Follow the Wallow

Ah, some time to finally sit down and give a proper update. This summer has been... busy? Possibly yes and no. It definitely has been a bit lackluster, but I must be diligent in reminding myself that summers aren't for lustering or what have you. So, I will start off with the beginning.

Right after the semester ended, I wisked off to Nashville, IN, to participate in an unofficial grad school boot camp. It was a week of unforgiving stress but also a much needed break. We were out in a camp-like resort and the surrounding town was extremely small; we walked half the length of Main Street within ten minutes.

Our first night there, we arrived in the evening. Unfortunately most of the town closes around 7 pm. Fortunately, the local hotspot eatery was open. The Holy Cow was an experience akin to a steakhouse minus the garish country music and unseemly abundance of neon signs proclaiming loyalty to some beer or another. Afterwards, I had to run back to my room to engage in something that I am ashamed of: the Lost series finale.

I'm not sure if I have chronicled my Lost experience this past semester. I'll be brief. I had never seen the show until February of this year. Once I found out it was ending, I had to catch-up. I was able to catch the last three episodes (including the finale) within three months. Don't try to comtemplate the math. Know that I am embarrassed for having watched so much television (I usually just watch CSPAN or the local news). However, since the end of the show, I have not discussed it or re-watched the series. It was over and I went on with my life.

Now that I have that off of my chest... most of the "boot camp" involved a non-stop barrage of, "You should have had all of this finished YESTERDAY," and "If you want to get into grad school you'll have to [insert seemingly impossible task]." We heard this from 8 am until 8 pm with only breaks to eat.

Granted, I STILL don't have anything for grad school finished and that was two months ago. Honestly, the impending sense of failure is such a strong presence that I repress the thought of the size of my "to-do" list until I catch a glimpse of a book or some research I've put off and it all comes flooding back and the only thing I can do is curl into the fetal position under the bed with one of my cats. The horribly sad thing about this is, it's true.

So, one of the looming things over me this summer has been the feeling of, "Oh, dear God, I can't do this. Even if I try, all the effort will be for naught because I'm not going to be good enough and if I'm not good enough then why even try?"

A lot of my stress is based in this strange idea that I have about becoming a researcher: If my research can't radically change the world, then I shouldn't even bother. No joke. Somewhere I concieved the notion that if whatever in the world I end up doing isn't going to change the world, then I should just pack up shop right now and find a good Dairy Queen to work at and call it quits.

I have some sort of unhealthy complex. It just isn't diagnosable yet.

Cheers.