7.01 - Well Enough Alone
My four-year vacation from the realities of life is nearly over and the only thing keeping me from being exhilerated is the question of my fate looming above me like the gray skies of Meadville. Will I get into grad school? Where will I be living in four months? What am I going to do if all my best laid plans fall through? Is there love for this sappy romantic out there somewhere? Arthur James Wenzel has once again bitten off far more than he can manage.
Toward the end of February, I sent off applications to the Master's programs at both Drexel and Villanova. My goal of being a J.D./Ph.D. is unchanged; but the road there is going to be slightly different on account of my poor LSAT scores. Per the Irishman's advice, I applied to M.S. programs and will use that to springboard myself upward into the Ph.D. echelon. While my mother is nudging me to pursue a legal education, and this year has particularly bright prospects since law school enrollment is down, and while my 153 might not get me into the highly competitive Law-Psychology program between Drexel & Villanova, it would secure me a place at some other PA law school. But I don't just want a legal education. Nor do I simply want a clinical psychology education. Once again my desire for multiple identities and patent inability to deter far from my version of how my life should go is locking me into a risky gamble. Should I fail to skate into a Master's program, there is no plan B.
As for my living arrangements, I'm looking hopefully toward the future. My expectations are modest: All I need is a 15x13x8 space to fit my queen-sized bed (which I don't have yet, but will upgrade to after leaving the 'Ville), desk, dresser, clothes rack (I don't like closets), bookshelf, easy chair, and TV stand. Beside the space, I require a fair measure of quietude (undergrads are so damn noisy and I've lived near them for three years), laundry services on or near site, walking distance to the school as well as some market for food, restaurant/bar for company/booze. I'd also love a swimming pool, fitness center, and balcony/patio/porch/deck/place to wistfully watch the sun go down, but those are all things I can do without. The former items are essential. And it has to be within my meager living budget. My folks are cutting me off post-Allegheny and I was hoping for a research or teaching stipend of some sort, so at most I would have to get a part-time job instead of the full-time nightmare I've been avoiding so diligently.
Should my sky crumble and fall, I have this vague notion of getting a job, an apartment, a car and saving up some money (or at least not falling farther into debt). Similarly, with my recent romantic mishaps (more on this later) I've begun to deconstruct many of the myths I have about intimacy, sex, and members of the same and opposite sex in these regards. I would like somebody in my life, but despite my ventures and modest gains, I'm still not sure how to mediate my instrumentality and need to relate. For the time being, I'm doing just fine solo. And if my recent experiences are any indication, I'm just as well off by myself. Even so, the notion of having dinner with that special someone at the end of a long day fills me with longing so physical it's magnetic - pulling me toward somebody beyond these walls and hastily constructed safeguards against the perils of proximity.
These are the marquees running through my head at any given moment, interrupted by the clamouring of my pals, the rigors of my intellectual pursuits, and demands of my daylight life intermittently. To recap in the briefest of terms...
(1) Both of my supercouples have been distanced once again by their own constitution.
(2) Dixie and I are once again no longer speaking and I think it might hold this time, meaning I've lost a terribly good friend and haven't dealt with the loss in any way, shape, or form.
(3) The Irishman and I are conducting some exercises in debate and discourse that will hopefully strengthen my ability to argue and maintain my presence in the classroom. (Oh, yeah, my social anxieties are back and worse than ever).
(4) Due to the forementioned romance of ill-fate with Le Roi, my Acolyte and I are no longer on familiar terms and that loss is similarly disappointing.
(5) I've reconnected with Regina and received an ultimate answer from the Girl, tieing up two loose ends of my mottled love life past.
(6) I've discovered a problem I have with communicating directly with people. After my psychotic episode at the Death Star last December, I realized it had much to do with being unable to be direct with Dick. Same goes for my relationships with Le Roi and the Acolyte, Dixie, and others. Why can't I express myself to those around me anymore? A psychodynamic riddle.
(7) I'm gearing up for Greece and making nice with Lorraine in order to have a preexisting bond before I head to the Old Country.
(8) My bisexual identity has been aided by recently reading Richard Rodriguez and a pair of nights where I had interesting liaison with both lads and lasses.
(9) A possible depression correlated with the social anxiety has prompted me to retreat farther into my noctural solitude, farther from society, engendering a curious numbness in affect that is akin to psychopathic disregard. My villainous self continues to compound itself.
These and other questions will be addressed as I write and work them out in order to refresh my writing skills, establishing tone, voice, and perspective in order to be effective this summer as I write my travel journal in Greece.
