The Good:
I went to my intensive residential school last week (that is, on campus intensive school for off campus distance students, ie, me.) I have decided I’m born for that life. I loved every single lecture, tutorial, seminar, discussion, loved it all. It was rainy. It was very autumnal in weather AND colour (oh, how delightful!). My lecturers are all very wonderful and it was great putting faces to names both to them and some of my fellow students. I held my own 🙂 I came away feeling much more comfortable about poetry, about the long essay due in a month and the end of semester exam (in Australia our courses run for one semester, ie half a year). And even better, I came away incredibly inspired. I have been offered a chance to do an independent study research subject toward the end of my degree on Gothic literature, as I was talking with one of the lecturers about my special interest in that area, and to contact her when it came time. They don’t allow a lot students to do independent study as it would be too heavy going on them. Also, I am now working toward keeping my grade point average up to at least Distinction level (in Australia, we are graded Pass, Credit, Distinction, High Distinction) so that I will be offered an honours year on top of my degree. In Australia, Honours is the pathway to PhD, and I think Masters. We do not have to complete a Masters before undertaking a PhD here. Now I’m not aiming for a PhD or Masters, at this stage, I just want the honour of being offered the option of doing an Honours year 🙂 I’m now awaiting the return of a couple of assessment tasks in the mail.
The Bad:
The day after coming home, I got a phone call from my mother. My sister now has two brain tumours. One, the original one near the site of the one that was removed 10 years ago, is being controlled by the oral chemo. The other, however, is deep inside the brain near the hypothalamus and is growing. No chance of being removed surgically. She is now off oral chemo, and will be doing good old intravenous chemo starting in a few weeks time. Lucky I still have all the scarves etc I had to use when I went through it. They don’t expect it to cure her, but it might buy her time. How much time they didn’t say. But I’d be very surprised if she were still with us come Christmas. Or even the next six months for that matter. My poor sister is finally facing the fact that it is definitely going to kill her. How she can face that, I don’t know. Our family is grieving.
I’m back to getting weepy at the most inopportune times. Today is a particularly bad day and I’m getting no study done. I’m about to curl up in bed with a heat pack and some magazines.
Why does this keep happening? Every time things are looking up, positive, like there is future, something awful happens like this. I swear, I’m not giving up the study again. I’m going to try as HARD AS I CAN to keep up with it, I think it is the thing that may keep me sane. Now I’m feeling superstitious … it’s time for my CA blood tests and mammograms again. I’m terrified of being rediagnosed and making things so much worse for everyone.
I need to develop a Will of Iron. Keep the study up. Stay focused. Beyond focused. Cut out the bad. The only things that exist are study, Liam, my family, and my few true friends.
Which brings me to …
The Ugly: Labels
Neurotic, highly unstable, unfit for heterosexual relationships, critical, bothersome, know-it-all, pain- in-the-arse, constantly self-pitying, fat, sensitive, negative, too analytical, needy, depressive, anxious, obsessive, insular, sad, consumed with self-hatred, emotionally messy, too easily offended, overly cautious, too serious, and the list goes on and on. Some of it is true, and some of it is not. Some of it, dare I say, has very good reason for being. Particularly a couple of years ago when I was dealing with the biggest existential thing a person can possibly deal with, slapped in the face with it you might say, cut me some slack there please. When a person faces their mortality and the possibility of not being alive long enough to see your child even reach 10 years old, it’s BOUND to get messy.
Why are the bad labels the only ones certain people focus on? It makes me want to physically vomit. I no longer have the energy.