Do you know how much crap you have to pack when you have 4 days of back to back internship interviews, a New Year's Eve party, random hanging out with family and friends (that may include going for a night out at a club with your best friend to doing things around the house or an impromptu walk, hike, or something dirty), bring all of your Christmas gifts for family, plus the books, music, and movies that you want to trade in at your favorite used bookstore?
A LOT.
Grr, still packing. 12 days, 4 interviews, 1 party, and lots of other events.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
It's Been Awhile...
Wow, I left my blog on a down note and went away for awhile. That's no good. So here's an update. I have 9 internship interviews in five different states and Canada. I have interviews at really awesome sites. However, I applied to 18 sites, so that means 9 sites weren't enticed by me. Predominantly college counseling centers and the uber competitive hospitals or community mental health sites in humongous cities. Oh, well, someone else will have to enjoy my awesomey goodness. All in all, 50% is a really high return rate for interviews, so I'm satisfied.
The next three weeks are jam packed, with a New Year's Eve 50th birthday party for my parents that I am hosting with my brother, an interview tour of the Southeast, an interview tour of the Midwest, a trip to Canada for another interview, and this semester I also have a full load of classes, a dissertation to finish, and a life to live. I try not to think about possibly having to leave my friends. I love them so.
The past two days have been spent organizing and cleaning. It makes me happy, and my husband cranky. He sees no point when there are Gameboy Advance games to be played, XFiles Season 7 to watch, and new sweat pants to wear.
I have packing and such to do, so I'm off. I don't know how much time I'll have to post, but I will do my best to keep you updated on what it's like to go through interviews. Let's see how well I manage the transition between very rural sites and major metropolitan ones. Should be interesting.
The next three weeks are jam packed, with a New Year's Eve 50th birthday party for my parents that I am hosting with my brother, an interview tour of the Southeast, an interview tour of the Midwest, a trip to Canada for another interview, and this semester I also have a full load of classes, a dissertation to finish, and a life to live. I try not to think about possibly having to leave my friends. I love them so.
The past two days have been spent organizing and cleaning. It makes me happy, and my husband cranky. He sees no point when there are Gameboy Advance games to be played, XFiles Season 7 to watch, and new sweat pants to wear.
I have packing and such to do, so I'm off. I don't know how much time I'll have to post, but I will do my best to keep you updated on what it's like to go through interviews. Let's see how well I manage the transition between very rural sites and major metropolitan ones. Should be interesting.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
The Mother in my Inbox
My parents did a great number of things right when raising my brother and I. Even more than right, they did some things spectacularly. Other things, well, like all parents, their baggage in some ways became ours.
One area where my parents weren't quite sure how to react was my weight. Never obese, I was always slightly larger than most other girls. I was taller from a young age, often mistaken for a child instead of my toddler 2 or 3 year old self. My mother got dirty looks for carrying me around. I remember conversations that my parents had with me, informing me that it looked bad for me to have a temper tantrum because I was 3 but I LOOKED 6. So stop it already.
Shopping for Easter and Christmas dresses was the worst. I remember berating myself in the mirror of the dressing room for not looking good enough as young as the age of 8. I went on my first diet at the age of 9. A 9 year old counting servings on a weight watchers plan, counting up her optional calories to have half a snickers bar. Sick, I tell ya.
I always had enough self-respect to fight back from the control and rejection. But, I also had enough self-esteem not to starve myself or to purge. So, I ate. Whatever I wanted, I ate. Thus, today I am a 14 not the 8 or 10 I'd be at a healthier weight. It's still wrapped up in issues of rebellion and self-loathing that I continuously battle. Add in my PCOS, and you get a nice one-two punch contributing to my excess weight that I both love and hate.
This year, when my mother renewed her Prevention subscription, she got two free gift subscriptions. Lucky me, I got one. She claims she sent it to my brother, too. (Seriously?) Now I get all of these emails in my inbox from Prevention telling me how to have summer arms, bikini stomachs, and toned thighs. It's like having my mother in my inbox. I'm sending her to SPAM.
One area where my parents weren't quite sure how to react was my weight. Never obese, I was always slightly larger than most other girls. I was taller from a young age, often mistaken for a child instead of my toddler 2 or 3 year old self. My mother got dirty looks for carrying me around. I remember conversations that my parents had with me, informing me that it looked bad for me to have a temper tantrum because I was 3 but I LOOKED 6. So stop it already.
Shopping for Easter and Christmas dresses was the worst. I remember berating myself in the mirror of the dressing room for not looking good enough as young as the age of 8. I went on my first diet at the age of 9. A 9 year old counting servings on a weight watchers plan, counting up her optional calories to have half a snickers bar. Sick, I tell ya.
I always had enough self-respect to fight back from the control and rejection. But, I also had enough self-esteem not to starve myself or to purge. So, I ate. Whatever I wanted, I ate. Thus, today I am a 14 not the 8 or 10 I'd be at a healthier weight. It's still wrapped up in issues of rebellion and self-loathing that I continuously battle. Add in my PCOS, and you get a nice one-two punch contributing to my excess weight that I both love and hate.
