Defying Gravity is going to be the anthem for the next couple of weeks.
Back to my reference page.
Today was rough, spent all weekend researching two papers and got 5 pages into one. Monday I get an email reply from the professor, the theory I’m using might not be as appropriate as another theory. I responded to the professor, making a case for using my original theory.
WAITED FOR TWO AGONIZING HOURS FOR A REPLY FROM THIS PROFESSOR, ALL THE WHILE THINKING I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO RE-RESEARCH AND START OVER
Finally receive email, oh great theory, looking forward to your proposal.
I’m tired, I have three papers to write, and not looking forward to grading student speeches this week.
and I’m hungry
Okay, back to writing…
This experience is getting harder and harder. The vicious cycle of teach, lecture, write, edit, write, grade, lecture, drink is becoming tedious and overwhelming. And despite every other aspect of my life coming up short I find myself craving more and more of this strenuous game.
I was sitting at a SuperCuts a couple of week ago, waiting to get my eyebrows done, and became fixated on a white woman waiting to get her hair dyed. She was the only other person sitting in the salon (with the exception of my partner and I) and I become increasingly intrigued with her. She looked to be in her late 20’s, blonde, and of a slightly overweight build. She was sitting patiently and we could overhear the stylest consulting her coworker on the type of dye to use.
After about ten minutes (longer than normal for preparing color) the stylist approached the woman and I could see she was in her early thirty’s, black, and very overweight. Her toes were far too big for her gem sandals and I remember thinking how fragile the sandals looked. She placed the bowl of purple dye on her station and started asking the woman, “you sure you ready for a big change?” The woman replied that she couldn’t wait to be a brunette and the process began.
Now I’ve been getting my hair dyed at salons since the age of sixteen and while I might not have my cosmetology license I’m familiar with how stylists separate hair so as to dye every strand. But to my horror the stylist started scooping large globs of hair dye with her brush (as if it were a spoon) placing it on the head of this blonde woman and then massaging the dye into the length of the hair. The brush had seized to be a brush, it was a scoop, and her hands clumsily coated her head so that her scalp started to resemble a purple eggplant.
And suddenly my fixation on the woman became a fixation on the process. The stylist looked more like an amateur baker, and the woman’s head looked more and more like naked sponge cake. And this woman, with her toes spilling out of her sandles, looked like she was decorating a cake.
SuperCuts at Long Beach.
Tomorrow is my first official day of graduate school.
I will be sitting in on two undergraduate lectures of Interpersonal Communication, teaching two, hour and forty five minute classes and then resting before my two graduate classes at night.
I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
Today was Kasey and my first full day in our new apartment in Long Beach. Its been an interesting adjustment. We’re getting accustom to the (much) hotter air and smog and are making an effort to learn street names. Thus far the biggest culture shock has been that every window, in every complex, has bars. People also seem a little more distant and to themselves but that might be me projecting my feelings. I’m in an unfamiliar place and I know if will take take to get adjusted, I’m trying to make the best if it. I’m appreciating San Diego a lot more.