For now, the sun's over the hills, Meadville twilight has dimmed the room to near darkness and with my bottle of screwtop chardonnay, I intend to submerge myself into darkness and see what I find.
Toward the end of February, I sent off applications to the Master's programs at both Drexel and Villanova. My goal of being a J.D./Ph.D. is unchanged; but the road there is going to be slightly different on account of my poor LSAT scores. Per the Irishman's advice, I applied to M.S. programs and will use that to springboard myself upward into the Ph.D. echelon. While my mother is nudging me to pursue a legal education, and this year has particularly bright prospects since law school enrollment is down, and while my 153 might not get me into the highly competitive Law-Psychology program between Drexel & Villanova, it would secure me a place at some other PA law school. But I don't just want a legal education. Nor do I simply want a clinical psychology education. Once again my desire for multiple identities and patent inability to deter far from my version of how my life should go is locking me into a risky gamble. Should I fail to skate into a Master's program, there is no plan B.
As for my living arrangements, I'm looking hopefully toward the future. My expectations are modest: All I need is a 15x13x8 space to fit my queen-sized bed (which I don't have yet, but will upgrade to after leaving the 'Ville), desk, dresser, clothes rack (I don't like closets), bookshelf, easy chair, and TV stand. Beside the space, I require a fair measure of quietude (undergrads are so damn noisy and I've lived near them for three years), laundry services on or near site, walking distance to the school as well as some market for food, restaurant/bar for company/booze. I'd also love a swimming pool, fitness center, and balcony/patio/porch/deck/place to wistfully watch the sun go down, but those are all things I can do without. The former items are essential. And it has to be within my meager living budget. My folks are cutting me off post-Allegheny and I was hoping for a research or teaching stipend of some sort, so at most I would have to get a part-time job instead of the full-time nightmare I've been avoiding so diligently.
Should my sky crumble and fall, I have this vague notion of getting a job, an apartment, a car and saving up some money (or at least not falling farther into debt). Similarly, with my recent romantic mishaps (more on this later) I've begun to deconstruct many of the myths I have about intimacy, sex, and members of the same and opposite sex in these regards. I would like somebody in my life, but despite my ventures and modest gains, I'm still not sure how to mediate my instrumentality and need to relate. For the time being, I'm doing just fine solo. And if my recent experiences are any indication, I'm just as well off by myself. Even so, the notion of having dinner with that special someone at the end of a long day fills me with longing so physical it's magnetic - pulling me toward somebody beyond these walls and hastily constructed safeguards against the perils of proximity.
These are the marquees running through my head at any given moment, interrupted by the clamouring of my pals, the rigors of my intellectual pursuits, and demands of my daylight life intermittently. To recap in the briefest of terms...
(1) Both of my supercouples have been distanced once again by their own constitution.
(2) Dixie and I are once again no longer speaking and I think it might hold this time, meaning I've lost a terribly good friend and haven't dealt with the loss in any way, shape, or form.
(3) The Irishman and I are conducting some exercises in debate and discourse that will hopefully strengthen my ability to argue and maintain my presence in the classroom. (Oh, yeah, my social anxieties are back and worse than ever).
(4) Due to the forementioned romance of ill-fate with Le Roi, my Acolyte and I are no longer on familiar terms and that loss is similarly disappointing.
(5) I've reconnected with Regina and received an ultimate answer from the Girl, tieing up two loose ends of my mottled love life past.
(6) I've discovered a problem I have with communicating directly with people. After my psychotic episode at the Death Star last December, I realized it had much to do with being unable to be direct with Dick. Same goes for my relationships with Le Roi and the Acolyte, Dixie, and others. Why can't I express myself to those around me anymore? A psychodynamic riddle.
(7) I'm gearing up for Greece and making nice with Lorraine in order to have a preexisting bond before I head to the Old Country.
(8) My bisexual identity has been aided by recently reading Richard Rodriguez and a pair of nights where I had interesting liaison with both lads and lasses.
(9) A possible depression correlated with the social anxiety has prompted me to retreat farther into my noctural solitude, farther from society, engendering a curious numbness in affect that is akin to psychopathic disregard. My villainous self continues to compound itself.
These and other questions will be addressed as I write and work them out in order to refresh my writing skills, establishing tone, voice, and perspective in order to be effective this summer as I write my travel journal in Greece.
For now, the sun's over the hills, Meadville twilight has dimmed the room to near darkness and with my bottle of screwtop chardonnay, I intend to submerge myself into darkness and see what I find.