Grow The !@#$ Up

Remember C of food stamps and spousal PhD on Lost Atlantis? Anyhow. I was talking to C. And her spouse, who has screaming-heebie-jeebie panic attacks over writing papers (publish or perish? iffy question!), predictably did not finish a single blessed one of his term papers. From last May.

They are still not done.

Regarding one, the professor said "Oh, just turn it in before the end of the year." So C said to me, "I almost want to ask the professor to set a deadline before Christmas! Or he'll be working on the paper our whole vacation!" I made a sympathetic MRRRR noise. And I thought, "There is something wrong here."

See, normal humans would, oh, say to the spouse, "I need you to finish your work before X date, so that Y can happen." And normal, responsible, adult spouses would, given six months and a stay-at-home wife and virtually no other responsibilities, be able to finish 3 papers. And normal human people who have been married to each other for seven years should, perhaps, have worked this out already. However, under none of these circumstances is it reasonable or professional to ask one's spouse's professor to step in.

In fact, this spouse needs to grow up. Also, in fact, I think that sacrificing one's family's well-being, health, and financial stability to pursue a useless PhD in the likely-vain hope that a tenured faculty job somewhere pleasant will result... is selfish, stupid, and childish. And either terminally optimistic, or something a great deal less flattering.

Grow up, honey. Grow up.

Addendum: Antidepressants and Pregnancy

Stopping your drugs 2 weeks before the due date probably doesn't make any difference.

Against Single Parenting

-that is, for myself. The spousal unit is off at a conference in somewhere that thinks it's the center of the world. All week. Ironically, he didn't even want to go.

Wow, is this easier with more than one adult around.

Bet You Didn't Know...

... that a tricycle, being caught on one's garage door, will cause catastrophic failure!

... that to put the door back in, you have to take out all the roller holders.

... that you probably have to take it apart too.

... that garage doors weigh A TON.

Ain't No Sunshine

Dear Readers! It appears that I am becoming depressed.

Part of this is from a difficult relationship patch with an old friend. (All snooze off here.) Her husband is getting a PhD in History of Lost Atlantis, they are fantastically in debt, and he cherishes the notion that he will magically get a faculty job upon graduation, which will happen in a magical 5 years. They are on food stamps and Medicaid. (Also, Medicaid is NOT the path to getting good healthcare. No. Really not.) She is very controlling about her 3-year-old's eating ("Never try to teach a pig to sing") and her 8-month-old has dropped to the 2nd percentile in weight.

I am a judgmental bitch about all of this. And contempt does not make for good friendships.

The whole "magical faculty job" thing... really pisses me off. It's like those new grad students, who are convinced that they will get that experiment to work; you know, the one 200 other people have tried before, but this student! This student will just work harder! This student wants it more! I know this is partly a naive sort of magical thinking, but the rest is scorn and idiocy. Because everyone who didn't get what they wanted? It's because they didn't want it enough! You can graduate in 5 years if ONLY YOU WORK HARD ENOUGH!* Everyone who didn't get a faculty job (70% of PhDs, if you're counting) was a lazy, stupid bum. (Or... wanted to be paid fantastically well in industry, or hates academia, or didn't want to live in fucking BEIRUT.)

My dear, darling child appears to be having some strong Bug feelings; specifically, all bloody night. Also all day. And the hitting! Forever with the hitting.** This doesn't help.

I probably need to exercise, but I'm too tired. I probably need to make more friends here, but I'm too tired. I probably need to sleep more, but I need to exercise, so I can sleep. I probably need to go take a shower now.

No advice please, I know what I need to do. I am merely filled with angst and depression. Thank you. We're here all week.


*NO. No, you can't.

**I take his arms in my hands, and kneel down and say "No, Bug, no hitting, gentle", and then I stroke his arm gently. EVERY SINGLE FREAKING TIME. So mostly he just keeps hitting me, but this evening he walked over to me afterwards to gently stroke my leg. It was... kind of sweet.

Losing It Less

And now for a good night's sleep! Sedatives, here I come.

Losing It

I don't know if it's the heat, or the squirmy-grabby-hands ALL DAY LONG, or the 3 hours/night of nursing, but I have reached the end of my rope and am dangling out over the stream.