Some dreams die hard...very hard

After my ex tried to kill me for the second time, I figured it was time for a change. After my boss had fucked me over for the umpteenth time, I knew it was time. I decided I wanted to become a professor. Oh, how naive I was in thinking it was just a matter of a few years in school.

As I sit in a hotel room chasing research that I am funding with my own money, I realize that I am paying a greater price than just the money pit that is graduate school. I am being changed by this process and I don't think this is a good thing. Let me explain.

I wanted to become a professor. I wanted to teach botany. I love plants. I wanted to pass on that excitement to others. I wanted to inspire in the way nature inspired me. I wanted to do research, to make some small contribution to science. I chose to go into "basic science" because at the time I started, the scientific community was saying over and over and over again that it's greatest need was for "basic"science. For systematists and taxonomists. So off I went secure in the idea that there would be plenty of funding and plenty of job opportunities awaiting me when I got out. If you think about it, I was doing a sort of civic duty for the scientific community.

After visiting a number of universities and getting a feel for their programs and approach, I picked this one. My criteria for selection was based primarily on a reputation for good science and an atmosphere that seemed low key and low stress. I'm too old to give a shit about competiting with my fellow graduate students. Hell, I'm older than most of the faculty. Some programs seemed intent on having students live in fear. I don't know how to explain this except to say that I've survived two attempts on my life. Professors can't scare me.

And then, I got to graduate school. And basic science fell out of favor. Like overnight. Everything is all global warming. No one cares about basic science. Funding dried up faster than my sex life. Not even top researchers in our department are able to get funding in systematics. My advisor told me, point blank, that mine was the last project she was taking on involving systematics.

Excuse me while I feel left out to dry.

I have written more than 20 grants in support of my research. The only funding I have received was a merit-based fellowship that came at the end of my fourth year. From the sounds of it, my department chair doesn't want me to be able to take full advantage of the two years of the fellowship because that will make me a 6th year graduate student. He wants me to graduate at the end of the fifth year. Despite the fact that this is the first funding I've had to do my project. The stress of all of this is crushing me. So, for now, I'm paying for my own research. I'm out in the field driving around looking for my plants with my own money. And it's not going well. It's time consuming, frustrating, and expensive. And it's all borrowed money. Money borrowed on the promise of a Ph.D. that is feeling more and more improbable, and a job that may or may not exist for me when I get out.

And this on top of being made to feel as though I don't measure up because my project has failed to garner funding. Every single day I enter my building, I feel a weight settle in on me. A big boulder I carry through my day that reminds me I am failing. That I'm not doing enough. I'm not good enough. I'm not a real researcher. Half the time, I wonder if professors pass me in the hall and think to themselves, "well, she didn't turn out as promising as we thought." There are days I dread waking up in the morning.

Sometimes, I wonder if my lack of "fear" of faculty makes it worse on me. I think some professors confuse respect with deference. Failure to fear the all powerful Oz equals a lack of respect to some.

I now have crushing educational debt. If I don't get the Ph.D., I fear that I won't be able to find a job that will allow me to pay off that debt. So I can't walk away. But with each passing day, I have less faith that it will happen. When I think about my committee, I don't think about a group of people working to help me. I see a very large obstacle standing between me and my dream. I thought a committee was a group of people helping to train you to a profession. I'm afraid to say anything to anyone about my concerns for fear that, if I do, they will actively work against me. That a PhD won't come at any cost. Graduate school is the only place I have ever encountered where you have no friends, no allies, no help, no hope, and no promise that anything, ever, will get any better. There seems to be a promise that all things will, in fact, get worse. Things happen TO you. You have no recourse. You just have to take it. Perhaps, it is some combination of people and circumstances and my own mental health that has brought me to this point. This point of hopelessness. This point of having no idea what to do next.

I see now why so few single people survive this process. It takes a team to prop up the one running the gauntlet.

I can't believe that this is what it takes to be a college professor. I can't believe this is the process. All I wanted to do was inspire some kids. Make some small contribution to a field that I loved. The job requires a Ph.D. The people who hold those keys don't seem inclined to help me anymore. I'm not really sure what happened, but I don't think it's all me. I don't think I deserve, or any graduate student deserves, the life-sucking, spirit-crushing process that is graduate school. I don't think I'll ever get beyond this. I don't think I have the ability to take on a student and put them through this process as well.

I want the person I was back. I don't like this person I've become.

New Year's Resolutions

Ok, now is the time that we turn our thoughts to new beginnings. New year. New administration. New me. Let's see how we did on last year's resolutions.

December 31st, 2007

OK, here we go. With the best of intentions, I make up this list every year. As with all things, I tend to do better at the beginning than at the end.

