problems with power

So I've been reading and writing; what's new? The writing. I haven't written much on my dissertation for the last eighteen months. What follows is my PhD history (from my point of view). I sped through my coursework and loved it. Literature was always my strength and it was no surprise to me when all sorts of texts opened to my glance. It was exhilarating; during my time at PU I didn't have a computer, half the time I was there I didn't even have a television. I had a one room apartment, full ashtrays, all the reading anyone could want, the drive to succeed that only the young have, and a growing telephone bill. I was broke and I loved it.

But then I moved away; I married the love of my life, moved a few hours away from the University, and tried to continue working on my own. It wasn't easy. After a while (read, a year) I finished a first draft of my prospectus. The research wasn't great, but it wasn't completely shoddy either. This draft, my advisor sent back to me with instructions to cut it in half. Yeah, C. (my advisor) gave me more comments than just to cut it down, but it didn't feel like it. I felt more like I had been deserted.

Eight months later I produced another draft. This prospectus had focus, and I still think it's an honest preview of the dissertation I'm now writing. But I never really received any feedback at all on this draft. Do you know what C. told me? Are you sure you want to write a dissertation? You could do a lot of things with your education; you don't have to teach. What the fuck. Honestly, I took it as he meant it. I drove home, flipped the thing over my shoulder, and didn't think about it for another six months. (Do you see how time flies?)

So, I'm finally writing again. Another year passed during which I filled another research notebook full of random data. I've stored some great ideas, followed lots of thoughts, and read more than I had planned. But none of these things helps one write a dissertation. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I simply must write. I'm not a Nazi about it, but I enjoy it again. Finally.

I still need to talk to C. about my project. If he's willing to help I'll have a great time finishing the damnable thing; if he won't help me I'll farm the paper out to the first graduate school that will take most of my credits and transfer, paper in hand.

Let's hope that's not how it goes.

this guy's a freakin maniac

My friend pdr sent me this link in an email. The video's of a guy that not only has great taste in music, but he's a phenomenal athlete as well. Oh, if playing with balls in front of other people isn't quite to your taste, you ought to try this link about time travel. Peace, love, and charity.

weakened from the weekend

I've got some questions that I'm mulling over, and as I'm writing to myself, I thought I should try to record them.

1. Why is my vision of the world fairly optimistic when every novel, movie, and work of art that I appreciate is actually drawn from real life (a.k.a. slit-your-wrists depressing)? I mean, I can see the value of comedy, but I still labor under the academic's stereotype that a decent novel end unhappily. I'm oversimplifying, I know. Think of it this way: if Malamud's The Natural ended like Disneyfied film version, wouldn't you feel as though the moral of the story were missing? Ok, I'm smart. I know it. I just answered my own question.
2. While working on my dissertation, when do I show and when tell? My response as a sometime composition instructor is that I should know the answer because I've examined my audience. But my advisor is my primary audience and I haven't spoken to him for at least a year...so I don't know. Of course, I'm also my own audience and I don't seem to like anything I write any more. I suppose I should go back to writing sonnets for Allison, at least then I knew who I was writing to.
3. What should I do about Guy? He was my best friend for years. We helped each other through some difficult times. Grew up. Grew apart. Kept in touch. Yada, yada. Anyway, he pulled the Fadeout. He missed my thirtieth birthday party; I never followed up either. I suppose that constitutes a double fadeout; whatever the cause though, he's been moving on with his social life in the past year and I never realized that it bothered me until I didn't get invited a party that he was throwing in the city. (Yes, I'm shallow. I've always admitted it though, so I've got that going for me...and I'll freely admit it now: I don't think I cared about losing Guy's friendship until I realized it would actually have some sort of manifestation in the real, physical world.) So; what should I do about him? I'll try to think of it more later; that's worked for the last year or so.

One of my many sisters...it runs in the family

why I've got a splitting headache this morning

It's called Guinness. I didn't even have very many, but I suppose I had enough. So I had a very strange experience last night. Some crazy old femme at the bar fell right off her stool and began shaking. I turned to Al, my better half, and immediately said, "rophinol?" It was as if she couldn't sit up. After a while the ambulance came and packed her up. She was one of the older birds who dress in the styles popular among teens. Really weird stuff...and quite the reality check.

without further ado...

I've been inactive for too long; trying to finish a dissertation in 16th century verse. I know, I know, I'm going to starve. That's ok. I really love what I'm studying and that's not something most workers can say. I'll leave a full post soon. Just wanted to start it and get going.