This is basically an “AFK BRB!”  post.  I managed to complete my last assessment in Human Biology a full twenty days before it’s due date, thereby leaving only the final exam mid June to contend with for that course before it finishes.  I thought I was doing pretty well… until I decided to take a look at the sample exam.  The best way I can describe it was that it felt like that dream everyone has had before, whereby you walk into an exam having never seen the material.

And you’ve forgotten your name.

And you’re naked.

Que complete meltdown.  As if the exam isn’t bad enough, I’ve got a Biological Psychology assessment threatening to compete for study time, due May 30th.  I suddenly went from congratulating myself for being ahead to panicking six weeks isn’t going to be nearly enough time to memorize seven months worth of bodily systems and latin nomenclature.   Up until now I’ve managed such a careful balancing act: coursework in it’s proper place every day, never having to sacrifice time to the university gods whilst my daughter was awake, and still managing to squeeze out a few precious minutes for myself despite taking two difficult courses.  This will not be the case in May, as I am going to need every spare minute to devote to getting the Biological Psychology assessment out of the way and then onto four textbooks worth of information in prep for the Human Biology final.

So, this means I need to cut everything I do down to the bare minimum, and this includes hobbies, such as blogging.  I wouldn’t expect to see much activity on Awesomeville over the coming weeks, although I will try to keep up with the project 366 posts because I’m already a third of the way through the year and I’ll be damned if I give up now.  But it DOES mean likely no book reviews, as there probably won’t be any books TO review (and I just cashed my Nectar points in for a  £30 Amazon voucher.  *sad*) little to no photos or writings.   I am finally faced, for the first time in my school career thus far, with having to work whilst Moo is awake, which kills me.   And every night I’ll be burning the midnight oil to cram a month’s worth of work into a week so I can then study seven months of material in a month.

I just hope I can pull it all off, I would be elated to pull out a 2:1 on the exam.

See you all on the flip side!

Before Maddie came along I never had mornings so much as I had bowls of cereal at 12:30pm.   Working the later shift, coupled with the condensed week giving me not two but three days off per week, it was a rare occasion that I ever saw the sun rise… unless of course it was the 4am summer variety after having gamed the night away.  That offspring of mine has taught me a great many things about myself, life, etc, one of which was an appreciation for this period of the day that had not previously existed in my life unless wilfully forced: the mornings.

More often than not, Maddie is a gentle waker: the sounds of her cooing and babbling to her Bert and Ernie stuffed toys comes through the baby monitor next to the bed, signalling to me that she’s up but in no big rush.  I always leave our blinds / curtains open when we go to bed with the promise of soft morning sunlight early the next day.  Today is sunny, blue skies and fluffy white clouds as I can see from the bed.  This is always a good time to think.

Thought topic of the moment is university.  Over the last two days I’ve gotten my latest assessments back for both Human Biology and Biological Psychology, both having earned a 2:1 grade.   The panic that seems to never be far from the periphery of thought, that “what if I’m not cut out for this?!” worry, has started to finally recede and for the first time I finally became convinced that not only am I doing it, I’m doing it well.  Speaking with Amy last night bolstered my confidence,  confirming that the British system IS hardcore, and my assessments are being marked in such a way as to prepare me for the level 3 courses, the ones which will ultimately decide the fate of my overall degree grade.

Thinking about my courses always inevitably leads to a thought that begins “when I grow up….” It always was the logical precursor to any talk of post grad work or future careers.  Yet somewhere along the way I DID grow up, and I still don’t know what I want to do.  And the odd thing is, it’s not a sentiment born out of feeling luke warm about my studies, quite the contrary: I have found nearly everything about my studies to be interesting.  Genetics, evolution, neurobiology, microbiology, molecular biology, paleontology, immunology… all AWESOMEOLOGY, in my book.  As Mark’s cousin Kerrie told me: If you like everything you’re doing then you can’t lose.  I feel a bit that way, empowered by the choices I can make and paths to travel, knowing that I will always hold a love for the field I choose and maintain a life long interest in those I do not.  I guess it’s a bit “having one’s cake and eating it,”  a non-answer to that all important question “what do you want to BE when you grow up?”  and ultimately I want to and always be ME, now and when I grow up.  So long as I stick to that plan, I can’t lose.

But now it has just gone 8am, time to get Moo up and dressed, have some breakfast and the ritualistic morning coffee, and start our day.  It’s funny, just two years ago I would’ve never seen 8am save for the rare occasion of adult early morning responsibility, but now Moo and I are often times ready and out the door by nine, seizing the morning, starting the day with fresh air and sunshine.

Somewhere along the way I must’ve grown up, because my whole being prefers these early starts, a little extra time in a day that’s almost always too short to begin with.

This or That Thursday

You know how when you try to make a toddler do something they don’t want to do, they fall to the ground and go completely limp in protest?  I do pretty much the same thing when it comes to school work: arms draped over the sides of my chair, head completely back as to stare at the ceiling, slightly brain-damaged look on my face.  The thing is, I find what I’m studying (MOST, anyways) to be incredibly interesting.  I’d even go as far as to say I get some level of enjoyment when it comes to reading the hundreds of pages required.

