Pass the Pie and my Dignity

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I usually like the whole thing, what with the delicious pumpkin pie and all, but this year I'm just not feeling it. On Wednesday night, I went to the bar, and it seemed like everyone that I went to high school with was there. I hadn't seen most of these people since high school. This was not good news because I didn't really get along with many people in my high school. Truth be told, I was kind of an asshole back in high school (he reflects as though this is no longer true). I was usually in my own little world, didn't talk to people outside of the band, and gave way too much attention to my schoolwork. I got better in my senior year, but through most of high school, I wasn't really all that popular.

Well, my friends knew a lot of people in high school, so in this little reunion, I got to meet all kinds of people that I hadn't talked to much since high school. Talk about some awkward conversations. Most conversations with me started with some variation of, "So what are you doing now?" or "How's grad school coming along?"

This question comes up a lot lately. I usually have two options. I can either lie and say, "Grad school's going great! It's a lot of fun, and really feel that I made the right decision there." This leads me to feeling like a tool. I'm also not very convincing when telling said lie. It usually results in me either laughing hysterically or wailing in extreme emotional anguish.

The other alternative is to tell the truth and say, "Yes I'm in grad school, and I hate it more than the old Jew down the street hates his German furnace repairman." The regretful inquisitor then dutifully asks, "So what are you going to do when you're done then?" And I'll say, "I have no idea. My future looks bleak. I'll probably end up in a tech writing job or something." The person will then make an excuse about having explosive diarrhea and quickly leave.

Needless to say, I drank heavily and loudly made fun of others in order to compensate.

I hate talking about myself when I come home. I just don't have anything good to say about what I'm doing with my life right now other than that I'll be finished with it in 5 months. (Grad school, not my life. Don't put me on suicide watch here. I'm far too allergic to pain.) Add into that the 15 or 20 pounds that I've gained again since being in grad school. You can also factor in my ongoing status as a pathetic single man because all I'd have to talk about on a date is grad school (not good conversation). I'm not really a happy camper. The only people who can truly understand the misery of being an English grad student are other English grad students. It's not that there's all that much work - truth be told I slack off quite a bit. The real problem is the guilt. There's no way to have free time without sacrificing something that you should be doing.

Take tomorrow for instance. I should have a fun time between playing football (albeit in the ball-numbing cold) and probably heading out with my friends later in the night. But while I'm doing that, my mountain of grading, my Beowulf translation, and my Old English project are all waiting for me in my room. Even as I'm having fun, I'll be thinking that it's just less time over the weekend to cram in all that shit. It's a horrible existence.

People who read my blog are generally divided into two camps: my fellow miserable WVU grad student colleagues and my fellow redneck Kittanning posse (though I think I have a few stragglers from other locales - I'm looking at you, The Shit). To those in the grad student group, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about. To those in the Kittanning group, try me again in about nine or ten months. Maybe by then I'll actually be worth talking to.

-----------------------------
This self-involved personal reflection was brought to you by the WVU English Department - spoiling your holidays and dignity since man first put pen to paper.