I have survived one semester of graduate school.
I will tell you this, a consuming career in tandem with graduate studies ain't a thing for sissies. For a successful way through, one such as myself requires an unendingly supportive husband, a snuggly Sophie dogter, a funny and understanding fambly, empathetic friends, graphic design therapy, and unlimited access to yoga class after yoga class after sweaty yoga class often six times in a week. Six months in and I've learned that that's what it takes to get me through a semester of school.
And tomorrow I leave for Massachusetts for the start of semester number two. Miraculously--or could it be predictably?--I'm super excited. Nine days of seminars and readings and workshops and I'm actually looking forward to it.
As opposed to the boots and coats of January's trip, this go 'round my suitcases are laden with sandals and tunics. The suitcases don't contain my horrible, dysfunctional work laptop. They don't hold slacks or suits or pencil skirts or heels. There are scarves for fun and rings for distraction. There are books and books and books. And manuscripts for workshopping. The bags are heavy bags.
I've researched yoga classes. I've printed hundreds of pages. I've been reading and reading and reading and reading in preparation for this residency. And I'm going to make an absolutely stupid confession here: kid-you-not, kids, it never occurred to me that a writing program would include so much reading. But duh. It's logical. It's necessary. But here I am, stunned by the amount of reading assigned.
But I've done the reading. I've done the packing. I got the time off from work. So I'm ready.
And so I'm off!