The End

I’m not sure if any of my lovely past readers will ever read this post. I know I’ve left it a long time, and you may feel a little abandoned. And I do apologise for that, because your comments and blogs were things that I loved reading.

Half an hour ago, someone posted a new comment on a past post. And suddenly, guilt kicked off at my sudden abandonment of the blog. Even though I don’t think I could possibly blog again, life being what it is right now, I suppose I should let you all know that I’m not dead, and my fingers are intact and capable of typing. Life just got… crazy. So, here’s your wrap up of my life story.

Ambush post! Bet y'all weren't expecting that.

Since my last post, I’ve regained life direction. There was a time, when I was facing the end of my thesis, and I knew I had a whole lot of Nothing waiting for me when it finished. And one morning I woke up, and thought “bugger it, I’m looking at journalism courses. Because I have no bloody prospects right now”.

I knew there was one course in particular which was so good. Which many leading journalists had gone through, and that I actually had the right qualifications and experience for. That it took a year, during which time you got a concentrated dose of how journalism works, and contacts and real world experience galore. I knew it was the course I wanted.

Imagine my annoyance when I saw applications had closed the day before.

No poetic license involved here, it was literally the day before. However, I’m not one to take no for an answer. I rang, and pleaded with them to allow me to apply. They said yes, as long as my application was in by 3pm that afternoon. Verified passport copies, letters of recommendation, everything.

Thankfully, letters of recommendation were produced by some lovely members of the business and academic community, and the poor boyfriend dedicated his day off to helping me get it all together. (There’s another wrap up for you. Boy and I managed to work through our baggage, and are very, very happy together.)

I got my application in by 3.30pm. They grumbled, but took it. I waited a month. I got an interview, so power dressed and tried to come across as if I had half a brain. I waited another month. The course administrators asked if I minded being wait listed. I agreed. I waited another month. I GOT IN.

I quickly finished my thesis and handed it in, two days before the new course started. Yeah, that part was stressful.

I worked my ass off. We’ve had two holidays so far, both of which I used to work at newspapers for free. I’m learning shorthand, media law, ethics, business and police reporting. Hint: It’s important not to piss off the cops.

And recently I got an internship with the top television news company, which may just turn into a job in November.

SO. Thank you all for being there for me. This blog was actually a big part of making me realise journalism was the place for me. Not the only motivator, but definitely a big one.

I don’t think I have the time to blog any more. I’m terrible at doing things half-heartedly, and that’s what I would be doing. And it makes me nervous, now I’m on a track where I could become a public figure, that this blog containing my innermost feelings  could be discovered. And I think the anonymity was a part of what let me open up so much.

I do, however, have a twitter. On which I am far less open and tend not to talk about bad days, but it’s still me. If anyone wants to keep in touch, leave a comment with your twitter handle, and I’ll follow you. Even if you were just a quiet browser, speak up and leave a comment this once. (Especially you Terri, I hope you have a twitter.)

And with this, we all carry on with our lives.

Love to you all. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

What’s with the competition, ladies?

Disclaimer: this is written about ladies competing, because I am a lady (if not lady-like), and have experienced this only with ladies. Maybe men do it too, but I have no experience of it. So before we bring out the pitchforks and call on all womanhood to unite, I’m not deriding female relations. Just commenting.

Now that the disclaimer is done, has anyone noticed a weird need for women to compete? Even between friends, close friends, who supposedly care about each other a great deal.

It seems to happen with me all the time. I’m very competitive, so am probably a little oversensitive to a subtle challenge. That’s my issue, and I try very hard not to get caught up in the challenge. It’s not productive, it’s not fun, and I’ve had it go far too far before and ruin friendships. So really, whether you want to feel prettier, smarter, more productive, more important, or more stressed; go for it. I shall smile, let you have your moment, and change the subject. As long as it isn’t constant, and the friend is super awesome in other ways, whatever. Because I am aware that I am pretty, that I am smart, that what I do is important, and I really value the other areas of our friendship too much to participate in petty games.

But boy is it hard to repress my inner competitor. I’m a high achiever, and this is partly because I constantly strive to be the best. Whether or not I actually make it to the top, that’s where I aim. This isn’t related to just one area of life, but all of them. I want to be perfect. I’m also aware that I can’t be, and need to take a chill pill occasionally.

