Monitor Me

The saucy in me, wants to fill this post with typos and grammatical errors. I will endeavor to write well.

Last night I got home from work, made myself a sandwich, sat down to my computer and checked my e-mail. "Good News," was the subject of an e-mail from my grad chair. I ignored the rest of my e-mails and opened it first. It stated, clearly and briefly, that my secondary readers felt my essay was much improved and deemed completed. Three typos had made their way into the revisions that I had made, and once they were corrected I could submit it to the powers that be and commence the great paperwork adventure of 2007.

I don't remember what I said or did. I think I smiled and hugged Kaz, who had been reading the e-mail over my shoulder. Kaz was playing WoW with several guildies, Rob included, and a few moments after I sat numbly reading and re-reading the e-mail, I asked Kaz to relay the news to Rob. My phone rang immediately and Rob congratulated me about two dozen times.

"How do you feel!?!" He said.
"Numb. Weird. Happy? I don't know. I feel kind of shocked." I don't know if there was any emotion in my voice whatsoever.
"When's your convocation?"
"Spring. I don't know if I'll know anyone who I'll be convocating with. They're all done already."
"Maybe you'll be the only one. That would be pretty cool."
"Nah, I won't be the only one. I'll be surrounded by young people I don't know."
"But, you're going to go, right?" We had talked about Rob coming up for my convocation before. It would/will be nice for him to be there for it.
"I don't know," I said, "sometimes I think I will, sometimes I think I won't. We'll see."

The conversation ended with the guildies heckling Rob to get back online, and harried instructions passed from Kaz to me to Rob regarding the boss-fight that they were going to be up against. I didn't mind that we were cut off early. I felt odd about everything. I knew I should be happy and excited to be finished this one thing, to be finished my programme, but I just felt strange.

Then, hours later, when everything had had a chance to process, I started crying. I knew it was a strange reaction. These weren't tears of joy or relief. They were big weepy tears that had no right to be there. Kaz and I talked things through, in between sniffles, and the only thing I could come up with as some sort of explanation for my confounding sadness was the following:

The project, and my masters degree have come to symbolize a lot of negative things in my life. With every struggle that I overcame, I did not see it as a triumph, I saw it as a failure for not overcoming faster, more efficiently, more professionally, more better (a phrase that I let slip in class one day). I started my degree four (?) years ago feeling confident (albeit nervous), intelligent, and excited. At the end, I feel worn and weary. I question my skills and viewpoints. I feel embarrassed by the time it took me, and the problems I had. Throw in a couple of years of depression and the (subsequent?) separation from my husband into the mix of things that happened during this degree, and there are some serious things to feel down about (that's right, I'm ending this sentence with a preposition).

When Em and I shared our office together several years ago, she had a little note to herself posted above her desk. It said, "Don't let the bastards grind you down." She keeps that saying above her desk in every office she dwells and works in. I feel ground down.

The stylist in me is signaling that it is time for a turnaround, a change in mood and tone. Not today. I'm sure given a day or two, I'll be more excited and joyful about concluding this chapter of my life, and I certainly know that this should be a happy event. Give me a little time.