Train door at the Pentagon station opens. On the platform are a man in uniform–a Marine– and a civilian woman. She hops on. He tells her it’s the wrong train. They proceed to debate through the open train door, growing more urgent as departure time approaches.
A Metro worker begins to laugh and points at the electronic signage. The woman relents and gets off.
It is quiet on the train, except for the laughter of the Metro man.
You know you’re a grad student when….
…you can’t stand to write a book review for your blog because that’s what you do all day and you love it but it’s also consuming your soul for all the class to see.
…you write for your blog as a “break” from school, because you need that little, wilting bit of joy in your day.
…yet you still like to complain about how school leaves no time for your blog, despite the blog eating up what your good, rational, ex-valedictorian side knows is supposed to be school time.
You know you’re a grad student when…
….you envy the undergrads for their ability to do decent work past midnight.
….you begin to realize one one-thousandth the pain your sleep-deprived parents must have felt about your screaming, crying baby self as you scream and cry over your baby: your thesis.
…you, the mature adult, finally reject the sleep-study binary and turn in early because your work would be poop, anyhow.
And, finally, you know you’re a grad student when…
…you reach for your apartment key when unlocking the department office door.
…you then begin using the department key when trying to unlock your apartment.
…you might as well just move into the department because you live there anyhow and the rent would be free.
7 March 18
Currently I’m inside at my desk, listening to the rain fall as this new storm moves across my neighborhood and into Boston. No snow, so far. Just a day of rain.
I’m thankful it’s quiet, because I nearly died in the last Nor’easter, which blew through Friday into Saturday, spawning confusion, panic, and #windmaggedon.
As I never tire of harping on, I grew up in Texas. I’ve lived through hurricanes, the worst of them being Ike. I’ve lived through two weeks of late Houston summer with no air-conditioning in the wake of said hurricane. (I know, I know, first world problems).
I fulfilled my childhood goal of becoming a storm chaser when I nearly drove into a tornado crossing I-10 somewhere between El Paso and San Antonio. It came at us we didn’t go to it.
Easter weekend one year I spent huddled under the staircase with my sister as the sky turned green. The door into the garage was ripped from its hinges and thrown across the yard.
New England weather doesn’t scare me.
Polar vortex? Chilly.
Nine feet of snow in five weeks? Impressive.
Whatever fresh hell came through town last weekend? Utterly terrifying.