Researching grad school

Yesterday I had appointments with a couple of advisors in the School of Information graduate school here in town. It’s a relatively small school within a much larger university that has myriad resources at its command, so in a sense it’s the best of two worlds. I’m interested in becoming an academic librarian, or a research librarian, or finding a way to combine either of those with library digitization efforts. As the career services advisor mentioned in our meeting, he’s always wary of someone pursuing an MIS when the reason they giave is that “they’ve always loved books.” For better or worse, it’s not much about the physical books themselves these days. It’s about the information, and making it accessible to people.

Anyway, the meetings both really encouraged me that I’m on the right track in applying to this graduate program, and now I just have to start jumping through all the hoops: letters of recommendation (at least one academic, which is a bit of an ouch as I haven’t been in school in nine years), personal statement, and the GRE. Regarding the latter: Eeks! I bought a Barron’s study guide and it’s clear that I really, really need to refresh myself on the mathematics and do a number of practice tests before November 17 (test date).

I’m not 100% sure how I’ll finance my education. I’d like to be a full-time graduate student, because you can get much more out of the program (including internships and experiential learning) when you have the freedom of a student’s schedule. But that means federal loans, applying to scholarships, and saving anything I can between now and next fall . . . working on the positive assumption that I have a reasonable chance of getting in, of course!

My head space is a bit confusing at the moment: Part of my is very excited at the thought of being back in an academic setting again and getting an advanced degree . . . even as the darker, self-sabotaging side of my mind is cutting me down and telling me I’m not smart enough and I don’t have what it takes. It’s an ugly voice that I’d like to drown out.

–Fray

Heroin and Sugar: Both “Natural”

Have you ever dated a heroin addict? It’s exhausting. It was eight years ago but I remember that period in my life well. I never knew where I stood, what disaster tomorrow had in store, how much longer things could go on. I remember the off-white powder bubbling in the spoon, the matter-of-fact way he injected himself before heading to the firm down in the financial district. He was always late, but without the fix he was useless, or worse: sweating and cramped and agonized and delusional with withdrawal.

I got through my teen years and twenties personally unscathed by true addiction, despite my recreational dabblings. Or so I thought. I don’t need to shoot up something that comes in a baggie to get myself out of the house in the morning or to make it through the work day. Hell, I’m practically a model citizen. All I need is 200 mg of Lamictal, 300 mg of Effexor, a large muffin, 2 king-sized candy bars, and a couple of Diet Dr Peppers. And then some more chocolate after dinner.

I’m a true sugar junkie and it’s so embarrassing and unhip. My unfortunate ex would probably die laughing if he could see me now: 75 pounds heavier and hopelessly chained to an unbreakable and destructive routine of my own. But what’s laughable about sugar? The sugar we eat most often has been refined and refined and refined until it is many, many times more concentrated that the cane or the beet it came from. Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t just a slow-acting poison I’m scarfing down. It has no nutritional value at all. None.

I’m a sugar junkie. If I don’t have a chocolate bar nearby, I actually get twitchy and my fingers start clenching into little anxious fists. I’ve long know that my constant overconsumption of sugary foods has been the biggest contributor to my colossal weight gain in the past five years. What I’m only just now waking up to is the likelihood that my endless pursuit of sweets may be making my depression much worse than it needs to be, not to mention contributing to those random bitchy moods the unfortunates in my vicinity have to witness. Between the sugar and my lack of exercise, I’m digging a hole for myself like I’m trying to reach China or something.

Right now I wonder if I can claw my way back out. I still have hope, still keep researching even as I reach for the next sugar fix. Has anyone out there ever just turned the sugar and/or white flour faucet off completely? Were you in misery during your withdrawal? How did you cope? Anyone out there with depression or other mood disorders who finds cutting out sugars to be helpful? (To clarify: I’m not talking about ditching all carbs; I’m specifically focusing on sucrose and other industrially processed forms of sugar. I’m not interested in cutting brown rice or apples out of my life, for instance.)

Substantial weight loss is a major goal for me. If I could accomplish that while at the same time sorting out some of my misfiring brain chemistry in a way that involved eating better and not ingesting more medications, I’d be thrilled.

Sugar cane plants growing in the tropics. Poppies in the Middle East. And yet somehow it all ends up so unnatural and destructive, no matter how you process it. It’s not the plants’ fault, I suppose; it’s what we do with them.

–Fray

Weight Bitchers

Weight Watchers isn’t precisely Evil Incarnate—at least, not any more than any other diet; but if you know the basics of nutrition and you’ve been on the weight-loss train before, all they’re basically providing you with for $40-plus a month is a group to whinge with. Which might be somewhat useful if the group wasn’t inevitably full of older middle-aged women ecstatically shrieking, “I found the 2-Point Snake Cakes in Aisle 2 at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday! !!” while everyone around applauds their amazing efforts and hoovers their 1-Point free samples of “Fruities.”

If I could start my own Weight Watchers chapter, I would call it Weight Bitchers and we would be as negative as we felt like during the entire meeting. During the long weeks spent gritting our teeth during office snack breaks (20-Point coffee cake, anyone? NO I’M ON WEIGHT BITCHERS, fool!!) and bus rides next to homeless individuals inexplicably snarfing McDonalds just to torment us, we would miraculously be able to maintain a stiff upper lip and a modicum of self-control. But only because we knew that on Sunday afternoons at Weight Bitchers we would enter a lobby filled with the uplifting music of Ministry or Sisters of Mercy, get the weigh-in over with, and stalk into a meeting focusing on the topic: “Who I Didn’t Kill This Week.” And everyone would clap nicely after members “shared” a story of how they were driven to the brink of madness by the lack of cookie dough in their life, only to edge slowly away from the abyss with a Skinny Cow clutched in one hand and a shot of vodka in the other.

–Fray

Welcome to Part 1 of: Songs I’ve Danced to in Dirty Clubs

Be forewarned: These will mostly be 80s and early 90s synth tunes that I careened around various unhygienic dive bars in between ages 18 and 23. I was born too late for the real thing but I did my best to make up for it but hanging out with a tweaker 10 years older than me whilst adhering actual glitter to all of my visible body parts with Elmer’s glue.

Today’s feature: “Touch” by Secession. If you like Depeche Mode or Xymox and the like, you have to at least give this a listen.

–Fray