Sometimes I wish I’d written this blog anonymously. It didn’t matter before—I was single, I was mainly freelancing and the “real” jobs I had were jobs I didn’t care about—but now that things have changed, it’s seems like everything I want to write about is off limits.
This forces me to write about nonsense. Like people in the drive through line at Dunkin Donuts. Or reality television. Or egocentric, ethnocentric smut that somehow found itself between the covers of an actual book.
I’d like to write about my students. I’d like to write about sex. I’d like to write about how the thought of someday-moving-in-with-TWD both excites and terrifies me. I’d like to write about the schools I’m considering for my PhD—both the ones I’m now dying to get into and the ones that I’m just about ready to cross off the list—but this blog is public, so I can’t very well do that, now can I?
I will say this: Operation Move Out has been derailed. Because now that I’m applying to go back to school, there’s no sense in buying a house in Philadelphia until I find out where I’m going to be spending the next 5-8 years of my life.
I will also say this: House hunting is both invigorating and infuriating. Especially when your significant other suffers from the delusion that suburbs are the best and you know, without even a shadow of uncertainty, that he is wrong. I think I stress-ate an entire bag of Pirate’s Booty and mint M&Ms during our first go-round.
And finally this: When you get an email from the admission folks at your school of choice, advising you to wear “comfortable footwear” for the campus tour, do not assume that this advice only applies to overweight, non-dancers who don’t know how to walk in heels and therefore cannot handle the challenge of a “few hills.” Also do not assume that you remember everything about said campus from having gone to one Eating Club party as an undergraduate, especially if you do not remember there being any hills. There are. There are lots of them.