So I'm currently in the throws of a mini-flare of my Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was diagnosed with RA when I was 15, and for the most part I'm fine and fully functioning. But every once and a while it rears its ugly head and I'm left puffy and sore with limited mobility and pain that makes me crave morphine. That's where I am now. I've spent the last few nights lying in bed, unable to go to sleep, contemplating how valuable my legs are really. Couldn't I just saw them off? Wouldn't that be better? Unfortunately, my husband insists that legs are important, so I've been finding other methods of coping with the pain.
My main coping strategy? Knitting EVERYTHING. I am craving wool and needles like they are a life-saving drug. I dream about socks and sweaters. I fantasize about new yarn. I try to sneak my projects into conversation and have been thinking if there are ways I can work and knit at the same time (so far, that's a no). It's become an obsession, but it's helping me not to focus on the pain in my joints and instead focus on something productive, soft, fluffy, and beautiful. It's a great distraction and a much cheaper pain killer than most.
Right now the focus of my knitting energy is a pair of socks and some mitts for my sister. The socks are a pattern of my own (improvised broken rib) with a sock heel I helped to test knit back when I was still in college. I just finished the heels last night and I really loved the method. I
will say, I think I need to have my husband re-trace my foot. The method
asks you to try your socks on over a cardboard cut-out foot and knit
till a mark that indicates your heel hinge. I did that. But these are a
smidge on the long side. I also think I would decrease the depth of the heel (a little more than 1/3 of the heel stitches left unworked), but that is definitely a personal fit problem. Overall, if you're a knitter, I recommend the Fish Lips Kiss Heel pattern. Be aware that it is densely written (one of the less clear patterns I've used), but the method is easy to memorize and works really well. It's worth wading through the text. As for my own socks, I'm hoping to have them finished by the end of the week.
I'm also fervently working on some mitts for my sister in Dream in Color Classy in the colorway Peacock Shadow. For the most part they are going well. Relatively simple, big needles (for when the RA reaches my fingers), great stitch definition. The only problem I'm having is with the color. No, it's not the light. The right one is that much darker. It has a lot more of the black variegation in it than the left mitt. I'm knitting two-at-a-time from both ends of the ball and apparently one end is much darker than the other. I'm going to keep going. It doesn't bother me that much. And if it bothers my sister, I'll just keep them for myself! :)
And of course, even though I have two perfectly satisfying and lovely patterns on the go with nice yarn and a good amount of detail, I'm still lusting after other projects. I have a sweater's worth of Knit Picks Wool of the Andes that is dying to be made into an Effervescence Cardigan (aren't those "bubbles" FANTASTIC!?), some Gloss fingering that wants to be a Traveling Woman Shawl. And some Stroll Tweed that is destined for some Escalator Socks for my husband. Can you tell I got some Knit Picks gift cards for Christmas?
Still despite this desire to knit all the things, I'm forcing myself to hold back until at least one of my other projects is finished. Right now I''m obsessed with all of these patterns. But I suspect this has a lot to do with my pain levels. When my hips and knees stop working, I want knitting to keep me busy. And I have to hope that this flare is on the downward slope. So I'm waiting on these dream knits for better days when they aren't motivated by Vicodin and inflammation. In the meantime, I'll be on the couch finishing some socks.
In May, I will finish my Master's degree in English Literature and get ready to start my PhD in the fall. It has been quite the experience to say the least. Don't get me wrong, in general I'm very glad I'm doing this. I feel blessed to have such great opportunities, I generally like my classes, I like teaching (and the steady paycheck)...but grad school isn't always a sunny place. In fact, sometimes grad school is a dungeon packed with over-educated vampire bats who want to suck your blood out through your eyeballs and call is "deconstructionism." And sometimes the lessons you learn in that dungeon are less "To thine own self be true" and more "Run. Just run." And since I've never been one for romanticizing reality, here are 10 valuable lessons I've learned in grad school thus far...
1. Better education does not equal better person.
This shouldn't be something I have to explain, but it's such a rampant assumption among a lot of the people I have met. Even if no one says it out loud, there is often this feeling that we all think we're better than our less educated family members or the staff at our universities. Somehow, we've all been taught that having an MA or a PhD makes us better people, more worthy of attention. Truth is that often it is just the opposite. I've watched departments fall apart when the less educated secretary had to leave. It became painfully clear how little the "academics" really knew when the secretary wasn't there to take care of the practical side of things. Academics are good at some things, but that doesn't make them the best at everything.
