Colorless Green Ideas Unintentionally Amusing In Person
Thursday, August 21, 2003
A Wedding and a Funeral (really)
We’re leaving town for a few days this afternoon. Tonight we get to stay in The Castle, a supposedly-haunted B&B that we’ve always wanted to visit (a birthday gift from my folks)! On Friday, I have to go over some business/legal issues surrounding T.H.’s grandmother’s death with my mother-in-law, and try to see a couple of former college professors about grad school. On Saturday, T.H.’s cousin is getting married. On Sunday, we’re meeting up with the family, who are all going to be in town for the wedding, to have an informal memorial for T.H.’s grandmother.
This is, admittedly, not my first choice for weekend fun, but it could be worse.
In other news—I am in the process of pestering regional dramaturgs for advice about grad school. So far, everyone has been really nice and responsive. We’ll just all pretend that this means that I can get accepted to a program before someone catches on to the fact that I am really as dumb as a post, and can’t make convincing critical arguments to save my life, and am drubbed out of the Academics Club with wet spaghetti noodles. Then they’ll snip off my buttons, turn my umbrella inside-out, punch out my hat, put a mangled carnation in my buttonhole, and send me, dejected, into the street, and I’ll have to go work at Burger King.
And we keep getting ants in the bathroom. Why the bathroom? Why not the kitchen, were the food is? What do ants want in the bathroom? Toothpaste? Fancy-pants hair sculpting-cream?
T.H. went to a Sleep Clinic about a month ago, to have himself checked out for sleep apnea, at my urging. His mom and dad both have pretty severe apnea, and I know (because, you know, I sleep with him) that he stops breathing at night, which is scary. However, he doesn’t fall asleep spontaneously during waking hours (though he used to do so all the time—you’d turn around from a 3-minute conversation with someone to ask him what he thought, and he’d be fast asleep on the floor), and he doesn’t snore (lucky for me!), which are the two most common signs of apnea, so we kind of had to be pushy about getting him tested. Well, I had to be pushy. But that’s part of my function in this relationship, so I was pushy, and he got tested. And they said he didn’t have sleep apnea, and he’d get details in a few days. And I was surprised but glad, and he was really pleased, because he’s also somewhat claustrophobic, and he didn’t like the idea of sleeping with CPAP machine and a mask.
But on Monday he went to see his doctor, and he asked, casually, when he’d get those results, and his doctor freaked out, because, apparently, someone should have contacted him 2-3 weeks ago! It turns out that the machine he was hooked up to wasn’t working properly for the first half of the night, and that’s why the techs thought he didn’t have apnea. During the second half of the night, when the machine was working, he stopped breathing an average of 39 times an hour! His doctor must have gotten things moving, because the clinic folks called him yesterday, and will be scheduling another appointment to get him onto a CPAP soon—but still! I can’t believe that the clinic dropped the ball again. This has happened several times since we switched to this insurance/medical provider, and, while I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, it’s approaching truly ridiculous proportions.
And it’s not as though this is no big deal—T.H.’s apnea is almost certainly affecting his overall health—apnea is known to increase risks for heart disease and strokes, and make it difficult to lose weight, and aggravate ADD, and makes a person more vulnerable to pretty much everything—because if you’re not sleeping properly, your body never gets a chance to recuperate, and everything just grinds down.
I’m glad they caught it, and I’m immensely relieved it’s going to be taken care of—but how can medical professionals continue to flagrantly miss or screw up things that are significant health issues!
And, on a totally personal and petty note, how is my husband supposed to be a proper cheerleader for my “what am I doing with my life” drama when he’s sleep-deprived?! He’s totally no good as a cheerleader when he’s tired—he just says things like “I already said I think you can do it—how many more times are you going to ask me?”, which is not the desired response.
I Thought I Didn’t, But Apparently I Want More Than This
Annoyingly, I spent the weekend getting in touch with the inconvenient concept that I am mildly-to-seriously-dissatisfied with the direction I’m going with my life/career path, and will probably need to spend zillions of dollars and go to graduate school to rectify this issue.
I like my current job. But that’s all. I just like it. It doesn’t challenge me, there’s limited creative and intellectual scope, and, while I like museums, museums are not theaters, and theater (and movies!) are what I love. I did theater design and literary criticism in college, and I do primarily customer service and sales in my current job. And I do like it, but any reasonably intelligent person could do my job.
I thought I was okay with this. T.H. was going to get a job, we were going to get a dog, and save up some money, and buy a house, but, now that I’ve spent some time thinking about what I want to be doing with my life, this isn’t it. I’m not okay with a job that doesn’t challenge my intellect, and I need to make some changes, even if that means we’ll never be able to buy a house. I want to get a master’s and work for a theater company or a college. I want to show people how theater can be significant, how it can illustrate its own period, or current issues, or both. I want to show people that Shakespeare is spectacle—popular entertainment from Elizabethan England, and I want to write interesting papers about the significance of costuming conventions and what it says about x culture. I want to have specific information about why Annette Benning shouldn’t be wearing pierced earrings in The Open Range. (I’m pretty certain that “nice women” didn’t wear earrings back then, but I’m not positive.)
So now I’m poking through my college contacts for information on graduate programs, and hoping that I can get into one that will make me employable in the fashion that I want to be employed. Most of my instructors wanted me to go to graduate school right away, but I said no, no, I don’t think I want to. And yes, it’s good that I didn’t go right away (since I didn’t want to, really) but I’m still scared as hell, and freaked out at probably starting a new career at approximately 32-33 (assuming I can get into a 3-year MFA program by next fall).
I’m terrified out of my gourd, and I’m out of my depth, and I’m doing my best not to become convinced that I have no chance of getting into a decent grad program.
It would be so much simpler if I just didn’t want any more than this. But I guess I do. And I guess it’s better to discover that now, rather than in five years…