1. Workout regularly.
2. Make time to go to Chicago or anywhere else I'd like.
3. Get some funding for my research.
4. Publish, or at least prepare a paper for publication.
5. Learn to make a really great home cooked pizza (cheese optional!)
6. Get out there and meet someone special.
7. Exercise the dogs more.
8. Try at least one new recipe a month.
9. Go out more often, especially to the movies.
10. Finish all existing house projects before starting any new ones! Yes, that means installing the bathroom ceiling fan.

Results:

1. Failed.
2. Didn't make it to Chicago. Did make it out west for research on Liz and Liv's Kick Ass Wild West Adventure despite failing at #3. I went to my mother's for Christmas. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but travel-wise I guess not too shabby for the year.
   
3. Failed spectacularly despite numerous and persistent effort.
   
4. Failed, primarily due to #3 above.
5. Succeeded. For those interested in learning to make pizza, I recommend going here, following the directions carefully, and then when you have perfected crust, you go here and make the salad dressing. Then use the salad dressing as your pizza sauce and add cooked chicken, onions, green peppers and a spattering of mozzarella cheese. Don't overdo the cheese. Bake and enjoy. I call it my Curried Chicken, Onion, and Pepper Pizza. You can call it The Pizza That Daktari Won't Share.
   
6. Succeeded. Possibly. Don't know yet, but trying anyway. Have to say, a little disappointed he has to work on New Year's Eve night, but...hey! At least the man has a job.
   
7. Failed. Although, that may more to do with Nevada getting old than anything else. We're picking up at the end of the year.
   
8. Probably did. Only have details from January and February. If you want a kick ass raspberry-lime sorbet (January), see me. If you want a kick-ass chocolate chili ice cream (December), see me. Weird that I tend to make cold desserts in the winter months. I've already told you where to get great homemade pizza. Interestingly enough, I didn't learn to bake bread this year, nor did I bake as many cakes as I usually do.
   
9. Success. I went on one date. I went to the Cellar many times with school mates. Bek and I went out to eat a lot. Probably too much. I went to see a lot of movies, maybe not once a month, but I do think I went about six times, which is plenty more than I went the year before. I remember seeing Wall-E with Bek and Matt. I saw The Dark Knight with Liv. I just saw Seven Pounds with my mother and sister. I saw No Country for Old Men, but honestly, I think I saw that and Charlie Wilson's War in 2007. I saw Iron Man and Quantum of Solace, my first Bond movie since 1979's Moonraker. I saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I rented a lot of Netflix movies, too. Not bad for a chick who doesn't watch TV. I was hampered by the lack of interesting films, and movies I was interested in seeing didn't always come to C-dale.
   
10. Sorta finished. I finished the pantry project, but the ceiling fan still isn't on the bathroom ceiling. Lucky for me, it has now been integrated into the "new" bathroom project and shouldn't go up until all the other work has been completed. Like the new bathroom ceiling. Ouch.

So I'm 5.5 or a squishy 6/10. Let's say 50% success rate. Sure, I had other successes that didn't make the list. For instance, In October of 2007, I vowed not to purchase any more shampoo or conditioner until I had used every last bottle I had in my house. (I would conservatively estimate that when I made that resolution, I had about 14 unopened bottles in my bathroom.) I am on the next to last bottle of conditioner now and I had to purchase shampoo (for the first time in 14 months) in November. Chalk one up for discipline. I also sold unworn socks in my garage sale and limited myself to my "best" 30 pairs.

But back to the resolutions I actually made. Unfortunately, two of those have to do with food and not in a good way. So I'm a little leery about making any resolutions for 2008. But I'm daring if nothing else, so here goes.

1. Make significant and meaningful progress toward finishing my phylogeny and my breeding system studies.
2. Finish the shower stall installation, complete with new drywall, ceiling, tile work and ceiling fan.
3. Paint the front porch.
4. Get to Chicago for fun and adventure. Anyone want to join me?
5. Get in shape to climb a mountain. Then climb it.
6. Limit eating out to twice a month for lunch, and once a month for dinner. Oh wait a minute, does Dollar Pitcher Wednesdays at Quatros count? Sheesh. I see my first fail for the new year.
   
7. Clean out the backlog in my freezer.
8. Take Jake hiking at least once every two weeks.
9. Enjoy sightseeing close to home and a weekend trip now and again with friends. I'm thinking Nashville, Chicago, Memphis, Louisville, Kansas City, New Orleans, etc.
10. Make new friends. Quit being a hermit and get out and expand my circle, meet new people and cultivate new friendships.

There are things I'd like to do this year, but think it would be challenging, shall we say, to put on this list. Like a new front entry to the house. (With Nevada gone, no real reason to keep the wheelchair ramps around.) Presently, it is sitting on broken moorings--the victim of two drunk people running into it. A deck on the back. Some little thing where I could have a table and chairs and my little bbq. Someplace nice to have friends over. You know. A lovely new flower garden plot. Ok, that will happen for sure, so no need to put it on the list anyway.

Let's hear yours.

