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Love grad school, love grad school . . . just gotta keep repeating that
By Lizzy Scully
My first semester as a graduate student at the communications department at USU . . . Sept. 1. I remember that day like I remember my first bite of refreshing coffee-Heath-bar crunch Ben & Jerry's. I was full of creative excitement and energy. A beautiful, sunny day for me to begin my graduate career at Utah State University. I was proud to be an Aggie, to be under Utah's blue skys. Excited to be near the mountains, I was going to learn to be a writer in my very own office. I felt special, lucky. Little did I know that an Aggie was a cow! How did I, vegetarian, anti-beef advocate, end up at a university that has a cow as a mascot? My office is another thing. It's nice and I have a terrific view of the mountains from my little office but, that is all I have. Do I ever get into the mountains? Never. Sometimes I manage to drag one of my fellow graduate students or a stray professor onto the quad to play Frisbee for half an hour. Most of the time I sit in front of my slow-as-a-snail computer, only looking at the mountains while I'm waiting 10 minutes for my computer to boot up. I do enjoy the writing and learning. My professors are inspirational, even if I don't always understand what the hell they are talking about. And the writing is great -- oh yeah I already said that. The writing is great, the writing is great. . . . I have been in my office writing/typing non-stop since last Monday, and that was 10 days ago. The writing is great, the writing is great, I love to write. . . . Oops, my brain was on pause for a minute. That sometimes happens over finals. I have never experienced a finals quite like graduate school finals. I am writing every day, the writing is great. My eyes are burning from staring at this damn computer. Throughout the day I notice that the red, spider lines are growing longer and longer in my eyeballs, they soon will extend across my face. My brain, full of information, full of information, keeps fading out at key moments, as if it's running out of batteries. Often while talking to friends I can't even form simple sentences, and my professors expect me to write research questions and answer them! And do I feel special anymore? Hah. Special, my ass. I am the lowest of the low, a peon, a crushed cockroach. Graduate students are one step above undergraduates, but that's not saying a whole lot. Graduate school is like bobbing for inflatable apples, when you finally gleefully, sink your teeth into one of them, expecting a juicy reward, they pop in your face . . . and you're left soaking wet. And they say this is my easiest semester!
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Archived Months:
September
1998 |
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