Cacophony

I'm not shy about the fact I hate Christmas.  I will, however, attempt to be diplomatic when discussing my contempt in an effort not to crap on everyone else's parade, those who started counting down in September and started playing Christmas music Thanksgiving Day.  I am not sure why I practice this deference when Christmas is all about being all up in people's faces with the same songs played over and over and blinking red and green lights like a neon sign flashing, "Be happy!  Smile!  Be happy!  Smile!"  But I really love the Fourth of July and would feel resentment toward anyone who says they hate fireworks and popsicles (although let's be honest, nobody has said that-- ever).

But Christmas is not a happy holiday for everyone.  It fact, it downright sucks for some people.  Spouses still walk out, loved ones get sick, people die.  The tacky blinking lights simply reinforce those points in the most annoying and inconsiderate way.

So I choose not to participate.  I appreciate the kind cards, but I never have the mind or time to return the favor.  I enjoy opening gifts but honestly just look forward to spending time with my family for an all day meal.  I do not enjoy buying presents.  Nobody ever tells you what they want, which they think makes them modest, but really makes gift buying more complicated in an already complicated time of year with short days, long nights, cold weather, and craptacular traffic.  Just tell me what you want.  This is the singular reason everyone receives my gifts in the mail after Christmas:  I don't consult the oracle and place an order with Amazon until December 21st because it just really sneaks up out of nowhere.

I was going to try this year.  I was really going to ride it out.  But I said "screw it" last week and waved my white flag.  While everyone else was out at Target or the mall, I was asleep in my arm chair.  The whole point of longer nights is nature's way of saying, "Chill."

In all honesty, I just feel blah.  It is dark.  I have been working longer hours to make up for the university closing.  I resolved a major issue with my dissertation and it turned out just fine, but with a steep strain on my calm.  I am eager to move forward and the finish line is finally in sight; without a doubt this is going to be an exciting year.  But there are also a lot of question marks dangling ahead.  Kind of like this:

                               (I think the surprise behind block two is the one-up I need)

There is just too much noise.  So the other evening, when I decided that rather than run to Target to pick up toilet paper and cat food I would give way to my armchair again, I turned off my phone and deactivated my Facebook account.

I didn't feel much.  It was just one Donald Trump meme too many.  A newsfeed filled with gun-control swipes at one another.  Muslims, refugees, terrorists.  Speaking of terrorists, there were also the pregnancy announcements.  Everyone just literally had a baby.  I'm not joking.  Babies were sprouting alongside pumpkins this fall.  So I thought there would be reprieve from the awful photo clues that have now replaced inside scoop uterus close-ups.  But there they were, the big brother/big sister t-shirts, row of shoes with baby booties as the outlier, the strategic bonus stocking.  This time, it isn't Thing 1, but Thing 2 and Thing 3.  Then there was this meme that wouldn't go away:

Now I get it.  I will never understand the best thing ever because I am staying up all night burping a literature review.  

With the meme explaining my limited capacity for Christmas joy, I decided to enjoy my holiday break without people behind computers telling me how I, or any other person, should think. 

It isn't the kids.  They're great.  People should be happy about their children, marriage(s), home closings, and vacations.  I just cannot be bothered with it constant streamed to me.  The word for that chatter is cacophony.  

It is also a reminder that children make progress over the years.  They grow up.  They acquire a vocabulary.  They master fine motor skills.  The develop personalities.  If my dissertation was a four and a half year old, by now it would know how to tie its shoe laces, recite the alphabet, and spell its own name.  Instead, you end up with a massive paper on a research project you designed.  That may be turned into a published book with a university press.  If you're lucky.  

Nick Drake sings, "Time goes by from year to year, no one asks why I'm standing here."  People do ask.  When I try to put my topic or progress into words, they glaze.  

I wish you all the happiness in the world.  I just cannot look at your magnificent Christmas lights, new SUV, hint hint wink wink pregnancy announcement, and for hell's sake, it's engagement season.  

But I have a proposal to finish.  I am armpit deep in legal theory texts.  I am going to sleep in so much it is going to make me tired.  I am going to be traveling.  I might punctuate those activities with coloring and a book for fun.  

My life doesn't look shiny right now.  Neither does Bridget's.  Neither does Sadie's.   Frankly, I don't care if it makes me sound "bitter" (special shout out to a special family member who is especially concerned about my relationship status and cynical humor).  But it is on my terms.  I am making my path.  I will post the filtered photos when I am done.  

I really wish this could be a place to share my PhD journey, tips, and tricks.  Instead, it centers more on the periphery issues.  But anyone can buy any number of "how-to" classics available on completing a dissertation.  There is little coaching on how to navigate the induction as an "other" (in this case, me as a woman).  From approaching difficult conversations crab-like and negotiating salary by bringing a big purse to the meeting (true tip) to being told at a major conference where I presented that I am "too pretty to work on a PhD", the woman in the academy has a different obstacle course to navigate.  

Also, writing lighter blogs is like a warm up to a marathon.