Stranger in Academia

My Monday trumped its own Monday-ness.  I was prepared for it with my pressed slack and riding boots, running ahead of schedule.  But the cat made a nasty mess, ran into my nasty neighbor, and sat still in nasty traffic for 45 minutes.  There really isn't enough holiday break to make up for a Monday like that.  

The problem with Mondays is they actually start Sunday night.  During the weekend, I am part of a normal functioning couple who run errands, buy groceries, and fix breakfasts.  The start of the week reminds me that we are actually running two households, I am here, he is there, and there is an expanse that must be traveled where I am somewhere in the middle.  

As for the problem dogging my dissertation, the troops are rallied for support and some word was received.  However, I am eager to move forward, itching with anticipation, because I am ready to continue, forge ahead, make solid progress.  Excited about the new direction my research has taken, I don't want any delays.  

A colleague of mine lamented about the treatment she receives in her doctoral program, treated as a red-headed stepchild rather than a valuable member of the program.  I have seen this divide before, some students receiving preferential treatment or attention while others languish with a lack of advising, funding, resources, or the like.  Usually the ones receiving such preferential treatment already have an abundance of resources at their fingertips, a supportive spouse or parental funding.  

I can respect the work of such individuals, but I have little regard for their tenacity.  

Perhaps the problem is that I say I am not angry, but in reality, I am, and more than that, I am disappointed.