In which I ponder what the hell possessed me to go to grad school!

I just broke every blogger rule by having a headline that large. Anyway, I'm having a challenging week in the world of part-time academia. In fact, I finally had the breakdown I want to have every single semester about this time. I tell this not to rehash, but for any other grad student who is pondering this very question on this very cold evening when she could be out boozing and gallivanting with friends like a normal person. After a girlfriend called Groom to go out and play, I broke down into gigantic Woe (with a capital W) is me tears, and I may or may not have curled up in the fetal position at the very idea of having to spend yet another day locked in my apartment writing the gibberish that passes for graduate school educational exercises. Anyway, during this moment of absolute lack of self confidence I started to wonder what it all means - what is the purpose of my degree, why do I need to know this elitist nonsense, and what is this going to do for me apart from burying me in debt once I graduate.

So Groom left to go hang out with my friends (I still have boundary issues with his return..I'll get better), I did what anyone in my situation would do. I went to the liquor store. Oh, and I bought coffee and mac n cheese for tomorrow. Refurbished with a bottle of red, I put on my iPod, and didn't realize it was playing in alphabetical order. This isn't as terrible as it sounds because between Amy Winehouse and Ani diFranco, I pulled it together enough to open said bottle of wine and also to start writing my thesis proposal (take 4). Now that I've made it to Big Head Todd, I'm actually getting excited about my topic. Sure, I'm using a pretentious research method to guide my work, and I'm going to have to dig through more articles tomorrow to come up with a proper literature review, but all of this got better the minute I remembered...wait for it...double spacing!! The 15 pages I thought I had to struggle over has been cut down to about 7, which seems so much less daunting.

So now I sit, jamming to Sister Sweetly (don't judge - you're reading a blog at midnight on a Friday), outlining a project I am getting excited to work on for the next year. One year from now, I'll be a graduate, and my silly fetal position temper tantrum will seem ridiculous - until I open my first pay-up notice from student loans.