I am resigned at this point to pretty much knowing Jack about anything that’s going to happen in my academic career more than 24 hours prior to it rearing its head and making demands of me. (Maybe 48 hours. If I’m lucky.)
Next week is orientation. Wednesday I take the theory diagnostic exam. Thursday I have advising (I guess they can’t do any of that until they discover whether I’m a remedial-theory-needing moron, but it’s frustrating anyhow) and hopefully find out exactly what the hell I’ll be taking in my coursework. Friday I register. Monday I have…another orientation? Not sure, I think that one’s about How To Use the Library, something I should probably show up for. That’s pretty much all I know.
My major teacher and department head is retiring at the end of this year. I know that too. Which means his level of commitment to the bureaucracy will likely be at a much lower ebb than ever before, and rumor has it he’s never been much of a one for the bureaucracy anyway. It also means that I won’t be able to do jack in terms of solid thesis prep until the year following at the earliest, because the person who will need to sign off on it for me won’t actually be hired till next year. I sort of know what I want to do, but I won’t be able to do anything substantive, which is also frustrating.
I hate not knowing. And I am keeping deep within myself the frustrated cry of “I’m not some 22 year old snowflake floating from class to class on a trust fund, I’m a GROWNUP, dammit, with a life and a real career and more publications than a lot of your faculty and don’t you have a fricking clue what I’ve given up to be here, can’t you at least get your shit together and treat me like a grownup?”
Except here, I guess. The frustrated cry has to come out somewhere; better on a blog than in the second floor lounge.