Field Trip City

I woke up this morning to a package from Amazon sitting on the counter. In my sleepy daze I'd forgotten what I ordered, but it was a gift from Andrea: copies of Paris, je t'aime and Flight of the Conchords Season One. Incredibly generous of her, since I know she can't afford it, and sweet of her because they're a film and show we watched together. I love her.

I brought my camera to campus, but the battery is dead. I was still using the batteries that came with it, so I'll have to find a nice rechargeable or something stronger, especially before I leave for Europe. Class was interesting in that we sat around for most of it talking about the PhD program.

I realized something, sitting there, listening to everyone's questions and comments - I'm not in the headspace I was in while I was doing my undergrad. For those four years I was intent on seeing my education straight through to my doctorate and then going on to teach at the University level. Then I took a year off and forgot what school was like, always thinking that the passion I'd felt for it would return once I went back. I still enjoy school, but my passion to teach isn't what it used to be. Professor Robins gave this advice: do it because you love it. If you don't love it, don't do it, because you'll be spending years doing it.

The thing is, I'm not sure if I love it. I still enjoy going to school, learning, hitting the books. But I've fallen under the impression that I have to admit something crucial to myself - I don't want to play the game of academia. If I wanted to make a success at being a professor, I would have to leave myself completely open to travel anywhere, to start a frequency of publications, to make contacts on conferencing circuits... and I can't guarantee that I'll want to do any of that in five years. The only reason I want to remain in the academic system is to keep learning. And if I really want to do that, if it's really that important to me, I'll do it on my own time. I'm just someone who really craves structure, I suppose. I like being assigned work, completing it, and being told that I did a good job. I'm a total nerd that way. A browner, as the kids in elementary school used to say.

Plus, it keeps me out of the real world. It's not that bad having an organization throw a bunch of money at you to go away to school and study without worrying about work. I'd like to do my PhD eventually, but at my own leisure. I'll be 30 soon. I want more of a prolonged taste of a career than I've had thus far, to find a job that keeps me living pretty well, that will allow me to pay off my loans and save a bit while providing a structure that won't drive me nuts.

Work has always been something I've felt coming at me like a charging weapon out of the darkness. If I prepare myself enough for the blow, I might be able to grab it and use it to my advantage; if I don't, it will kill me. I want to work and enjoy my life. I'm not really a bohemian character in the least. Give me some convention and I'll defend its attacks on my soul in other ways.

After class I went to the walk-in clinic by my apartment to have my cough checked out, but I was told the doctor wasn't in. I filled out a form and went back at around 4, which is apparently when everyone else was told to come back, because I ended up waiting for a good hour. I hadn't seen a doctor in years. He was a nice guy, took my blood pressure, checked my ears and throat, listened to my back and chest with a stethoscope and told me I had acute bronchitis. He prescribed me azithromycin and told me to come back if it isn't gone in five days. Here's to hoping, because I'm forgetting what it's like to breathe normally.

I watched a lot of Seinfeld and Mission Hill, plus episode three of The War. Andrea signed on and between her drunkenness and my anxiety, bronchitis and WWII atrocity headspace we had a stupid exchange of words. Time to sleep in search of tomorrow.