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7:27 p.m. - June 06, 2003
It's a recap that recaps... not much
Everythingís set: Housing (two bed/bath apartment), transportation (a Metro card), office (314), teaching assistants (one male, one female), course load and enrollment finalized. Shipped off my box of materials today, confirmed details with Marti, and all that remains are a few errands and To-Doís before getting on the plane. Was thinking about this marked apathy Ė compare this time last year Ė and concluded Iím out of hard-work practice and dreading the condensed adjustment period. I worry I wonít be able to deliver on my capabilities; it isnít good enough to give good lectures. I expect outstanding, stellar, meekly demand transcendent and always, the unparalleled. I donít feel Iím in a wow-able state; I am afraid Iíll disappoint myself and the dean and I know I worry too much, that Iíll be fine, excel. I always do, right? The perfection machine is wearing down and maybe itís not yet visible, but Iím feeling the grind.

Struggling to absorb this week. I avoid saying therapy but thatís what I mean. Wednesday night we discussed Ė discussed connotes participation and yes, I participated Ė response stages and I could see Ė literally, because we each had to map it out Ė that I have made (some) progress. Apparently the psychological process of change can be mapped out thus:

Denial - Shock - Fear - Self-blame - Frustration - Confusion - Stress - Anger - Approach-Avoidance - Anxiety - Skepticism - Acceptance - Impatience -Hope - Energy - Enthusiasm.

The area between frustration and acceptance is chaotic/depression, something that makes sense to me. We had to label each point on the spectrum with specific examples and responses and at first I was reluctant Ė always resistant Ė but went ahead and thought about Spec instead of the other topic because the relationship issue is the one Iím mostly concerned with (outwardly, partially inward as well, but Iím all for debating the chicken vs. egg dichotomy).

It was good.

Talking can be good.

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Last night I scrubbed the tub and my hands still reek of Ajax. Thereís something about becoming thoroughly absorbed into the task that pre-empts thinking, something reassuring. Those nights I feel the most out of control, the most vulnerable, you know? Just when I think Iíve gained control over those Ė those what? I donít know Ė I find myself pacing at 3, 4 in the morning and the only thing I can clearly think of doing is heading for the Ajax. Itís sad, really. Iím worried now that Iím beginning to affect the enamel coat on the tubs.

Will it ever end?

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Iím pulling back, an admission of failure.

 

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