Parting Gifts.

The best going-away gift I received last week was handed to me quite casually by my therapist. As we were wrapping up my final session, she looked down at her notes and agreed with me that I would be just fine this coming year. "You're meeting your potential, and you are going to do well." As you might remember, living up to my "potential" has always been a big burden for me. I never seem to be able to do it, I always seem to be chasing my potential and just falling short. But, finally, someone has decided that I'm doing enough, I'm maxing out my capabilities, and I should feel good about that.

The worst going-away present I received last week was a parking ticket. I was on my way back to my car with 20 minutes to spare on my meter when a faculty member stopped me to talk to me about her research plans. I kept trying to edge toward the door, but I couldn't bring myself to say, "Hey, my parking meter is about to run out of money, I gotta go!" My meter was 5 minutes expired when I got back to my car, and I had a $20 ticket because of it. It's just annoying, because I am so uptight about putting money in my meter, parking legally, and being responsible, and then, look what happens on my very last day on campus.

Because I Said So

So, in keeping with my Facebook declaration a few days ago, ("Susan decides to be happier"), I decided to make a list of reasons why I might look forward to a year abroad. Without going into details, I'm always astonished at my therapist's flexibility. Yesterday, that character/professional trait manifested itself in her willingness to serve as a rather amiable and encouraging sounding board for the beginnings of my list. What I've got so far:

Why I Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• I've never spent time in the U.K. during the fall to winter transition, only spring to summer, high summer, summer to fall; something new to experience;
• The house I'll be living in is in Cockfosters, outside London, an area I've never visited, so a new place to see;
• Cockfosters is on the London Loop, and I've been wanting to do some more walking;
• This year's Serpentine Pavilion will still be in place when I arrive in London;
  
• This will be a chance to introduce more structure into my day, going to the archives at a regular time every day (at least in London)--I can use this as a chance to regulate my sleep/eat/work schedule and stabilize my life a little;
• Three months in one place! Followed by another three months of one place, and then another, and then another. Three months in one place sounds impossibly grand to me right now;
• An opportunity to see more of India: live in the Thar Desert for three months, finally visit Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, take a long weekend to Chennai, Mumbai or Goa;
• Reconnect with favorite Indian places and people: go back to Jaipur for a weekend or two, back to Ujjain, Varanasi, spend more time in Delhi;
• An opportunity to change my diet; although I've been living far away from vending machines for the past few months, it will be nice to be living some where with few processed foods to seduce me;
• Doing this puts me closer to the completion of the dissertation, and closer to my goal of leaving academia;
• This will give me a chance to regain the confidence and independence I discovered last summer in India;
• Networking. This seems like a good opportunity to meet other Americans working in my field; the more people I talk to now, the more likely it is that I will find a job--in or out of academia--in the future;
• A year without a car! Writing as someone who has put 14,232 on her vehicle since January 15, I can say I am very much looking forward to 368 days of Shank's mare and public transportation. I can't promise that I won't ever purchase bottled water when I'm in India, but even so, my carbon/resource footprint should drastically shrink over the next several months;
• I'm much more likely to bump into Preity Zinta on the street if I'm in India than if I'm in Bloomington, Indiana or Rantoul, Illinois [that one's for you, Beth].
• Both of my major fellowship awards come with a book-buying budget. I can finally buy all those books I need for my dissertation instead of relying on the library's copies.
  

Why I Do Not Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• A year away from home, are you fucking kidding me?
• I miss the cats already, will they even remember who I am when I return home? What if something happens to Jackie while I'm gone?
• What is something happens to Catherine, and I've wasted what could have been good times together on archival research about which I don't really care?
  
• Living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• Reuniting after living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• My father's health--what if I don't see him again before it's too late?
• I don't even want a Ph.D. It feels like I'm doing this for some reason other than "I want to," and I'm pretty sure that's the wrong reason;
• I hate all people, and I'm pretty sure I'll have to talk to some of them in the next year;
• I'm really not a big fan of Indian food, unless it's dal makhani or veg jalfreezi. It's going to be a long year of no tomato soup or popcorn;
  
• What if I get sick, and there I am, out in the great Thar Desert, all by myself, unable to communicate? What if something really, really bad happens?
• A year of lack. While this is good in terms of my gas consumption, it will be difficult in terms of a lack of: privacy, access to clean water, friends, my native language, familiar objects, etc.
  

Doesn't Play Well With Others

I seem to be having trouble dealing with real, live people as of late. I mean, it's surely no surprise to anyone that I'm not the most personable (warm, comforting, nurturing, friendly, outgoing, [insert more desired personality characteristics here]), but in the past few weeks, I seem to be doing a particularly poor job of managing interpersonal relationships. And, yes, I know it is has something to do with therapy, I'm exhausting myself with this process. But I really can't start out every personal--or any professional--conversation with "You know, I spent yesterday evening telling my therapist how it felt be sexually abused when I was young, so do you think you could make an extra effort to be kind to me today?" I mean...really. It's expecting a bit much for people to magically ascertain my mental and emotional fragility before speaking to me (although...the fact that I flinch every time someone speaks to me makes me think that deduction shouldn't require great magical powers).

