You Know It's So Much Better When You Don't Talk
For the unfortunate few of you who know me IRL, I have been battling one of my major depressions. One of the major characteristics of my black periods is for some reason when I wake up I lie in bed and think about slashing myself with a knife. This thought pattern reached its most severe when Eric left. I was afraid to open the knife drawer to cut an onion. Now before all y'all freak out, please remember that I've been dealing with this thought pattern since I was 13 and never in all those years have I cut myself. Still it's not a pleasant way to start the day.
Part of it is the writing sample that I am working on. It's of course causing a lot of stress. And the impending B-day and holidays bringing with it the "why the hell don't I have a boyfriend during the holiday season EVER and especially not for my fucking 30th birthday" doldrums. And at such a time, my friends try and help. Unfortunately as we have established sometimes my friends are shall we say less than effective in their efforts. Take last night for example. A dear friend of mine, and I want to stress she is a dear friend, tells me about this book "He's Just Not That Into You." She knows I've depressed about the lukewarm treatment I've been getting from men I am interested in lately, and she thinks that telling me "They are just not into you" is empowering. Can someone for the love of G-d and my sanity explain to me how saying "Well they just don't like you/find you attractive," is empowering to me? It's like walking up to someone and saying "Look I know you aren't feeling happy because you think you an unattractive. And you're right. Aren't you empowered now?" Uh let me think, no. Now you've simply confirmed me in my depressive self-hate think.
All I want is some decent sex on my birthday. I mean, jesus christ isn't that like guaranteed in the Constitution or something? Or to find some guy who thinks I am worth the effort of picking up the phone. Is that so fucking hard? But apparently it's like alphabetizing, I, in my mammoth intelligence, find such tasks easier than the rest of humanity. And of course my dear female friend continued to try and make me feel better by telling me if he really liked me he would call. Great, thanks, I'm not worth the effort. Now you understand why the knife drawer is so hard to resist. Abandoned by the man who called me the love of my life I am now no longer worth the effort of dialing. Trying not to imagine what my life would have been like if Eric had stayed, trying to not think about how I can't even get a date for my own fucking birthday party, trying not to think about how upset I am going to be after I put in all this work and still don't accepted to graduate school takes all of my energy.
Car Tu Es Dans Mon Coeur
The only slightly good news I have gotten is I finally received a letter from Henri. Perhaps I will take advantage of the cheap flight rates and go to Paris in January. It is, I have to say, incredibly cool to get a love letter from Paris written in french. It is even cooler that I understood most of it. Well, at least I have that, the fantasy of a french love.

A Hannukah Miracle
"The other day a person wished me a 'Happy Chaka Khan' and I said 'A Merry Ozzie and Harriet to You Too'" Dennis Wolfberg
Ah, yes. The festival of lights. It's not a very good holiday compared to Christmas. You would think the Jews, you know the ones who "own the media", would be better at creating a commercial holiday. Certainly it has made strides in the past in terms of popularity with songs like Adam Sandler's "Hannukah" and Hannukah Harry on SNL, and it is nothing short of amazing that a holiday without standardized spelling (Chanukah, Hannuquah, Haknewcah-the k is silent) could score its whole little section in Bloomingdale's. But well, it's a quirky little holiday.
As you know I've been plugging away at this paper, trying to pull a paper which stubbornly hovers at 9 pages to 15 and I shudder to say this, UDR has been helping me. Monday we went over the grammar of the first 9 pages, and, to keep me on task, he threatened to spank me if I didn't produce at least 2 more pages by wednesday. By wednesday I had 13 pages, but I still had major problems with the conclusion, the problem being I didn't know what to say and I had two pages to say it in. So we sat and we talked and crazy fucking bastard if he doesn't come up with an elegant solution which would also allow me to incorporate research from the first draft. So today I'm at 18 pages. 18. I though I only had enough material for 9 pages and I stretched it out to 18. A Hannukah Miracle.

The Hannibal Lecter Achievement Award Goes To... Posted by Hello
So those of you who know me personally know that I had a student who is, as my mother in her idiosyncratic and totally un-pc way would say is, wack-a-ding-hoi. There is not a teacher, counselor, advisor, administrator who has dealt with him and not said "There is something very wrong about that kid." Considering the suicides from last year, I thought if I turned in a report on the kid early, the university would get him into counseling and more importantly medication. I didn't think he would commit suicide, I thought he was more likely to punch me and well as much as I'm happy that there would be no life lost there, I didn't want to have to worry about getting hit in the face when I was teaching class.
So I've been chugging along this semester, calling his advisor, calling the head of advising, turning in reports to the head of my department, basically making sure that my ass is covered so that if this kid snaps, no one can say that I didn't do my best to get the kid help. Of course, what was I told from day one until now is "Well, uh, we can't actually do anything to help you." So today I had to meet with him in my office to tell him that he was literally on the verge of failing. So I get to sit in a confined space with a threatening student and tell him "You might fail my course."
Well, I explain to him his situation, and to make a long story short, he told me I scared him and then he teared up. I kid you not, I made the kid cry. A four foot six disabled Jewish girl made a psychopath cry.
I tell you, there is hope for equality yet.
**My life has been so miserable lately making this kid cry actually qualifies as the high point of today. Although the joke in my office is every time a student cries, a prof. gets tenured.

Maybe Just A Gift Tag
So my friends have started harassing me about what I want for my birthday, and of course, what I really want is not something that can be bought. Oh sure, I have a wish list on Amazon, and I'm certainly not going to turn away presents (especially since some people, some very very nice people, have already bought me some) but it's not what I really want. What I want is a huge pack of my friends to come out and have a great time, liquor, laughter, wacky hijinx which will be fondly, but blurrily remembered, and send those poor souls who can't be with us some digital photos which will fill them with envy. And of course I would like all of you out there to send me happy birthday wishes and leave happy birthday comments as you did last year, but more I would rather all y'all have a great day trying not to get too behind with the christmas wrapping/shopping/cooking/decorating and perhaps just think a happy thought for me while you are enjoying yourselves. And of course, I would like a boyfriend, not for flowers and chocolate and expensive wine ( again not that I would say no to any of that), but just after party snuggling under the covers ( and perhaps hang over maitenance "honey can you go get the advil?"). Unfortunately you can't walk into any store and say "uh I would like my friends to be happy and to have a boyfriend" and have the person behind the register say, "Would you like that gift wrapped?"

    This page is powered by 
Blogger. Isn't yours?