My dating stories bore me. Yup. I'm done. I still have at least a dozen to write, I never got around to some of the best ones. But I find the prospect of returning to those memories and revisiting the details repugnant. Here's a summary: I dated one loser after another, the quality men eluded my grasp, hence I'm single. Men and dates and subtexts and rejection and all of that mess just feels yucky to me now. No more. What does this mean to you dear readers? The end of CitC? NO. Absolutely not. The focus is going to shift more to the "City" aspect of my life. I find those things much more interesting, perhaps you will too.
Story of a blog about dating:
At the time I started this blog I felt totally desolate and without hope for any future conjugal bliss. I wanted to give up. My battered heart couldn't take one more hit. So I turned to writing and mined the past for these stories and found value in the ridiculousness of my love life. Rather than letting them pile up to embitter me, I could share them with people who could laugh or cry or have something to read at work. For a few months last year, blogging was the one pleasure I had. Thanks to all my readers for contributing to the pleasure! Your comments and the rise of the hit counter validated my existence as something more than a waste of space. Hooray!
Then I got over the pathetic desolation when I went to Ireland in the summer. Where I met someone who showed me I was desirable and still capable of feeling love-type emotions. I think that was a miracle, a gift for me just when I needed it most: a quite fantastic affair with a sweet and hot Irish Mormon while romping among ancient ruins and stormy weather gods.
Redolent with the glow of it all, I came home to New York with renewed hope and a rejuvenated heart. But I faced real life problems as soon as I got back, such as finding myself homeless. I got the living situation resolved before classes started but I still wasn't strong enough. Just when my workload got heavy, the blog got discovered and offended my Irish friend, causing me to lose the possibility of him. I knew it wasn't very likely to begin with but losing that still crushed me. It hurt so much because it was the best thing that happened to me in two years, perhaps the only good thing: a nice, normal, fun guy liked me even after we spent days together! And having something to hope for makes a big difference in one's quality of living.
The mountain of PhD:
While feeling the brunt of that devastation, my work became too much. I had a severe crisis and nearly quit school. I dropped as much of my responsibilities as I could, stopped going to my classes and became an incompetent teacher. I should have been fired and I should have been kicked out of my program. But I wasn't and I didn't quit. I started asking for help, for the first time in my life. Some kind people responded for which I am grateful. One fellow student, the first person I reached out to, became a good friend and now he is deliciously more. My parents were sympathetic which is rare. I even had a helpful correspondence with another blogger who had a similiar situation.
Now I stand at the base of this mountain. I slid down it last year. The descent bruised and almost broke me, which I probably deserved. My pride has taken a severe dismantling.
For the first time in my life I have failed at school. The one thing I knew I could do well has proven beyond the reach of my abilities. I hope it was temporary. I hope my self-imposed collapse saved me from a worse fate. I couldn't go on any longer with that amount of stress. This might mean I am not good enough, which I am now willing to accept.
This mountain, I have to climb back up or it's over. If I can't get it together this year then I will stop. Maybe go back to journalism. Or do temping again while working on a dive instructor license. If I do that then I can move somewhere exotic and find a job diving with tourists!
The new semester started today. I still have some humbling groveling to do so I can get out of the pit of failure. I have to ask one of the most arrogant professors for a favor that I don't deserve. I never asked for special treatment before last year. I never wanted to use depression as an excuse. I thought that would be wrong and weak. I hate this but I don't have a choice unless I want to fail out.
I don't know what to say to the man. I tried to approach him in December and he bit my head off. I have to talk to him today/tonight/tomorrow morning at the latest. How do you ask for special treatment for failing? I've had some students do it and found them quite disgusting. That's probably why I've procrastinated for two months. I did give one girl a chance to replace her F with a passing grade if she did some work. This guy could very likely say No. If I were him I might say no. Though I'd more likely say yes with Hipocritical disdain. Argghhh. Enough.
**We'll see how long this lasts. I give it two weeks max.