The English Impatient

I'm so damn sick of being in graduate school.

Over the summer, I decided that I definitely don't want to go on to get my doctorate in English. Getting my master's degree hasn't exactly been a treat, so an additional four years of school after this would be the mental equivalent of slashing my wrists on a daily basis.

Of course, this presents the immediate problem of what to do for the next year. I have 10 more months until I successfully obtain (I hope) my MA in English Literature. The thought of just quitting crossed my mind a few times, but my overinflated ego will not permit this.

My ego is the only thing keeping me going I think. Regardless of my growing bitterness toward the English program and reading in general, I still do my best to get an "A" in each class. I really have no practical motivation. Once I get my master's degree, no one's going to care if I got a "B" in "The Transcendental Representation of 19th Century Victorian Marxist Criticism." Only my ego will be bruised, but that's enough to keep me going for now. It also helps that I really have no better options.

The fall semester started yesterday for me. Teaching actually interests me still - it amuses me. Since it was the first day of class yesterday, none of my students knew what I looked like. I also have kind of a young-ish looking face. So I stroll in very casually and take a seat right in the middle of the room. Immediately I know my ruse has worked; they completely ignore me. They actually believe that I'm one of them. So I sit there, and for awhile nothing happens. Finally, as the time approaches for class to start, one of the young ladies near me says, "Where is this guy?" and her friend says, "I don't know. Sometimes these assholes like to come in right when class starts just to screw with you." I take this opportunity to leap up and yell, "Well! Looks like somebody better get this show on the road!"

The looks on their faces made my day. Totally owned. (Is that a dated word yet?)

I assured the smartass friend that I was indeed an asshole and was screwing with them in my own little way.

After I started class, a guy comes in about five minutes late and asks me, "Is this Physics?" I say, "I hope not." He says, "Good, I'm in the right place" and sits down. I still haven't figured out this kid's logic, but to his credit, he was indeed in the right place.

Once class started, I had them tell me something about themselves that I wouldn't know by looking at them. Most of them were painfully unimaginative, but one guy says, "Despite what I look like, I'm actually a smart guy." The kid looked a little unkempt, but he didn't have a bucktoothed overbite or anything, so I said, "I don't know. What does a dumb person look like?" Without missing a beat, the kid points to the kid sitting next to him. I laughed heartily at that one. (Unfortunately they knew each other - much more hilarity would have ensued had they just met.)

So it's things like that that keep me sane. But I still have ten months to put up with my own classes (I'm taking "Introduction to Old English" and "Nineteenth Century American Literary Magazines" - doesn't that just give you mental orgasm?)

Patience is a virtue, but I've never really been a virtuous person.

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English 101 - Proving time and time again that my entertainment takes precedence over education.