I know a little about love

Tonight, I want to talk about love. You might not think it to talk to me, hell, you might not think it even if you knew me well, but I miss being in love. For all my bitching about marriage and the utter and absolute failure that mine turned out to be, being in love is...wonderful.

And the fact of the matter is love isn't hard, relationships are. I am the first to admit that half of the problem in my marriage was me, but there seems to be something larger going on here. When it comes to love, my siblings and I suffer from poor mate selection. Three of us are divorced, the fourth getting divorced after having stayed together just for the kids. (Trust me. The kids would have been better off if those two had gotten away from each other years ago.) One brother married a mental ward nurse who stole psychotropic drugs from her patients. My sister married a philandering counterfeiter. I married a pot-smoking, chronically unemployed man whose life ambition seemed to be getting on disability/unemployment without cause. My other brother married what I can only term as the biggest bitch on Earth, and I mean that in a respectful way, because she really had an aptitude for it. Although I have spent hour upon hour reflecting on this matter, I still have no explanation for this universal failure in my family. My parents seemed to have an incredibly life-affirming, strong, healthy, meaningful, and loving relationship. I'd have given anything to have met a man like my father. My sister and I joke that our man-pickers are broken.

The problem with marrying poorly is that you don't rebound like you did from the girlfriend-boyfriend relationships. It took me a full two years post-divorce before I could even think about dating again. But in that down-time, I did a lot of soul-searching and I learned a lot about myself, my desires, my sexual triggers, what I find attractive and what I do not. I don't know if it was the severity of the breakup that caused the intense reflection. When someone tries to kill you, isn't that natural? In any event, I've come to understand my faults, identify my idiosyncrasies, and also to know my own strengths and how I can use them to benefit a relationship. I have worked to tone down the more distasteful parts of my personality. Dare I say that I almost think I might have something valuable to offer someone in a relationship? I think I've achieved some measure of emotional maturity.

At the same time, my tastes have changed. I don't need a bad boy. I know what I find desirable and attractive and for once I can honestly say that if I find him, I doubt he will try to kill me this time. So here I am at 45 thinking maybe, just maybe, I'm ready to try again. So I put on my suit and dared anyone to say something about the way I look in it and I'm ready to dive in.

Unfortunately, someone drained the dating pool.

While small-town America was as good a place as any for undergoing this transformation, it isn't a great place to crawl out of your chrysalis. I've got these boss new wings and no one to flash them in front of. I have isolated myself in the middle of nowhere, over-educated myself, developed some pretty strong opinions, learned to stand on my own two feet, and realized that I don't NEED a man for anything. While that may be very empowering for me, it doesn't exactly put me high on the dating list for the pool of single 30- to 53-year olds in Poontwang, USA.

I'm reminded of those empty-nesters who say that now that they've learned all the lessons and gotten the kids out of the house, they finally feel prepared to raise a child. All that wealth of knowledge just...what? Wasted?

I try to be patient. I try to get out there, wherever there is. I've done the online dating thing. I've been willing to go on blind dates or be set up by friends. I seldom pass up an opportunity to meet new people, to mingle, to try. Nothing has been terribly successful. In the past 8 years, I haven't met one man truly interested in a serious, meaningful relationship. I've met an awfully lot of overgrown boys interested in recreating scenes from their favorite pornos. And ya know, I'm better than that. I just think that there is more to life than random sex or sex-buddies. I don't understand them....the players. They are just satisfied with the nothingness of meaningless sex. They don't even seem to be interested in love. I'm just left with the feeling that I could have done a better job myself, and I wouldn't have had to change the sheets. Love is such a wonderful feeling. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever in love at all. After a while, you being to doubt things.

There was a man once that I am sure I loved. I was young. He was forbidden. It was over really before it even started. It will be the greatest regret of my life if that small taste was all I ever get.

And if you wonder what prompted this, I'll tell ya. Take a look at this. I know at first it might not make sense, but it is relevant. He makes a statement about mid-way through this. Right about the point that he starts to get serious. He says, "I am an expert on my own story."

It's an excellent point. We are all experts on our own story. A little self-analysis, a little introspection, even if we don't find the ultimate answer, is seldom a bad thing. If it weren't for self-introspection, I'd still be drunk dialing old boyfriends. And usually our behavior and our outlook are more important than our achievements and whatever glory and reward we seek. Whatever I have learned about love....whatever I have learned about being a good person in this world....I have learned from examining my own story and making sure it was leading down the road I wanted. Making adjustments, constant vigilance. And we don't have to be embarrassed about sharing these things. Craig Ferguson can do it on national television. I can do it in a blog. I had a professor give an extremely moving life lesson to a classroom that expected a lecture on Hamlet. We needn't hide behind some veil that makes us pretend not to be human. We fuck up. We learn from it. We move forward.

I did a terrible disservice to a man when I agreed to marry him. I should have known better. Now I do. I want to love again. There, I said it. And I feel better for it.