Days and Dishes

I find myself wanting to say something important. As new people visit and comment, as I reflect on learning from so many of you, I feel like my contribution should be meaningful. Whether you read blogs to be comforted or entertained, educated or distracted, I'd like stopping by here to be worth your time. I appreciate the comments and I keep track of site stats because there are many blogs that I read yet don't say much.

Yet...it's not that profound. My life is characterized by a great deal of boredom. I push buttons and wait for software to run. I fill out paperwork and wait for someone to ask for revisions. I write papers and wait for rejections, already planning which journal gets it next before the first journal has decided anything. Sometimes something interesting happens. In the case of my defense, it was a really bad something. If we speak of my finding a job which has allowed me time to screw around, accomplish very little and start to work on my mental health, I start looking incredibly lucky.

Friend and I attended Easter dinner at Cousin's house. She invited several friends and we were speaking to one woman as we cleaned up the kitchen.

"What do you do?" She asked, loud and friendly.

"We both work at [current institution]." I said. "We do research." We each offered details when she continued to ask questions.

"My doctorate is in [my field]." I replied at one point, having been asked about my background. I tossed it over my shoulder while I rinsed plates before placing them in the dishwasher. I bought those dishes for Cousin one year. She wanted a plain set of bowls and plates and Mom decided Ikea had nice ones for excellent prices.

Rachel opted out of the trip at the last minute, leaving me to fend for myself at the bright blue superstore. I wasn't able to get a cart on a Saturday morning, so I wandered the store with a bag over my shoulder, carefully filling it with random items that weren't overly heavy. When I was nearly finished, I found the dishes - plain white with a gentle upsweep of the edges on the plates and clean curves on the bowls - and made sure there was cardboard between each piece before carrying them downstairs. I wanted a basket for myself, so I picked one up amidst the selection of houseplants and stood in line.

I ached. As I was waiting impatiently for all the people to get out of my way so that I could offer money for my items, my shoulders and back hurt from carting so much crap around. I scolded myself for being in suboptimal physical condition, feeling inferior to all the fit yuppies that pranced around proudly with their furniture in bulky boxes. I could barely carry a set of 13 bowls and plates (1 extra in case I broke a piece), picture frames , miscellaneous items and a basket. I finally made it out, wrapping the plates in bags, then placing 6 in one bag and 7 in another. I placed the transparent plastic handles over each wrist, picked up my basket filled with bowls and made the long walk to my car.

I couldn't restrain a whimper as I continued to walk. I desperately wanted to beg someone for help, but they were all heading toward the store as I walked in the opposite direction. Had anyone offered, I would have accepted gratefully. But it was just walking and carrying stuff. I could do it. It hurt, but it was the trip was finite. I loved Cousin and wanted her to have the pretty plates and bowls. Mom wanted to save some money and I loved her too. So I would get the dishes to my car. I just had to.

I finally made it, resorting to counting each step as I moved closer to my car. I had parked next to a planter that contained a tree in a mulched area. I sat the basket down and stayed bent over it, letting the bags that dangled from my wrists finally rest on the ground. I steadied the basket, rocking it a bit so it settled in the mulch, then moved the plastic from the welts it made near my hands. The bags were really heavy and having walked forever, my body was marked for its efforts.

"Oh." I said pitifully when I saw the angry splotches and rubbed them gently. "Ow, ow, ow." I stood up to stretch my back and watched a single bowl tumble from the basket that had shifted slightly. It hit the ground gently and cracked into three large pieces. Distracted from my injury by the insult that had just occurred, I stared at the stupid bowl that I had carried across the freaking parking lot all by myself so Cousin could have a few extra dishes she'd never use and Mom could save a few dollars she didn't really need. And I swore.

I tend to become fixated on a goal. I somehow decide something is important and am willing to suffer in order to achieve some random end. The overall journey isn't that interesting. I just take step after step because I don't know what else to do. I read and go to work and write the blog. I fought like hell to salvage my defense, then accepted defeat and moved on because I didn't see another choice. It's just what you do, I think. You're standing at Ikea with a bunch of dishes and you need to get to your car. Whether the stupid plates are heavy or not. Whether the car is far or you got a kick-ass parking spot. You just walk toward the car and hope for the best.

Today I went in early for a meeting that got moved to 1:30 instead of 9AM. So I did some data analysis, revised my chapter, organized email. I talked to my mom and was told she needs to have both knees replaced at the end of June. She's scared so we talked for a little while until she got to work. I went to a noon seminar that was surprisingly good. I learned a lot from a well-delivered, clever talk. I also had free lunch. I went to my meeting and waited an hour for it to begin. I hadn't taken anything to do, so I made a list of things I could be doing were I not sitting in a conference room across campus, waiting for someone to come talk to me. After we finally met, I arranged several details for my studies, then decided to come home.

"I'm glad I didn't know I should call you doctor before." Cousin's friend said at Easter.

"Why?" I asked, smiling when I noticed how those plates that I suffered to obtain were marked from good use. Forks and knives had scratched the bright white finish. But the shape was still simple and lovely.

"I would have been embarrassed to talk at all!" She exclaimed in a drawl. "You're both so smart."

"Educated." I corrected her easily. "I just went to school for a really long time. Jumped through the right hoops at the right times and eventually they let me graduate."

I did get hurt. And it's hard to deny I'm a bit paranoid and disillusioned. The defense experience left me feeling alone and inferior and with sore muscles and raised welts. The dishes were so heavy and I accidentally broke a bowl or two. But I only know how to keep going forward. If I'm being honest, I'm doing this because I can't think of a feasible option. I don't know that I'm particularly happy. I never dreamed this was to be my future and only chance for joy. I'm not impressed with myself for getting here - I had a great deal of help and just did what I had to do.

For some reason, I think I'm supposed to do experiments, write grants, publish papers. Is it sad that my reasoning for carrying the dishes to my car seems more compelling that what I've chosen to do with my life? If anything interesting happens, I'll certainly let you know. But days like today just feel like I'm counting steps. It's not painful or particularly difficult. It's just work that needs to be done.