But essay writing? Oh no.

I basically find everything to do but write: I wash the dishes, vacuum, check facebook a few dozen times, get roped into looking at funny-but-stupid images online, sit at my desk playing with NERF projectiles and thinking to myself how they look like macaroons, thinking about macaroons, etc.   Yesterday I cleaned the entire bathroom complete with a good floor scrubbing, because that’s how much I wanted to write about the kidney’s role in blood pressure mitigation.

And it KILLS me.  I get nothing done, and the thing is time is a precious thing in our busy family.  Lately Mark and I do a switch-off when he gets home from work: he takes over Moo duties, takes her to the park, feeds her dinner, and gets her ready for bed;  I work on my coursework, which consists of two large, multifaceted assessments due at the end of the month for both classes.   It’s a bitch to get through, especially when not actually at the books but standing up and staring out the window at people passing by occasionally on the sidewalk.  Yeah, it’s hard to work like that.

I wish I knew how to sit down and work for longer stretches than fifteen minutes. I cannot bring myself to write; I drop to the floor, limp, and refuse to move. Or post on my blog about it.

I’ll be glad when this month is over.

My mother-in-law, who has been visiting with us for the last two months, cut and dyed my hair yesterday and I love it.  She must’ve cut off over four inches, a testament to the sacrificial mommy lifestyle, and probably the first I’ve had it cut at all in over a year.    Otherwise yesterday was a complete write-off.

I was disappointed in the grade I received on my quarter two assessment in Human Biology.  That’s not to say I received a bad grade, I got a 2:1 and still maintain a 2:1 in the course thus far, which is what I’m ultimately aiming to do (in the UK, a 2:1 is below a first, which is the highest).  But after talking to my friend Jen about it, she sent me a link to a post on dooce.com which really hit home about the blogger’s daughter and her perfectionism:

When you attempt something, you don’t want to be good at it. You want to be the best. This personality trait bares its fangs most noticeably when you practice piano. And here’s the thing: your skill level has far surpassed everything I know about reading music, so your father has to help you practice. Your father is very good at everything he tries, but he’s not a crazed fanatical overachiever like I am. Like you seem to be. So I’ve had to walk him through what goes on in your brain when you hit a wrong note or can’t hear a rhythm.

“Jon, that wrong note makes her think she’s going to end up homeless.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” he’ll say.

“True,” I concede. “But if you raise your voice while she’s in that spiral, not only will she end up homeless, she’ll end up homeless and then someone will steal her cardboard box.”

As hard as it is to explain, that’s where I go emotionally when I fall short of what I personally think I’m capable of: I’m going to end up homeless and someone will steal my cardboard box.  It isn’t logical, but any feedback that goes against my internal idea of me is a hard thing to swallow, and I feel as though I’m capable of better than even a 2:1.   I’m driven to do well at this, to be a great female role model to my daughter, to not end up jockeying a phone for a living the rest of my life.  I feel as though my goals are realistic (I read once only about 10% of majors in the hard sciences come out with firsts… so I feel 2:1 is more than reasonable) but I also feel the pressure of succeeding to the utmost degree so I can get into grad school when this ungrad is all said and done with.     I’ve never been challenged in this way academically before: my first excursion into university, despite the attempt at a double major, was fairly easy (she says, having been nineteen years old without a care in the world) and I was always on the Dean’s honor list.  This go around is… well… about a million times harder.

It’s been a hard couple of days overall, mostly due to the lack of sleep I’m getting as a result of Moo, who is eighteen months old mind you, waking multiple times in the night and we’re not sure why.  Couple that with getting up at five for work on Sunday,  working a full day, and consuming enough Redbull to bring down an elephant (I really must stop with the Redbull).  I was exhausted when I got home.

Then our boiler broke during the coldest weather we’ve had this year.  Fan-fucking-tastic.

I hate writing about my “problems” on my blog because it sounds incredibly shallow and, even in the throes of emotion, I am still a logical enough person to recognize I’m so very lucky my problems are first world, middle class problems.  I don’t have to worry about feeding my kid or barely scraping by, and we even have enough money in reserve to fix the damn boiler.  Yet it was an amalgamation of everything and, in the course of just a day, I felt like I lost my controlling hold on everything.  I felt spread thin in a way I’ve not yet felt: as though EVERYTHING I am doing can never amount to my best because I’m trying to do too much.  I went from feeling like I was sailing calm waters in a boat I built myself to feeling like I am barely keeping my head above water in just a twenty-four hour period.   And I was angry: angry that Mark had neglected a “blue job” (as opposed to “pink job”) of getting the boiler serviced before winter hit, and also angry at myself for becoming THAT woman I said I’d never be: the one who cannot, for example, even locate the electricity meter because “it’s something her husband deals with.”  Ugh.

I guess what it comes down to is I need a more realistic idea of me.    I’m not superhuman, nor am I perfect, nor will I achieve savant-level accomplishments academically, nor will I wake up one morning with the ability to fix my own boiler.  What I can do, what I am capable of, is trying my best at whatever it is I do: school, work, motherhood, life.    Sometimes, I wish this thought were enough.  Sometimes it’s not, but ultimately it has to be.