I have given myself a twitchy eye and tendinitis of the wrists from too much coffee. Its all that cup tipping action, repetitive motion syndrome? No one ever told me that too much coffee could do you bad! I guess I have to learn everything on my own.

My characters lay somewhere in the deep bowels of my computer as I haven't had the time to open that particular file named "thestory.doc" this week (16,000 words and counting). They are all probably in a deep depression from being in solitary confinement for so long and I will probably have to take them to a therapist before I get them back on their feet and trudging through my story again.

Instead of writing a brilliant masterpiece, that is for sure to be a bestseller and to make me rich and famous, I am slaving away on a 25 page research proposal. Did you feel all your creativity seep out of your toes just then too? Yeah me too. But alas, that is the life of a grad student. My job description goes something like this:

1. read volumes of incoherent articles and dust covered tomb size books
2. write massive amounts of papers with topics that after writing, you still don't understand
3. teach uncaring undergrads social problems while they listen to their ipod, ignore you and pick their nose
4. try to bedazzle faculty by babbling off a list of their research you've read and list all the research you'd like to do for them as an underpaid RA

But that is life, is it not? Here's wishing I was writing a masterpiece instead.
Only two more weeks of school and then freedom!

It was perfect, wonderful, absolutely nothing went wrong! Yep, that tone you hear in my voice is disappointment.

This was Abe's and my first Thanksgiving as a married couple and being far away from family and friends, we had to do dinner all on our own. I decided we would do a roasted chicken (seeing a turkey is way too big for just two people!), stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce (Abe's idea not mine, I hate that stuff!), rolls, roasted yams and carrots, salad and a glass of wine for each. I was a bit experimental with the chicken seeing I'd never stuffed a bird before in my life; I added tons of garlic. My theory with cooking is garlic basically makes everything taste good. Of yeah, that and butter. In the end everything turned out yummy and delicious: the potatoes were creamy, the chicken savory and juicy, the salad crisp, the rolls warm, and the wine dry with a hint of heat.

And that is basically the end of my story. There were no disastrous roasted chicken accidents!! No lumpy potatoes! No spilled red wine on white linen table cloths that my great great grandmother gave me (I don't own any white linen)! Nothing, nothing interesting happened at all! We ate, enjoyed a very delicious meal, cleaned up and then watched a movie. So much for an interesting newlywed, first time by our selves Thanksgiving dinner story!

Of course...there's always Christmas.

If I have to hear: "Wow, you turned out well!" or "you are really well socialized for being a homeschooler," one more time I will drop kick the person in the head.

Seriously, its about as rude as going up to a black person and commenting on how articulate they are. Come on people, think.

Studying is a sweet pain, one that is a torture and a pleasure all at the same time. Its like S&M except it involves volumes of books, black ink pens, legal pads with scribbled ideas, half finished papers and random equations from statistics. Oh, and you can't forget all that coffee. I think my body has learned how to convert caffeine into everything a body needs. I'll take a mocha thanks!

But really, right now I am trying to puzzle out Simpson's Paradox, a statistical riddle of sorts and it boggles my mind. I swear I won't give in until it reveals all its illustrious secrets and tells me the true meaning of the world.

I have a midterm this coming Wednesday in Statistics, so far my professor has shown no confidence in any of my cohort, seeming to think we will walk the footsteps of our cohort predecessors and totally reject the usefulness of qualitative research. Thus she thinks we shall all fail. It feels so wonderful to have such confidence from a professor! Let us hope we prove her all wrong!

I wish I didn't have to worry about my little sister. Sometimes I wonder if I've been such a good big sister after all.

Professors are a funny sort. They look at you, size you up and try to decide if you're worth their time or not. Its a horrible feeling, being sized up. I always squirm too much, fiddle with my favorite pen, nod my head even when I don't know what they are talking about, anything to not get that look of disdain they love to let loose on their faces.

Its not all that bad. Really. Most of this I know is my imagination, the rest is probably real. They, unlike me, have not yet given me a pass, an okay, that yes, I do belong here among them. I know I belong here and yet until they decide so for themselves I have to continue to prove myself in the most awkward of ways and with blushed face when I say something stupid.

In the end, its just a game. And I have to laugh at these silly professors who, once were in my position and felt the same way, but now are continuing the scary professor act. Its a funny act, and I am learning to laugh at my own stumblings and their horrible acting skills.

I have a snazzy new compy (not a Mac, sorry Anna I tried!) and Linux. Life is looking up.