This little rant is brought about by recent events. I have a friend who is close to finishing her thesis as well. She studies Physical Geography, I study Media. I am aware that I got higher marks than her throughout the rest of my degree, so never bring that up. It also came out yesterday that she has only written 3,000 words towards her thesis, whereas I have written 13,000.

See? Even beauty queens can play nice.

Now, I didn’t tell her this to try to rub it in. She asked, I answered, then she compared and I felt bad and tried to make her feel better. Except, this was followed by a comment on my Facebook today, saying she now felt better because she realised she had spent the beginning of her degree doing lab work, and so her word count wasn’t so bad.

Huh.

I wasn’t aware it was a competition, actually. I mean, it’s your degree. It’s a completely different area, never mind subject. And hey, mine took a heck of a lot of research and field work too. It’s not like I’m making this up from the top of my head.

But you know what? Yes. She spent a lot of time in the lab. She will complete on time, or nearly, I’m fairly sure. She will probably get a lower mark than me, if past progress indicates, and I shall tread carefully to avoid her realising that. And I shall not allow myself to slip into the self-justification that her comment could provoke, because you know what? I care about her too much to be distracted by silly details.

Have any of you experienced lady-competition? Or am I oversensitive?

These are a few of my favourite things.

I have completely broken my post-a-day streak, because of current ridiculous schedule. This is annoying, because I’ve discovered I really like blogging. It’s cathartic, it’s escapist, it’s fun. And I meet all you awesome people. WIN.

So this post is dedicated to all my favourite things, because real life is currently stressy enough, and it’s nice to take a pause to smile.

• Blogging. This kinda had to come first didn’t it.
• Good food. I once heard diet advice that said to make your food plain so that you didn’t want to eat as much. WHAT. Food is one of the simple pleasures in life, revel in it.
• Interesting conversation. One of my favourite things about my PostGrad friends is the conversations we have when we’ve been drinking together. We inevitably get highly nerdy, and attempt to solve the world’s problems. A stand out memory is of Hipster Boy talking to My Boy, then turning to me and exclaiming “He knows about neo-liberalism! He’s awesome, bring him more often!”
• Sunshine. I bask in it. I burn, because my skin is incapable of tanning. My cat and I lie on our backs outside the front door and blissfully sun ourselves together. Which leads to…
• My cat. She’s bratty, sheds fur everywhere, and has a tendency to walk over clean sheets with muddy paws. She also follows me everywhere on the off-chance of cuddles, sleeps under the blankets with her head on my pillow, tries to steal my pillow while I sleep, and sandwiches herself between me and my laptop when I study. She’s furry purry cuteness and brightens my life.
• Being “ironic”. Since I spend a great deal of time around both hipsters and postmodern theory, irony gets brought up a lot. It is therefore referenced whenever someone makes a mistake. Such as: “Your zip is sewed in wonky.” “It’s an ironic commentary on contemporary society’s need to conform and standardise.” “Yeah, but it won’t even open.” “Who says it needs to open?? Stop being ruled by the man, man!”
• Random visits from friends. Because they’re awesome, and everyone likes nice surprises.
• Cuddles. What can I say, I’m a tactile person. The Boy specialises in big, wordless, amazing hugs that make me feel better. If it was all he ever brought to my life (and it’s not by a long shot) that would be plenty.
• Over-committing myself. Ok, not sure I actually enjoy the process. But I do it so often there must be something I like about it. Under all the complaints about (self-induced) stress, I like the sense of accomplishment. But I’m still working on remedying the work-life balance.
• Making detailed plans for things I may never do. It’s like making a story, where you’re the main character, and you have limitless funds to do amazing things. And hey, every now and then the plans actually happen.
• Clothes. I try really hard to live a sustainable life, but there is something about clothes. I can never have enough. To this end, I am learning to sew, so I can make and alter my own clothes, and hopefully live more sustainably. Which leads to..
• Sewing. I spend so much of my life stationery, in front of a computer, thinking about theories by dead white guys. I love it, but the change of pace sewing brings is good for the soul. AND, you get pretty new things out of it.
• Scratching a good itch. Feels so gooooood.
  

  Do you have the song in your head now? HA! My work here is done.

And the power of the universe takes effect again.

As you may have seen from my previous post, today was not going well. I was pulling myself to shreds with worry.

