believe that she had forgotten over the course of the winter that the outside world was a thing. The ribald honking of the flock of geese frolicking in the fountains bring her furry widdle ears to furry widdle points and, I think, induce some degree of either cabin fever or anxiety.

I am not now nor have I ever been a furry widdle kitty. The honking reminds me of olden days in a Colorado carpeted with black and grey and white. I nonetheless feel restless. I feel I ought be working. And indeed, I ought be working, on something. The wheels are spinning. But without a concrete goal I don't really make any progress. Really I should be creating my own concrete goals now, it's not as if I'm not aware of how one ought respond to these situations. I just... don't. The struggle against the self is a constant and mighty one.

On the Shoulders of Giants

   The post-graduate life has consisted for me of two diametrically opposed experiences. The initial phase was characterized primarily by a marked absence of time. I defended my dissertation the day before classes began for the Fall Semester, and thus my defense celebration was notably low-key. Not only did I have to wake up the next day and teach, but I had to go home that evening and prepare for my first day of teaching. I had two preps, which in the grand scheme of things is not an excessive load, but working a part-time job in addition added considerable stress while low-level depression, anxiety, and sleeplessness contributed a perennial exhaustion. The money was good, the stress was bad.

   This semester, though, I continue to think in terms of semesters. This is despite no longer having any formal connection with a university. My work with the National Humanities Center keeps me coming to campus most days, but I'm no longer a student or a professor, and since the entirety of my adult life has been defined in those terms the transition has a psychological component as well. It has been nice to take some time essentially off - to have days where I did an hour or two of real work and ten hours of recreational reading, indie gaming, Netflix watching, or similar. The tidal wave of money which washed over my life last semester (for four months, I earned the median US income!) left enough on the beach to ameliorate financial pressures for quite some time, but the time on my hands has slowly become a problem to be managed rather than a pleasant vacation.

   My immediate aim is this: to shake off the infantilization of a graduate education and self-consciously, intentionally, and with malice aforethought to create a new kind of life for myself.