Day 4

When missionaries abroad come back to the States for furlough, or whatever, they are prepared. It's called debrief. They are taught to remember that the home they are returning to is the same, and will bring shock because the individual has changed quite drastically.

Mothers are prepared for a little something called postpartum depression. The anticipation of a child, prepping the room, prepping your heart, etc... Then you bring home the bundle of joy and it cries. It needs you. You are objectified by a thing that cannot speak nor can it talk. And you don't want to feed it. You don't want to nourish your own body, etc...

So here's my question: why doesn't anyone tell you about post-graduation blues? It's a real thing. And it sucks.

I've applied to two jobs this week. I made it out of the house to visit one friend. I went shopping. And I've thought about getting another tattoo. I make breakfast, but refuse to do the dishes. I take the dog (housesitting) on walks, but it's mostly because he gives me the saddest looks.

I am bored. I am sooo bored. I am ugly and frustrated. I want to move. I want to travel. I want to want to clean and be pretty. This is going to be a hard summer...

the days roll, roll away like wheels on jack's hill

It's midnight. Between Tuesday and Wednesday.
Thursday my second thesis is due.
Friday I have two papers due.
The last two papers.

And then I get to meet up with my sister and her bf.
Grocery shopping. Meet up with the rest of the family.
Shabbat dinner. The next morning, clean and
set up for party. Get into my robe and gown.
And walk. Walk.

It's in four days.

the annex. again.

I am here. Surrounded by two hundred young people who are studying hard. Some take smoke breaks. Others take facebook breaks. Still others sleep with their heads nestled against their laptop.

My break consists of this blog.

For some strange reason, it is this space that I have created as a safe place. No one leaves comments anymore- but that is a very good thing. It's for me. Not for you (sorry Natalie and mom). It's a place that I can check and recheck and write and rewrite and there is no grade. No determination of worth here.

Recently, someone said to me that no matter what grades I get this semester, my worth to them will not change. Their love for me will not diminish. Even if I lose the honor-status that I carry. I bought my gold chain today. The tassel that adorns the robe one wears when they graduate. They call me a distinguished student. I think it's full of shit. But I am doing it. I already did it. I already spent countless nights procrastinating and freaking out about papers and assignments, etc. I am almost finished doing that.

Tonight is the exception. I am sitting here, in my beloved annex-fake-library writing the first draft of a 15 page paper which is due tomorrow at 8:45 am. I am sitting here, with six pages down, not freaking out. A MIRACLE, I know. I am enjoying every second of it actually. I enjoy birthing sentences and listening to the rustling of keyboards type, type, type away.

I can't go home tonight. So, I might as well be settled. The last bus left five minutes ago. I am stuck. I suppose I could call someone on campus, but why not spend the night on a dirty two seater couch in a hot, bug infested room? I won't have to do this for a very long time, why not relish in it.

So that is my resolution- the last week of classes; the week before finals, exactly ten days until I turn in my last paper of the semester; I will not stress out. I will not yell at anyone (an embarrassing history), nor will I pity myself. Instead, here now, I pledge to myself that I, Malka which means queen, will enjoy her last moments of an undergraduate.

Annex as my witness.

ema

To my mother. Who moves mountains. Who loves deeply. Who listens well. Who prays with expectation. Who laughs without inhibition. Who gives abundantly. Who smiles widely; and who seeks peace in all situations.

Days of the Week...

Day 1: (humanities) ready for the week.


Day 2: (science) notice I am wearing the exact same outfit.


Day 3: (annex) too embarrassed to show the same shirt/scarf combo again.


Day 4: (bedroom) attacked.

ode to the purple robe

DISCLAIMER: profanity and severe stress...

IS there some point when we're given the answers? Or an open door? Or a key? Or a map? Or a compass? Or perhaps a companion who is directionally exceptional?

I am graduating in 16 days (or something like that). I find myself going three days with very little sleep and producing two papers and a presentation. Then I recoup for a day; maybe two. Then I get so stressed, hardly believing that I allowed myself to waste time when I could be thinking, writing, rethinking, rewriting, etc... I just have a lot of fucking writing to do. How much, you might ask?

Independent Study: 15
Modern China: 7
Women's History: 8-10
Pro-Seminar: 15 (17 written. 17 to perfect)
and
Bob Dylan: 100 multiple choice final exam.

MIght I add that they have to be organized and intelligent. Ready to send to grad school in the next two years. Proof to my Prof's that they taught me something valuable. Proof to myself that I know something.

