Arwen/Elizabeth

I actually did graduate!

My family has just left, and the house is quiet again. I am, of course, sad to see them go, but were they to stay forever things would be very crowded around here. Besides, one of the silver linings of childlessness is the time that Michael and I have alone together, and I definitely miss that when we have weekends as busy as this one has been.

The weather is beautiful, in the low seventies and sunny. The birds are twittering out of control. It was like this on Friday, for my college’s baccalaureate Mass and commencement. The choir sang a Palestrina missa brevis, and there were eight priests concelebrating with the bishop’s delegate (a monsignor somebody-or-other) – not a bad ratio considering there were only thirty-seven of us graduating. At the commencement ceremony each graduand knelt in front of the president, who pronounced the Latin words admitting us to our degrees while the dean of students put our hoods on us.  When we stood up, we had turned from graduands to graduates.

I’ve been to commencement at the large university from which my husband graduated, and while I am by no means an unrelenting traditionalist, I have to admit that I thought our ceremony, with all its dignity, much superior to his. At his, half the people galloping across the stage after receiving their diplomas (fake, as the real ones were mailed later) had “HI MOM” written on their caps with masking tape, and the names being read could barely be heard above the chatter of the people in the audience, who were simply bored at having to listen to eight hundred names. (This was the commencement for the engineering college within the university. The commencement for the university at large was held in the stadium, and we spent the entire time trying to figure which of the faces within the sea was Michael’s. We never got it right.) (I know that it is simply impossible for a large school to have the kind of ceremony my school had; I guess I’m just saying that I’m glad I go to a small – all right, tiny – school that values tradition.)

I started out at that big university, you know. My little Catholic college is only about twenty minutes away from it, and I didn’t even know about it when I graduated from high school in 2000. But my little sister started there in the fall of 2002, and the first time I drove over to see her, I cried in the car on the way home, heartbroken that I’d missed out on the chance she was having. I’d started my junior year at university, and I ruled out transferring on the basis that it was impractical. I spent that fall in misery, unsatisfied with the education I was getting but seeing no alternative. Then one Sunday after Mass, I realized that I was being ridiculous and informed Michael that I intended to transfer, whether it made sense or not. He said fine. (I think it’s possible he knew all along what I should do, but wanted to leave the decision up to me.)

In the end, the decision to transfer to my tiny liberal arts college made more sense than most other decisions I’ve made in my life. I made some friends whom I still expect to have years from now. I spent five semesters there, and I am enormously enriched and intellectually fortified by the education I received. Hooray for learning to think thoroughly and systematically, for learning to examine evidence and seek truth in the way which humans were made to do. I can’t imagine being happier with any other sort of education. 

Still, I can’t say I’m sorry to be done.  I’d just gotten to the point where papers seemed like burdens, where with every exam I was counting how many I had left. It’s time for me to be a college graduate, to start learning on my own timeline, reading books because I want to read them and not because my professors assigned them, and writing about topics of my choosing instead of ten pages on the history of the nuptial blessing (just did that a couple weeks ago).

I’m glad to be graduated. For all those of you who asked, and those who wondered but didn’t ask, I’ve got no job right now. I’m planning to do temp work this summer, in between all the trips we’re taking. In the fall – who knows? 

Michael’s going to DC on business this week, and I’m going down Monday through Wednesday (any DC residents who want to get together for lunch or coffee on Tuesday – email me!) and then going to Louisville, Kentucky on Thursday to see my uncle get his doctorate. I’ll be able to blog from DC, but not from Kentucky, so expect sparseness over the next week. I promise that the interview questions are still coming eventually!

Congratulations... to me

This is the first and last chance I will have to do an entry today.  I know I said I'd try to get the interview questions up today, but it's simply not possible.  I spent the morning cleaning and the afternoon at commencement rehearsal, and in less than an hour my parents and four of my siblings are coming - oh wait!  They just pulled in!  They're coming for my Baccalaureate Mass and Commencement tomorrow, and will be staying the whole weekend.  Our little house will be crowded, but it's going to be so much fun!

For those of you still waiting to be interviewed, I promise that I will get to the questions eventually.  If you'd like to be interviewed, feel free to ask - since I've given myself no time limit, I'll interview all of you sometime before the end of time.  That, I can promise.

They're inside now, so I'm going!  Next time I post, I'll be a college graduate.

Don't hate me because I'm lazy

Before the end of April, I have to write a thesis and two term papers, which amount to about forty pages. I have to admit, it’s stressing me out a little. Last night I said to Michael, “I have so much work to do; I think I’m going to have to become a full-time student.” Of course I’ve been a full-time student for ten semesters now, but I meant that I’m going to have to buckle down to my studies full-time.

Michael laughed. “Now’s the time to start working hard? In the last month of your fifth year in college? Don’t you think it’s kind of late?” But he was just teasing. He knows about my Problem, and about my Policy. And I think now, when I really should be working on my papers, is the perfect time to share those with you.

