So, I feel like I need to write an open letter to the Universe.
Dear Universe,
The last 2 years have been an interesting ride. First, I started and completed this thing called "grad school."
Those two
words should be synonymous with water boarding. Wikipedia, the most
accurate resource on the interwebs, tells us that waterboarding can cause: extreme pain, dry drowning, damage
to lungs, brain damage from oxygen deprivation, other
physical injuries
including broken bones due to struggling against restraints, lasting
psychological damage, and death .Adverse physical consequences can manifest
themselves months after the event, while psychological effects can last for
years (I'm not citing this shit because I've done too much damn citing the last
2 years. I said it was Wikipedia; find it yourself, 2013).
Grad school totally did those.
Headaches.
Drowning in assignment (because assignments aren't made of water unless you're a marine biologist or go to a school for mer-folk. See I'm culturally competent),
I'm pretty sure I inhaled asbestos during 70% of my class time (I'll address-os the asbestos in a moment-os), I'm also sure I stopped breathing a few times during presentations,
I kicked the shit out of my shins and pinky toes while struggling in a desk too small for most hormone-enhanced 4th graders,
I've self-diagnosed Bi-polar Disorder and Autism Spectrum Disorder
And I died after I saw a grade. Twice.
Yup, Grad School is equal to water boarding. You made a doozey there, Universe.
But I finished. Maybe. You also made professors that take an ungodly amount of time to post grades.
Oh! Asbestos!
So classmates and I were casually chatting it up beside the hand-sanitizer dispenser because we're clean and safe like that. We noticed that there was this cute little dust covered plaque that we've conveniently ignored for 3 semesters. I mean, you get 99% of your germs killed in one swoop and you got less thing on your plate; why the hell read a plaque?!
The plaque clearly states there's asbestos in the building. It gives the numbers of the rooms. Those room numbers DIDN'T EXIST! Some building wizard came in there with some sort of hot glue gun from Mordor and changed the numbers. Now it's roulette with asbestos, higher education, and mesothelioma.
Moving on...*coughs*
Somewhere in those two years, I discovered this creation you call...Tumblr. Confusing because I generally like to avoid falling, tripping, sliding across concrete because demonic yellow leaves have fallen, and tumbling. But no, I became addicted to what I know realize is the puberty of the internet. Tumblr is a mess of emotions, cat pictures, pokemon, and sexual identity crises. The things I've seen in my line of work pale in comparison to Tumblr. I can't even... right in the feels.
Then I experienced true commuting. Not the kind where you drive down to Dunkin' Donuts on a two-lane road behind a cattle truck. No, that's pleasant compared to sitting in traffic where brake lights mean speed up and blinkers mean you should dodge an incoming litter box. I've said "Oh what the hell?" enough in the last 9 months to probably copyright the phrase.
But it hasn't all been bad. You've arranged planets and people in just the right way so that I met some great folks. I guess that alone is enough to cancel out at least everything but the mesothelioma.
So Universe, you win this round too. But only by the nature that you kind of balanced shit out. And I kind of don't want mesothelioma.
Speaking of shit...why is Gryffindor an auto-text option...but not shit...or gnome. I am a nerd. I use all three of those words. Frequently.
Yours,
-Me
