I got all the way to grad school only to be told to go back home.
I'm really glad that the semester is over, and the battery acid taste I received from it is slowly leaving my mouth.

I have not excelled in grad school, in the MA program in literature at the U of Arizona, Tucson. Granted, not all the other first-years became immediate geniuses receiving straight A's. But I've continually let my writing lag. I can't "write as a scholar," and in fact I am ready to give up the idea that I ever will. I have difficulty extending an argument over twenty pages or so, but seemed to be quite good at undergrad-type writing formats, like short essays. I am not familiar with the whole "being smart" thing that English profs are supposed to do. I don't really know what doing a bunch of research and then writing a paper would look or feel like.

I can sound smart when I talk about something I read, but when I write, everything falls to pieces. It's a good thing it's summer time, but it's too damn short! I'm only going to start getting familiar and making money at my new delivery driver job (at an "upscale casual" restaurant called BJ's Restaurant and Brewhouse) when the cursed semester starts up again in mid-August.

At least I'll like my coworkers, or some of them. It'll be good to have contact with people off campus. I want to work delivery after the semester starts up, but if I really want to do way, way better and make amends for my poor work this year, I may not have much time to put towards that. But I will need the income, so I'll work, and test fate. Not doing as well as I could in grad school is no crime; I'm the only one getting hurt, and I'm not really getting hurt--I'm just entirely unused to being told that my writing's no good.

So, like every graduate student inevitably thinks about, I'm considering long term options: life in the managerial class, law school. When people say that grad school is stressful, it's not like going to a job and having a boss that you hate, and that guy is right there in front of you. It's a slow process of having your expectations and your goals die. It feels like it's happening to another person, because things don't hit you until later. Whatever, man. I want to be successful. I'm committed to finishing the MA at the very least--I'll necessarily be down here in Tucson because Jess's work will be organizing against an anti-domestic partnership initiative (an AZ constitutional amendment proposal) that won't be on a ballot until Nov. 2006.

Speaking of that, Jess and I had a fun day yesterday. First, we went to some weird suburban sprawl church where CAP (the Center for Arizona Policy) announced how they'd be "strengthening marriage" and all that bullshit. Then I had job orientation--it's going to be cool to open a good restaurant with these folks. After that, Jess's counter-event, where about 25 mainline religious leaders spoke out against the initiative in front of about 100 people and print and TV media people, was pretty damn sweet. After that, Jess, me, and Maureen, a black lesbian parent living in Tucson, went to Casa Grande, a small town halfway between Tucson and Phoenix, for a strategy meeting with what is now "Arizona Together"--the new name for the PAC (political action committee) that's fighting the proposed amendment. I now fully understand the insaneness of the people Jess works with that are active in Phoenix. They are the type of people that ran the Democratic Party into the ground--slick Terry McAuliffe type a-holes that don't know what the word "grassroots" means.

I need to go give plasma tomorrow. Ah. Yeah.

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