2. Everyone is hiding a knowledge gap.
Professionally speaking, I'm a modernist. At least that's what I put on my PhD applications. And there are certain assumptions that go with being a modernist. You're supposed to idolize Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot. You should be able to quote "The Wasteland" in everyday conversation. You should have read enough stream of consciousness that your dreams are starting to sound like an episode in Ulysses. Given these facts, it is hardly surprising how insecure I am about my own knowledge gaps and how hard I try to cover them up from everyone around me. For example, I have never finished anything by Virginia Woolf. Nothing. Not a single novel. Don't get me wrong. I can talk about Mrs. Dalloway in conversations and fake my way through seminar discussions, but the truth is that it is a major hole in my expected knowledge. This deficiency has freaked me out since my undergrad, but recently when studying for my MA exam, I discovered that most of my colleagues have similar holes (like the Americanist who has never read Huckleberry Finn). Truth is, everyone has knowledge gaps that they are hiding. No one has read everything they talk about.
3. The jerks don't go away; they just get smarter.
I have never been popular, and frankly grad school has been no different. But somehow that isn't what I expected. In my mind, grad school was a placed where enlightened people went to discuss literature with like-minded souls over tea and cookies. They were all well-behaved, polite, friendly people with great taste in books. In truth, grad students are just like everyday people. Flawed. Ignorant. And frequently cruel. I've watched colleagues verbally attack each other (passive aggressively of course) about their accomplishments. I've watched people say horribly racist, sexist, and prejudiced things all in the name of a "joke." I've watched people gossip and throw each under the bus in staff meetings and get-togethers to improve their own sense of self-worth. The only difference between the jerks you know in grad school and the ones you knew in high school is that the ones in grad school can insult you and quote Derrida in the same sentence.
4. Coffee is god-like, but is not in fact a substitute for sleep.
This is perhaps the saddest lesson thus far. I am a night owl. But I often teach in the morning. Unfortunately, It turns out that staying up till 3 AM and getting up at 6 AM do not mix well. I'm embarrassed how long it took for me to learn this, and I blame my slowness on coffee. For weeks, I was convinced I could make it through my weird sleep schedule and 8 AM class by overdosing on caffeine. In the end, I was just a caffeine addict, strung out on espresso, who couldn't keep her eyes open during lectures. Thanks to that semester, I have a caffeine tolerance that scares even me.
5. Grad school is a job. Anyone who says otherwise has never tried it.
As part of my financial aid, I teach freshman English classes for my university. I then take a full load of classes for my own degree that are usually heavy on reading and research in addition to the in-class time. I hold office hours and do all my own grading, lesson planning, and curriculum development. I am generally expected to attend conferences, speakers, discussions, and meetings. And then I work a second job on the side that I do full time during the summers when I'm not teaching classes. My work week far exceeds 40 hours and there is not a single day that I can remember that I didn't take work home from both teaching and my own classes. Yes, I get that "normal" jobs are hard too. But that doesn't make what I do any less difficult. And trust me when I say I don't get paid very well for it.
6. Everyone feels guilty for doing perfectly normal, unacademic things.
I just got back from spring break and a 5 day trip to visit my in-laws and my family. Upon returning, I found myself buried in work that naturally didn't get done when I was surrounded with people who love me and don't see me often at all. In the days following spring break, I kicked myself for not simply holing up in a bomb shelter for all of break and furiously working on all of my coursework. I resented my in-laws for insisting on taking my husband and I out to dinner. I cursed the new yarn I bought (and knit) on our trip in Minnesota. I was annoyed that I had "wasted" so much time driving to and watching my little sister's junior recital and having dinner with my parents and grandparents. In essence, I felt guilty for seeing my family and for taking a few days to leave academia. Guilty enough to shame myself into 4 hours of sleep a night until I finished all of my work. This shouldn't have surprised me, really. I have have felt similar guilt over spending my fall break last year getting married; wasting several hours a week doing pointless activities like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming; and taking precious research time out of my weekend to watch an episode of Doctor Who with my husband. Honestly, how dare I call myself a graduate student with these kinds of priorities?
7. Everything you ever did or said as an undergrad was idiotic.
When walking around campus, I find myself surrounded by herds of bubbly, carefree undergrads bustling to their quaint classes with perfectly manicured nails, stylish recently-purchased outfits, and expensive headphones. As a few of these same undergrads gather in my classroom before I teach, I listen to conversations about their "insane" amount of homework and their elaborate weekend plans. I resent them. No. Worse. I envy them. Now rationally I know that being and undergrad is no picnic. It is work and often a lot of it. Often they are just as sleep deprived as I am and have no better sense of financial stability than I do. And, even if they do, I chose to come to grad school, deprive myself of sleep and sanity, and spend my time working as an underpaid TA. Nonetheless, as I watch undergrads mill around the campus, as I respond to emails asking if there is an "alternative assignment" that is less work, as I overhear conversations complaining about pop quizzes scheduled the day after St. Patrick's Day, I can't help but wonder was I really that bad? The answer is yes. And probably worse.
