I sat down with my tattoo artist (Hi Joy!) on Monday to touch up my arm flowers, and I realized that I made the leap from ‘a person who has a tattoo’ to a ‘tattooed person’. That’s a different thing, I think, although I can’t put my finger on exactly why. I guess because now I have a bunch? Well, three or seven, if you count by actual tattoos or count each area as one.
And then yesterday I went to this thingy… a conference thingy. And I met some very nice people who geniunely enjoy academia. I have had a good two years to become an academic, and I’ve totally failed. I mean, I haven’t failed my classes, but I have yet to embrace the lifestyle in any noticeable way. I presented my poster and then I left at the earliest possible moment. Which, now that I think of it, the academia-lovers did too…
I hate grad school. I do. I mean, I’m not sneaky about it. It’s hard, and I constantly feel judged (because people are judging me!) and I’m constantly working on things that contribute to absolutely nothing (hi, homework!), and I’m basically just over it. I graduate in six weeks, and I have been shouting it from the rooftops. (I should probably stop that before my advisor or someone hears me.)
I wonder if we chose the things that we become ‘a person’ for, or if they chose us. Could I have chosen to become an academic person?
I guess it’s too late now.