All The Deliverables

All the things

All the god damn time.

All the homework.

All the reading.

All the ibuprofen I took when I got home from classes today.

I got all my things situated when I got home.

Get the mail, grab the package in the hall, unpack from the day, then repack it all back up so that I can have it and be out the door when I need to be.

This morning was my first time riding the scooter to school.

It was great.

And not so great.

Great was–it started, it ran smoothly, it was a nice ride in.

I even split lanes a few times.

Although not with that vigor and vim that I saw a lot of fellow motorcyclists and scooterist doing.

I was a bit more cautious.

I will likely be for a little more time to come.

It’s just the way I run.

And I am fine with that.

In fact, I didn’t think I was going to split lanes at all and then, there I was doing it without much thought.

Except when I wasn’t and a few cycles zip past me.

The confidence will grow.

I found parking.

It was not the parking I wanted, that was actually taken, much to my surprise.  Although later in the day it was free and I could have moved my scooter but I was just around the corner on Minna Street and I didn’t feel uncomfortable parked there.

Granted I had to move the scooter a few times as it’s two hour parking on that strip of Minna, but it’s not metered and I had breaks and the building abuts Minna Street, so it only took a few minutes when I had to do it.

I won’t have to on the weekends proper.

Just on Fridays.

Tomorrow I will have my pick of the parking and not worry about it at all.

And now I know that on Fridays I may, if I don’t secure the parking that I want, have to do a little moving around of the ride.

No big deal.

The big deal was actually coming home on the scooter.

Not the traffic or the cold–the new motorcycle jacket works like a charm and is a super wind break, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised.

No.

What I was concerned about was the fog.

It rolled in big time and the visibility was hard.

I had to lift the visor on my helmet as it became too fogged up to see.

That was uncomfortable.

It is one thing to ride through fog on my bicycle with my glasses off, another to ride down Lincoln Avenue at 35/40 mph with fog smudging it all up.

I rode slow and resolved that for the future if the fog is bad I can take the park, which has a lot less traffic.

Granted the speed limit is ten miles an hour slower, but as they say, better safe than sorry.

My other thought when I was riding is don’t they make anti-fog helmets?

I wonder.

I bet they do.

Something to research.

Do they make them in glitter?

Yes.

Glitter is a color, what’s your issue?

So the scooter ride in went off without a hitch and I loved having my basket liner to carry all my food in and my books and notebooks and readers and coffee.  It all fit and a light sweatshirt, as I didn’t want to wear my motorcycle jacket in class or carry it around for that matter–what was great was getting to the kitchen at school, taking out my food from the basket liner and sticking my motorcycle jacket in the liner and setting it on the shelf.

Perfect.

So self-contained.

It was lovely.

And school was lovely too.

Good to see friends.

Good to catch up.

Good to get back into the feeling that I am not the only one fumbling around with time management or skills sets in therapeutic communication.

I am not the only one in the adventure.

There are others in the same boat and the common peril we all face–another god damn final paper to write–is a balm to my soul.

The final paper projects were handed out today and as I looked at the deliverables I wanted to vomit and in fact, my head got super full, so full with the last lecture of the day on Freud and transference, that when the professor laid out the final paper project I just about cried.

Well.

No.

That isn’t true.

But I wasn’t happy.

“You don’t look happy,” my professor said when she saw the face I made after she announced that there would be another paper due for the class.

I have no poker face.

I pasted some semblance of a societally acceptable pleasant mask on my face and hollered on the inside.

NO MORE FUCKING PAPERS!

Damn it.

Ugh.

Except, well, it wouldn’t be graduate school would it, it wouldn’t be getting a Masters in Psychology, it would be something else and I know that I am worth doing the work and that ultimately, the work will get done.

I have some how showed up for every class.

On time.

Not missed a one.

Even the weekend when I got sick and ran a fever and was out of my mind with exhaustion.

I have shown up.

I have turned all my papers in on time and I am doing pretty damn good.

I got an A- on the Pschoanalytics paper that I went out on such a huge limb for and I was happy with it.

I have gotten A’s and one B.

The one B was for formatting and should I choose, which I probably will, I can write an additional paper to self-correct that only B on my class roster.

I am not going to think about it yet, since there are so many other things to think about.

Between now and Paris.

I leave on the 20th and I refuse to go to Paris and have to write a paper for school there–although it is an option, my last paper deadline is for December 22nd.

But I can imagine no hell greater than having to write a paper while I am on Christmas vacation in Paris.

Maybe it’s somebody’s dream.

But it’s not mine.

Thank you very much.

So between today and when I leave for Paris I have to write–two papers for Human Development, plus give a presentation on an outside research project of my own developing (I have chosen teaching infants and toddlers how to use sign language as a skill that parents can develop to help negotiate communication with their children prior to the child’s vocal cords being developed in an effort to ease parental frustration and encourage another form of language skill in children); one final paper for Psychoanalysis, and two papers with transcriptions of therapy sessions for Therapeutic Communications class.

In toto: five papers and one class presentation with hand out.

In between now and December 20th.

Thank fucking God I have Thanksgiving weekend.

Four days.

I will be entrenched in my homework and I am going to do as much as possible to have what I can done by the beginning weekend of December.

If I negotiate the homework and readings well I can have three of the papers done by the first weekend in December.

Plus the final project presentation for Human Development.

Which will leave two papers to do before Paris.

One which could be optional should I choose to pass on the extra credit opportunity.

It’s a lot.

But.

It can be done.

I have faith in myself.

And much gratitude for a four day weekend next week.

As well as an awesome little scooter to get me where I need to go to get done with what I need to get done.

All the deliverables.

All the time.

All the things.

They just keep happening.

 

Tags: all the things, deliverables, fog, Freud, friends, graduate school, papers, Paris, postaday, psychoanalysis, reading, scooter, self-care, therapeutic communication, travel, work, writing