My hand is still quite sore, but at least it’s regained functionality; which means I’m typing less like a monkey.
Whether or not I’m going to be happy with the end-product of my grad school stint, I’m rather excited by the prospect of being “done.” It’s a weird sense of accomplishment that buoys me through my days, even if I don’t really get much done.
I was under the mistaken notion that the fact that I’ll soon be higher qualified than anyone else I know—master’s degrees from two different departments and a doctorate from two different programs—was the source of my cheap thrill. (Not much unlike a pissing contest, except it’s one where I’m winning.) But that’s not the case.
This comes as a shock to me, but I’ve been quite seriously contemplating abandoning not just academia, but sciences altogether, upon completion of grad school. “What else can you do?” you say? I don’t really know. I can’t do much else, but I fancy spending more time singing, seriously pursuing writing, and returning full-fledged to photography.
This was most apparent to me when I was talking to someone else and it dawned on me that I consider this entire half-decade of serious study some sort of detour in my life; a detour from what my life ought to have been.
But the wise woman I was speaking to had just one, actually two, bits of advice. “Don’t make any major decisions about your life around defence time” and “Don’t develop an attitude after going to Cambridge.”
I think I’ll heed her words and not plan any big transitions for a while. Besides, I better get to work and start packing and scrubbing, for I move tomorrow.
It’s going to be a long night.