Last night, I lay in bed for 2.5 hours before finally popping a nyquil. My mind was racing with new ideas for my papers, going from one to another. My heart was palpitating a million miles a minute. I thought it might just explode. My friend, the GRAD student, said that her last week or so of her undergraduate degree was spent on adoral and some other prescription drug. I feel a little better.

I have worked so hard the past four years. Really. My grade point average might not be phenomenal, but it is pretty darn good. And I have excellent relationships with most of my Professors. I have met really fascinating people. And I have learned about the world and all of its inadequacies and its beauty.

And in 16 days I will walk across a stage with thousands of other people and receive an empty folder. I will shake hands with someone I don't know and I will be overwhelmed, trying to track down my family in either the heat or the cold. I might run into people I know; we'll hug and kiss and tell each other "mazel tov!"

And then we'll drink beer and sleep and watch movies for a week or two. Then we'll travel a bit. Maybe home, or the East Coast, or maybe Portland. And then we'll start looking for jobs, or move to different, cheaper towns. And reality will hit like a wrecking ball. And we'll sink or swim. I hope I swim.

But I hope I am not still wearing that damn purple robe.

can I walk yet?

16 days.

patience, grasshopper.

Gd-group

Recently, my love and some friends and I started something. We started something that might get bigger. It's big to us.

It's unofficially called Gd-group.

And not all of us even believe in Gd. We are young people who believe in spirituality. Some of us are angry. Some of us are hurt. All of us are curious. All of us are pretty smart. All of us are beautiful and deep man and women. (Only one dude so far...)

Last night we read a poem. And we talked about heaven and hell. Actually, and more specifically, we talked about death. What we believe and why. It was powerful. And it was significant. One of us was raised with metaphysical beliefs and Judaism. Most of us were raised with an Evangelical background. Some of us still go to Church, others of us have denounced their Christian faith. We have a set of rules too. No side-conversations. Definition of terms, ie: predestination. We have to share our stories. And we ask for vulnerability. It's a safe place. We don't want it to look like a stereotypical Bible study, but we do want to encourage debate and discourse.

I love this group. Sometimes I say dumb stuff. But again, it's a place that is safe. So when i say dumb stuff (ex: matrix comment...I have never seen this movie, and it had nothing to do with our conversation) people still walk away with smiles and love toward me. It's nice.

It's the first real thing that I have helped start. It's the first real thing that I feel good about. It's the first real thing that I feel safe exploring. We're big kids now.

PS: Update as I venture through the second to last week of my undergraduate career: losing sleep over rethinking my thesis. losing patience for the 7 people living in my house. losing hope that i can actually finish this semester with a decent grade point average. gaining friends who see the real me and who love it still.

oh hello political spiel.

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

Mass texts, facebook statuses, tweets, press conferences, peace for the grieving families of 9/11, celebration for America’s armed forces and anger (righteous anger, mind you) for pacifists.

It’s a big deal for our generation.

Sputnik. Kennedy’s assassination. Vietnam. The destruction of the Iron Curtain. Princess Diana’s death. Columbine. Yes, even 9/11. This is what brought us here. Okay, maybe not Lady Di so much, but these major events have made our people, our military, our culture what it is today.

We are vengeance hungry. An eye for an eye. We want retribution for loss. We think we're on top and we want to keep it that way. And over the last ten years, we’ve fought a war to find a man who screamed at us, saying, “You have an enemy.”

America always wins. Does anyone doubt this? I don’t think so. Let’s take a walk back through history to look at the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, shall we? The “sleeping dragon” was awakened and we killed and killed for justice. And we went to “sleep” again. And we were awakened again.

And we have spent the last ten years in half a dozen countries, killing and being killed.

I have friends in the military. They find pride and they find satisfaction and significance with their work and vocation. I do not argue with that. But my beliefs about Osama’s death and my reaction to the thousands of reactions go deeper than our military.

It goes to spirituality.
It goes to salvation and love
It goes to the message of peace and transparency.

So maybe instead of praising our national intelligence and claiming “justice” for innocent lives, let’s think of ways to be awakened to the world. Let’s think of ways to be awakened to grace and the kind of justice that Gd talks about. Let’s think of ways to be friends to enemies and lovers of peace. And when we think about ways to heal that do not consist of murder, let’s actually do it.

Proverbs 24:17 “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, And do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles.”