On the other hand, I sometimes think that I should demand people to be more gentle with me on an every day basis--is there a reason I have to be able to stand there and listen to whatever someone else wants to say to me, no matter how insensitive it is? Is there a clause in the code of collegiality and friendship that I neglected to read? I guess in the end, I find it surprising that I have to provide a *reason* for someone to be gentle with me ("I'm fragile because of therapy, so be nice!"). Shouldn't I be able to expect that, anyway? I'm not sure, and I guess that uncertainty is a sign that I really just don't get people and the way people relate to other people. And I suspect I'm not going to learn this in therapy, which is is just too bad.

Still, Don't Touch My Ankle, Okay?

Last week I was complaining about therapy (otherwise known as "talking endlessly about myself and my problems in repetitive circles even when my wife is trying to watch TV"), and it occurred to me that instead of just having some therapy for my brain, I should have some therapy for my body. So, I looked around for a reputable massage therapy place in town and made an appointment. As it turns out, massage therapy costs exactly 1/2 the price of psychotherapy on an hourly basis. I'm thinking--I could have have a relaxing two-hour massage by a stranger for the price of a painful one-hour conversation with a different stranger, that seems like a win-win situation to me.

Anyway, it's a good thing I had a massage scheduled for yesterday afternoon because yesterday morning I did a faceplant on the running trail at Thomson Park. I'm still waiting for the X-rays to come back on my ankle, but I'm guessing it's not broken. I'm also guessing that without that massage in the afternoon, I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed this morning. You try skidding along asphalt on your face and see how quickly you jump out of bed the next day... A stupid way to start my summer vacation, that's all I can say.

Well, I'm not officially on vacation. I have some article revisions due with the journal editor this Friday, but I can't do anything more on that until I get back to Illinois on Wednesday. And I have some minor revisions to make on my dissertation proposal before Friday, but again, I can't do anything until I get back to Illinois on Wednesday. So, I'm on vacation until Wednesday, apparently. Then I have to jump back in with both feet--do both sets of revisions, meet with a dissertation committee member, meet with my therapist (or swap that meeting out for a long massage? Tempting.), make myself more smart. Unfortunately, the golf game I had planned for Thursday a.m. is not going to happen for another 4-6 weeks.

After all, if they make a Pocket Diva...

Okay, time for a quick update.

Last night I found out (after a two week delay!) that I passed my major field exam. Add that to the pass on my minor field exam, and that equals...hm...let's see...1 pass + 1 pass = 2 passes. All I need to do now is pass the oral exam next week. Oh, yeah, and go to London for 3 months to do research. Oh, and go to India for 6-8 months. Oh, and there's that dissertation to write afterward, too. But let's keep it in the short term for now, okay? 1 + 1 = 2.

Yes, I'm relieved. There must be something else (happiness?) in the emotional mix, but mostly I'm just glad the writing is done and that I don't have to re-take the exam in August. I think what I'm enjoying most about passing are the reactions of everyone around me. I was pretty sure I failed (and indeed, although it was a pass, my advisor did agree that I kind of dropped the ball at the end of the exam), so the past two weeks have been pretty stressful for me. Not as stressful as for everyone around me, though, if their responses to my news are anything to go by. Catherine has been saying, "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you, honey!" on a non-stop loop. Dana sounded so happy and relieved that I suspect she had already resigned herself to my failure. Beth pretty much exhausted all the exclamations points available for the writers in the year 2008, and told me I was झकास! My therapist had asked me to call her and give her my exam results if they ever arrived, and I dutifully left a message on her office phone this afternoon. She returned the favor, leaving the kindest congratulatory message on my cell phone that you could imagine receiving from a counselor.

And this leads me to another thing I've been thinking about: I must say, "My therapist said..." 1000 times a week. I should start using her real name, instead of talking about her like an object I keep in my pocket. Hmmm...pocket therapist. That would make a *great* action figure. Gotta get me one of them.

I think....sad.

A follow-up to an earlier post: I'm not sure if it's funny or sad that my therapist told me she liked my check design when I paid her today.

It's kind of like a gambling addiction, isn't it? Even though you know the payout will never, ever cover the investment you put in to game, you keep playing. Why do addicts do this? More importantly, why do *I* do it?

Today I had a quite serious conversation with a colleague who shall rename nameless in order to protect her (although, since I only talk to 3 people in Illinois, your odds of guessing the right name are pretty good) about possibly developing a drinking problem. We're both suffering from insomnia, in slightly different forms, and both of us have been looking for ways to cure this problem. In my case, I've even starting seeing a therapist (NEWSFLASH: Therapy *causes* insomnia). At any rate, I said that I'd been thinking about having a drink in the evenings because it might help me sleep, but then I was afraid that if I had one drink today, then surely by tomorrow I would need two, and by the weekend, I'd need three. Well, we can see where that would lead. And my colleague said in all seriousness that she'd been having the same conversation with herself. A drink would help, but we can't take one, because we're both afraid of what seems like an inevitable drinking problem.

Now, I ask you--if you're sitting around in the evening thinking, "God, I need a drink!" and you DON'T EVEN DRINK, shouldn't this be taken as a sign of some sort? Shouldn't you stop doing whatever it is you've been doing to push you to contemplate the benefits of alcoholism in the first place?