It’s fitting, really, because my Problem, if you haven’t guessed already, is Procrastination. Big-time Procrastination. Some people work better under stress, but I work only under stress. There have been times when I simply could not get started on a paper until I had a time-limit most people would consider unbearable. I never need more than an hour per page, so if the paper was due at midnight I’d start writing at 7:00, and if by 9:00 I had three pages written, I’d take an hour break. Otherwise the pressure would cool and I’d just waste time.

It sounds really, really crazy to most people who hear about it, but I know that you all are already aware of my craziness, so what have I got to lose by revealing it here? I am a world-class Procrastinator. I’ve tried to change, but I cannot. If I sit down in front of the computer two or three days before a paper is due, I’ll just stare at the screen or write the same paragraph over and over. I’ll think, “Okay, ten-pager due Friday; it’s Monday, so I’ll write two or three pages a day and be fine.” Then Thursday night I’ve got nothing written, but when I sit down with that pressure pushing me, my fingers fly over the keys. I once wrote a ten-page history term paper in five hours, which I believe is my record.

Which brings me to my Policy: Never do more work than is necessary to get an A. I don’t remember having this policy when I was in kindergarten, so I must have developed it in first grade, maybe as late as second grade. In high school I did my homework at the lunch table or in other classes. I didn’t study for tests. I did assignments as quickly, with as little effort, as possible. If I’d been unable to get As using this system, then I would obviously have changed it, but I didn’t need to, so I didn’t.

My freshman year in college I got a rude awakening from my organic chemistry class. I changed my definition of “acceptable grade” from A to B, but to get that I still needed to study, so I did. That semester, I’d spend six hours at a time in the library, buried in my textbooks. It felt kind of good, but it was definitely not the way I planned to spend the rest of my college career. In the years since then, I’ve perfected the system. I know exactly how much work I need to do to get an acceptable grade in a class. I have become an ultimately efficient machine, cranking out assignments in the least amount of time necessary, with the least amount of effort.

It sounds awful, doesn’t it? I will frankly admit that I do not consider myself a good student. I love the things I’m studying, and I learn them, but devotion to my work I do not have. Maybe it’s why I could get married so young – school was never my first priority, so I didn’t have trouble making room in my academic life for my marriage. It was always abundantly clear to me that marriage should come first.

Of course, I’m clearly not cut out for a career in academia, but I’m okay with that. Knowledge for its own sake, I love, but the work required to get those degrees is simply not something I’m prepared to do. I hear in grad school you actually have to study every day!

Tenacity is a good thing. In some cases.

I’ve been very industrious this afternoon. See?

What makes me even prouder is that I’m working so hard while sitting just a few feet from the outdoors. See?

Actually, I can’t lie to you. I haven’t been very industrious. The 77-degree breeze is torturing me. Torturing me! If I have to spend a week inside working on my thesis (entirely my fault, as I was meant to have been working on it all semester, but put it off until now), the weather could at least oblige by being nasty. It’s very hard for me, a practiced procrastinator, to resist the temptation to grab a beach towel and a novel and go lounge on the lawn. Very hard! Unnecessarily hard! But it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ll probably be whining about the bad weather. In fact, I guess I’ll be whining about everything until my thesis is finished.

Which reminds me of something I wanted to ask you about/horrify you with. Remember Goosie? The one who tried to manipulate me into babysitting for her? She’s been doing something horrifying, and with every new occurrence I think, “I should blog about that,” and then I forget. But now I’ve remembered!

Her child was born at the beginning of last September, approximately seven months ago. Since then, we have received eight pictures of the little one, all completely unsolicited. We got a birth announcement, a newborn picture with the thank-you note for bringing them dinner, a Halloween card, a Christmas card, a Valentine’s Day card, and an Easter card. Also, by email, a picture of the baby with Santa Claus and a picture of the baby with the Easter bunny.

I ask you (and your answer had better be: “Heavens, yes, absolutely!”), is this not too many pictures? After all, we are not related to the child; we are not even really close friends with her parents. Wouldn’t one or two pictures a year be plenty?

On top of which (and here I am just ranting, so feel free to stop reading now) the baby’s mother does the most absolutely horrifyingly cutesy thing ever – she writes notes as if they were written by the child. The thank-you note for dinner, which I have since unfortunately discarded, said something along the lines of “Thank you so much for bringing dinner, Mommy and Daddy really appreciated it.” Gah! Are we supposed to believe that a four-day-old child can write? Or, alternatively, dictate? Who finds these things endearing? Anyone? It’s impossible to imagine someone opening that card and saying, “Oh look, honey, the baby wrote to us. How sweet.”  Ridiculous.

I am not really upset by the situation, in large part because it is so ludicrous.  Michael and I laugh every time we get an envelope from them, because we know there will be something laughable inside.  In fact, I guess I should be grateful to Goosie for cheering me up, and for giving me something about which to say confidently, "When I am a mother, I will never do that."

