I've been in a crazy, dazed mood the last couple days. I think I hit my grad school climax and have been speedily coming down. Guess what I did last weekend. I watched hockey. And football. I drank beer. And wine. I fraternized with TAs, I held babies, I saw Panko's puppy (super, super cute). On a whim I called Boston University to ask questions about their phD program. Even when they basically told me I was sorely unqualified to come to their school (something about needing to be fluent in German, French, and Latin) and even after their nearly scoffed at the suggestion of getting in as early as next year, I could not be brought down from my little happy cloud. As a stared into a sea of purple portfolios, knowing that I would have to spend hours reading terrible comp memoirs about prom and cheerleading tryouts, my positive attitude could still not be defeated.

I'm not sure what happened to make me so indifferent at this point. Perhaps I have used up my alloted stress for the year. Maybe it's knowing that I presented my students with group projects that I don't have to explain in lengthy lectures that they ignore anyway in favor of checking sports scores and playing spider solitaire (can't say I blame them). Yep, two weeks and no lesson plans and somehow everything works out beautifully. Maybe I've just given up on the idea that I could be perfect. Maybe it was when I came to the realization that no matter how much time and effort I put into my papers for Donna, I will still not get an A. So why bother?

A final huge realization I came to was that I'm not cut out to be a lit. person. First of all, I am far too cool for that. Clearly I should have been creative writing. Not that I'm any better at that, but it would certainly be less boring...and less stupid paper writing. No, I don't see myself conducting intensive literature studies and writing literary analyses for the rest of my life. Really, the only reason I started in the MA lit program was so I could switch to the editing and publishing MA that was supposed to be put into place. Ach.

So, even though I've come to the realization that the last two years of my life is leading to absolutely nothing (except incredible debt!!) I can't be brought down. Maybe it's the fact that I finally bought that treadmill I'd been thinking about for months. And I've actually been using it. Maybe it's knowing that I only have 2 weeks left before break. Whatever it is, I'm loving it and trying to figure out how to bottle it and save it until the next time I realize how much my life sucks.