I took a moment, dropped the coffee and replaced it with a green tea, hoping to avoid a caffeine-induced panic attack. I wrote my “poor me” post, because for some reason, writing always helps. I cruised through failbook.org, because it’s always handy to be reminded that at least you’re not that level of fail.

I was feeling better. But then the Universe intervened to make me feel really quite good.

First, Hipster boy called into my office, and asked if I was going to the BYO dinner tonight. You know, he’s the one who I always feel self-conscious around. I said I was going, he said he hadn’t been planning to, but would go if myself and the Boy were. Excellent! My presence is not only a reason to be somewhere, but I have Hipster Approval! This, my friends, is the highest seal of approval one can attain.

This is the more common message I receive from Hipster Boy.

Then, I was sent a Direct Message on Twitter. This message was from a mutual friend of a Negative Influence, that was one of the people I had cut out of my life. I had accepted Mutual Friend as a sad casualty of shedding bad friends, and started to move on. Sorry about all the links, but really, I’m drawing on quite a bit of history here.

Anyway, Mutual Friend asked if I was still friends with Negative Influence, and if I wanted a solo coffee date. I cautiously said I wasn’t much friends with Negative Influence, and would love a solo coffee date. Over the course of our conversation, we eventually each admitted that neither of us wanted much to do with Negative Influence any more, but would still love to be friends.

I crave your approval like I crave aiiiiirrrrr. Ok, not actually.

These events absolutely made my day, particularly as my biggest ongoing fear is that nobody really wants to be friends with me, and that I don’t have much to offer in the fun friend stakes. For these things to happen in the following 10 minutes from my WaaaaaFest, restores my faith.

Thanks Universe.

And the anxiety returns.

I’ve been feeling pretty on top of things the last few weeks. Cruised through my thesis requirements. Enjoyed the approaching summer. Kept my personal relationships ticking over. And most of all, managed to control the chest-squeezing, breathless anxiety that I sometimes let get the best of me.

This control and relaxation has gone out the window the past three days.

I have learned that my thesis supervisor is going overseas in 5 weeks. For 6 months. And no, I did not learn this from my supervisor, but from one of the other students he is currently supervising. I now have five weeks to put together TWO draft chapters, and get his thoughts on them. Because they’re only my most important chapters that my entire thesis will revolve around. No biggy.

This wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the other stresses. My thesis is currently due to finish in February, and I was considering the possibility of an extension, because I’m seriously behind. I lost a good three months of work due to personal life issues, so thought I would just extend.

But then I had the super genius idea that I had had had to apply for a prestigious diploma. A postgraduate diploma in journalism, that takes only 20 people a year, where all the big names graduated from, that involves an internship and practically guarantees a job at the end of it. I’m only in this city for one more year, so the current intake is my only real chance.

This diploma starts mid-February.

Ok. So so far, we have my supervisor leaving the country, and a sudden reality check for my thesis deadline. I had talked myself down from the panic ledge somewhat, by telling myself I didn’t have a chance for the diploma.

Except apparently, I do. I received a letter, detailing my interview time for next week. I’m on the shortlist of candidates. Excuse my hyperventilation.

This interview is 30 minutes, and includes a short test on spelling, grammar, and writing. I’m not entirely sure what the rest covers, but they mention wanting to know about how I’m qualified, skills, and demonstrating my interest in the journalistic field.

The Boy, in the best of intentions, then tried to overload me with things I should know. This did not help. This simply increased my general feeling of underpreparedness, and unworthiness.

To sum up: the tightness in my chest is back. The shallow breathing is back. And the feeling of only barely treading water is back.

I shall be relieved when Wednesday is over.

Marking: If only you cared less.

One of the expectations of being a thesis student at my university is that you start to teach undergraduate students. I nearly said younger students, but actually I’ve taught people twice my age many times. It’s awkward each time. Anyway, in New Zealand this job referred to as tutoring, and I hear that it’s similar to the American system of using TA’s. Whatever, you run small classes, you mark assignments, take over from the lecturer if they’re sick, and get to work on campus. The last point was pretty much why I wanted the job.

The classes aren’t too bad. Sure, students try to fake that they were at the lecture when they weren’t, and obviously don’t know what you’re talking about. But if they’re polite and pay attention to what I say, I will usually let it slide. As long as you take a relaxed but organised approach, the teaching side really isn’t so bad. But the marking. THAT, my friends, is soul-destroying.