This year, when my mother renewed her Prevention subscription, she got two free gift subscriptions. Lucky me, I got one. She claims she sent it to my brother, too. (Seriously?) Now I get all of these emails in my inbox from Prevention telling me how to have summer arms, bikini stomachs, and toned thighs. It's like having my mother in my inbox. I'm sending her to SPAM.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Evidence of my undoing..
It finally happened. Last night, I had taken a long long nap. After a day spent babysitting the two cutest infants in the world so the entire faculty of my department could have a retreat, I was resting. I was even feeling encouraged that we could someday, maybe raise a child without maiming or psychologically crippling the kid for a lifetime.
But then, I saw it. It leered at me from the mirror. An inch back from my hairline, about two inches long, A BRIGHT WHITE HAIR!
I don't know who is responsible for this. Those responsible within the last nine months might be Professional Qualifying Exams, Written Comps, Dissertation Proposal, Internship Applications, Presenting and preparing that workshop, or the disorganized closets. But when I figure out which one is responsible, I will take my revenge.
But then, I saw it. It leered at me from the mirror. An inch back from my hairline, about two inches long, A BRIGHT WHITE HAIR!
I don't know who is responsible for this. Those responsible within the last nine months might be Professional Qualifying Exams, Written Comps, Dissertation Proposal, Internship Applications, Presenting and preparing that workshop, or the disorganized closets. But when I figure out which one is responsible, I will take my revenge.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Growth or Dismal Regression?
For the first few years of our marriage, I kept a spotless house. The baseboards were always dusted, the closets perfectly organized. Photos were put into albums in a timely fashion. I always knew where my car keys were, the litter box was always near pristine (for a box of poop, anyway), and the refrigerator rarely accumulated detritus covered in fuzzy blue mold.
Then we moved, and I started graduate school. I actually kept up the pristine home, but I also became increasingly crabby and an unenjoyable person. The problem is that I am not a naturally neat person. I drop my coat where I take it off, throw the mail into a bin to be sorted later, and lose my keys/earrings/lip gloss/that important note quite often (although very rarely do these items not return to me...i guess misplace is a better descriptor of what I do with these items).
When I started my doctoral program(following some much needed therapy as a part of my graduate work) I slowly relinquished my stranglehold on perfection. The basics get done, but between comps/pqe/dissertation/internship applications/having a life, the closets are overrun, the grout in the shower is growing something, and my closet needs a good culling. I am a much happier person. But, I am increasingly agitated by the disarray of our home. Oh, none of it is visible. Walk in and you'll see a good enough organized apartment, but I am tormented by the closet I wouldn't dare open. The mishmash of mail lurking in our mail table, the cat toys I know are lurking under the stove and behind the fridge, and the fact that I haven't dusted the items up there on top of the kitchen cabinets in 3 years.
So, I hereby declare Christmas vacation a cleaning vacation. Closets will be organized, fridges cleaned, papers tossed, and order restored in this home. Hubs will be a participant, even if he does it unwillingly, I expect a good cheer smile. I don't care if it's a fake one. (Hubs's inability to order disorder is another conversation for another day...he's just not got "the gift.")
Hold me to it internets. Or else, I might be writing my blog posts from my own nice hospital stay the next time I can't find that blue sweater/silver earring/last cherry coke zero.
Then we moved, and I started graduate school. I actually kept up the pristine home, but I also became increasingly crabby and an unenjoyable person. The problem is that I am not a naturally neat person. I drop my coat where I take it off, throw the mail into a bin to be sorted later, and lose my keys/earrings/lip gloss/that important note quite often (although very rarely do these items not return to me...i guess misplace is a better descriptor of what I do with these items).
When I started my doctoral program(following some much needed therapy as a part of my graduate work) I slowly relinquished my stranglehold on perfection. The basics get done, but between comps/pqe/dissertation/internship applications/having a life, the closets are overrun, the grout in the shower is growing something, and my closet needs a good culling. I am a much happier person. But, I am increasingly agitated by the disarray of our home. Oh, none of it is visible. Walk in and you'll see a good enough organized apartment, but I am tormented by the closet I wouldn't dare open. The mishmash of mail lurking in our mail table, the cat toys I know are lurking under the stove and behind the fridge, and the fact that I haven't dusted the items up there on top of the kitchen cabinets in 3 years.
So, I hereby declare Christmas vacation a cleaning vacation. Closets will be organized, fridges cleaned, papers tossed, and order restored in this home. Hubs will be a participant, even if he does it unwillingly, I expect a good cheer smile. I don't care if it's a fake one. (Hubs's inability to order disorder is another conversation for another day...he's just not got "the gift.")
Hold me to it internets. Or else, I might be writing my blog posts from my own nice hospital stay the next time I can't find that blue sweater/silver earring/last cherry coke zero.
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