8. Non-academic friends and family will never understand what you do. And eventually you will stop trying to explain it.
I love my family. They are remarkably supportive, loving, and kind people. They are not, however, academics. Honestly, it's one of their better qualities. It is fantastic to spend holidays with people who have no idea who Lacan is and can't spell hegemony let alone explain it in terms of post-colonial fiction. Nonetheless, my family wants to know what I do. When I'm stressing about the Master's Exam and filling out PhD applications, they ask questions about what the test is on and how universities choose who to accept (one well-meaning relative asked me why the University of Minnesota rejected me. Wish I knew, buddy. Wish I knew). At first I tried to answer those questions in detail, to help them to understand and have a better sense of my work. But eventually, I realized that the specifics didn't matter and trying to explain cultural theory and the myth of nationalism was not worth the effort when I could just say, "I want to study the World Wars." Sure, it's not the same thing. Not even close. But it makes sense. It doesn't create more questions than it answers. And it isn't a complete lie. I'd say that's a win.
9. Spring break is a lie. So is "summer."
Some of my undergrad friends lament about missing summer vacation and spring break. They have told me how nice it must be to still have summers off. I usually smile and nod, pretending that I don't want to drop the Norton Anthology of Literary Criticism on their heads. The truth is grad school doesn't have breaks. As I've noted, I teach during the school year as payment for my tuition bill. I also take classes. This means that when breaks come along, I not only have my own work to complete (which inevitably, I will have fallen behind on in the weeks leading up to break), but I will also need to grade and lesson plan for the courses I teach. As for summer, as a Master's student, I was expected to take courses all summer to complete my degree. Most of the PhD canidates I know spend their summers researching, writing papers for conferences, drafting, attending PhD bootcamps (the prospect alone terrifies me), and taking courses as well. Summer is not a time for relaxing. It is a time to be a student. And conveniently, the stipend I recieve for teaching during the school year does not apply during the summer months. So I am taking classes, reading, and researching while working 40 hours a week at a retail job. Last summer my "days off" were the days that I only had to go to school and not pull double duty between class and work. I'd like to know where all of those "summers" I was supposed to have off went to. I'd like to cash in on a few, please.
10. "Reading for fun"is a pipe dream.
I study literature, so you would assume that I spend a lot of time reading. And I do. A LOT of time. But I rarely get to read something for myself. My Goodreads shelve are populated with anthologies of literature, of classic novels that never crossed my mind before graduate school, and of my course syllabi. I have mountains of "fun" books in my apartment that I haven't touched in at least 4 years, since I've been spending all of my time reading for classes and filling in my knowledge gaps before people find them. If a book was written in the last 20 years, odds are I've never heard of it, but I can quote poetry from the 1850s like it's going out of style. Indeed one of the great ironies of studying literature is that it prevents you from just reading. I know graduate students who fantasize about leaving academia and spending months and months reading trashy novels for sheer pleasure. I have no such delusions of grandeur. I've accepted that the time for fun reading is over. This is work.
Again, don't let my cynicism fool you. I love what I do. I appreciate the opportunities I have been given. Most days I even like graduate school. But I'm also a realist. It isn't an easy life of sunshine and daisies. And sometimes vocalizing how much a lot of it sucks can help you to better appreciate the parts that don't. So here's to learning hard lessons.
Saturdays are the most devious days in my life. They always come upon me with the illusion of productivity. 24 hours to do everything that needs to get done. Time to sleep in, do homework, clean the apartment, bake cookies, knit a sweater, cook dinner, and still have time at the end to watch a movie with the husband. It's an idealized reality that I dream of all week. It gets me through Mondays when I have a whole week of work ahead. It gets me through Wednesdays when lesson planning, grading, and my own research are racing towards their Friday deadlines.
But come Saturday morning (okay, let's be honest...afternoon) when I manage to roll out of bed, I have to remind myself that I am not the person I dream of being on Mondays. I don't have any desire to get anything done on Saturday. After all, Sundays are for productivity, right? Everything can get done on Sunday. Clearly Sunday will actually have 24 hours in which I can work (reminder: Sunday is the idealized reality I dream about on Saturday. It is also a lie). This is what I think about at 3 in the afternoon when I am still in my pajamas, the dishes are still "drying" on the counter (like they have been since Wednesday), and my homework and grading have yet to be touched. Sunday. On Sunday, everything will get done.
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The work that has to get done today. Three articles on "Cyclops" (one of the trippier episodes in James Joyce's Ulysses) and at least one more cable repeat on my sister's Twisted Twilight Mitts. But let's be real here. I'm totally watching Harry Potter and pretending that there are still 12 productive hours left in today.