Have any of you had similar experiences to mine? I’d love to hear about them! I need something to distract me from all this work. You know, the work I should be doing.  The work I will start doing again in a moment, but only because I can't find a beach towel.  I'm not about to brave lawn chairs that have sat out the entire winter.

Help!

Just after writing my last post about how I have nothing to write about, I remembered something I've been meaning to ask you all.  I get such great advice here that it would be silly not to ask you this question, which is a pretty important one.

When Michael and I got married, we agreed that when we had children, it would be a top priority for us to have me stay home with them.  At the time he was still a student, and we had no guarantees that our financial situation would be easy after he graduated, but we knew that we would make it work somehow.  After he got his job, which provides a very reasonable income for us, we relaxed in the knowledge that we would definitely be able to make it work.  I assumed that I would probably get pregnant before I even finished college, so I didn't worry about having a career.  I figured I'd go right from undergrad into career motherhood.

Obviously that has not happened.  With the passing of each semester I worried a little about what to do after college if no babies had come along, but it was easy to put off thinking about it.  Now, with graduation a month away, it has hit me.  I won't be a student anymore.  I know from experience that I can't stay home all day.  I need to find something else to do.

This is where you come in.  What should I do?  Many of you probably have experience in the job world.  What jobs have you hated, what jobs have you loved?  For what do you think I would be well suited?  I'd love to hear things like, "Elizabeth, I think you'd make a great [chef/movie star/President]," or, alternatively "I think you'd make a horrible [CPA/construction worker/President]."  Bring on the advice!

Clarification:  We can live on Michael's income alone, but I have a bunch of student loans that will come due this fall, and adding payments to our current budget would make it pretty tight - if I am able to work, it's good for me to do so.  Also, my major is theology. 

Woot!

I had three papers to write this week.  A seven-pager, a five-pager, and a three-pager, due in that order.  The seven-pager was due in class.  I finished it last night, and duly handed it in today.  The five-pager is due at midnight tonight.  I just emailed it to my professor, a whopping 45 minutes before the deadline.  In the attached message I told him, "I hope you enjoy reading this paper as much as I enjoyed writing it."  (One of my literature professors is fond of saying that you can never be too ambiguous.  Haha.  I crack myself up.)

Anyway, the last paper is a three-page essay for the freshman history course I'm taking.  I'll write it tomorrow; I always write these the day they're due anyway.  This is my fifth year of college, for heaven's sake!  I can so ace freshman history with my eyes closed.  (But only because I'm really good at touch-typing.) 

Today was a good day.  Acting class was mega-fun, and I might be turning into a good actress.  I made tuna casserole for dinner, because Michael likes it and it's so easy.  We played a game of Boggle after dinner, because why should you work on your paper when you have four pages left to write and five hours until it's due?  You have to wait until there are only four hours, so the hour-to-page ratio is 1-to-1 and the pressure kicks in.

Anyway, Boggle was fun, and tomorrow night Michael and I are going to have dinner at Panera Bread and see Garden State at the local second-run theater.  So I am excited about getting so much work done and about our date!

Oh, and I'm saying a Christmas Novena (it's actually 27 days) that my friend told me has never been known to fail.  Life is good.

Who's running for president again? John Kerry or Jim Carrey?

It's midterm week at school. During normal term-time I don't do my reading, so when tests come around, I have to cram. It's worth it, because I save a lot of time by taking good notes and not doing the reading, but it makes this week kind of tough. Thank God that Michael does the dishes, otherwise they'd be piled up and probably starting to smell by now.

I got the biggest test over with this morning. Athanasius, Augustine, and Aquinas on the Trinity. Plus, oh, Alexander and Arius (we don't like Arius, but all the other guys are great). It seems that in order to make a contribution to Trinitarian theology you must have a name that starts with A. Maybe I'll change mine to Amanda. Or Arthur. Arthur sounds like an appropriately solemn name for a theologian. Not that I have an aspiration to be a theologian, but theology is my major.

My teacher for Trinity is probably in his early thirties. I know he must be, because he has his doctorate, and four kids, but he looks about twelve. Maybe fourteen. It makes it hard to take him seriously. Plus, he does this thing with his hands, kind of wiggles them around... Oh, and last week he referred to John Kerry as Jim. We thought he was talking about Jim Carrey. He said, "I don't think Jim Carrey is qualified to be president" and we just stared at him. The word "duh" was palpably present in the room. We cleared up the misunderstanding, but I still laugh when I think about it. The guy is a genius, and obviously mentally qualified to vote, but... should he really be allowed to? I mean, if he gets John Kerry and Jim Carrey mixed up? On the other hand, maybe he just doesn't know who Jim Carrey is. That's a distinct possibility.

On yet another hand, there's this: in the fall of 2000, just weeks before the election, a poll of University of Michigan students found that only one-third of undergraduates could name both vice-presidential candidates. So I guess my professor should be allowed to vote if U of M students are.

Until my tests are over, pax.