The assignments that I am currently grading were due two days after a paper for another course, that most of the students were also taking. So most of these students have spent two days on it. AT MOST. Let me tell you, when you’re writing a paper at 2.30 am, buzzing on Red Bull, and thinking that the quality is good enough: it isn’t. I know exactly what you did. And I take one glance at it and yell “No! What were you thinking?!”

There’s the students who attempt their own research. In the second year of university, don’t try to design your own case study, without supervision or experience. That’s what PostGrad is for. This is why we tell you to discuss a published case study. Not do your own. And please, why did you put a table discussing the results of your study into the paper? This is a humanities paper, not science or whatever else.

Then there’s the English students who take a Media paper for kicks. I get handed an assignment full of flowery prose, and ‘quirky’ turns of phrase. NO. This is an academic essay. Outline your argument in a clear and logical manner. Do not hand me something that could be entered into a poetry competition.

And of course, the good old completely-missed-the-point essays. The ones who, when the assignment requests that they contrast two television genres, ends up discussing whether or not propaganda in the 1920s worked. And discuss it quite well. And you look at the assignment, wonder how the heck they decided that argument was a good idea, and then have to fail them.

All of this is followed by the guilt. I’m not so good at justifying why I’m qualified to judge these students. And I am well aware that many of them will hate me, based on the mark I gave them. This is intensified when I see something awful from a student who I know can do better. Or when I have to keep strict self-control to not write that sarcastic comment, when I’m just dying too. Because despite their blatant disregard for the course, and lack of effort, I have to be the bigger person. I’m their teacher. The mature, responsible adult in this situation.

Side note: When did I inherit the mature responsible adult role? Is there a manual? Can I abdicate?

Moving on. I guess my point is this: don’t ever think your teacher doesn’t give a damn. I agonise over grades. I stare in confusion at muddled sentences, written in the dead of night while the student was full of Red Bull confidence. Or sometimes alcohol. I really try to understand how the heck they got it so wrong. And despite being hated for some of the marks I give back, maybe if they’d spent a bit longer on the assignment they would have done better. Just sayin’.

On the plus side, marking their assignments makes me feel like a genius. There’s always that.

Free speech does not just apply to those I agree with.

Recently, the Rally to Restore Sanity And/Or Fear was held in Washington. I’m a huge fan of the Daily Show, and thought that the rally was a brilliant idea, and one that would hopefully remind people that not everything had to involve becoming polarised to greater and greater extents.

So imagine my happiness when an estimated 215,ooo people showed up to the rally! That’s a lot of people who would like to bring down the crazy, and focus on achieving political goals in a more rational manner.

This has really restored some of my faith in humanity. Because as far as I could see, recently people had been all about the free speech for themselves, and not for anyone who held an opposing viewpoint.

I find it as annoying as anyone else when people disagree with me. And I definitely find it upsetting when people ascribe to ideologies filled with hate and fear, like neo-nazism.  But if you defend the rights of some people to free speech, the only place you can draw the line is where it stops being speech, and starts to have physical effects. An anthrax filled letter, for example, is not free speech.

You may worry that people will be swayed by good rhetoric, that covers a dangerous argument. Then use your free speech to point out the holes in the argument! If you want to advocate for only certain people to have the right to speak, on certain subjects, for fear of a populace run wild, that is another issue entirely. And I would listen with interest to your argument. But it is not an advocacy of free speech. And I would use my free speech to say so.

The beauty of free speech is that everyone gets it. If you disagree with another point of view, say so. Publicly and rationally state your case. And then others may join you, or they may not. Hey, sometimes you’ll be the crazy that people want to shut down. But that’s what free speech is. Yes, it can be hurtful, in which case, say it is.

The Rally to Restore Sanity is, to me, the perfect example of how to use free speech. Jon Stewart (or his advisors) recognised that American politics was becoming polarised, and felt that this did not represent what the majority of the American felt and wanted. So a rally was held, and a staggering 220,000 people exercised their right to opinion to agree with Stewart.

That small percentage of people who so quickly grab headlines, and talk about extreme points of view, do not need to be quieted. There just needs to be opposition. Not polarising, just rational discussion, and a point of view stated. Blogging is as good a tool as any. As is talking to friends. And of course, vote (if you’re an American, consider this your reminder to vote!). That is the ultimate in freedom of speech.

This is free speech. This applies to everyone. Use yours.