First Week of School: It's Complicated

I made it through my very first week of grad school, but just barely. I was very excited to start. After all, I've been saying that I "eventually want to get my MFA" for about ten years now and it's strange to actually be starting down that road. I don't think I could have ever mentally prepared myself for the journey, though.

Monday was fine, since I took the day off work in order to spend the morning sipping coffee, walking the dog, and reading a good book. Class went well and I got to choose a studio space and I went home feeling tired but happy. But then Wednesday happened. Wednesday was kind of a shit storm. I had to work from 9:00-1:00 and then race out to Kent (an hour away), find a parking space, and be in class by 2:15. I sped the whole way, clumsily eating my lunch in the car, and arrived on campus with a good 20 minutes to park and get to class. I would've been on time, early even, if there were actually any parking spaces near the textile studio. Myself and about a dozen other people circled the lot, all of us looking for an empty spot that didn't exist. My only option was to drive to the other commuter lot, all the way on the other side of the campus. Not only was I not quite sure how to get there, but there was also construction going on and therefore, an annoying traffic jam in addition to countless undergraduate pedestrians that kept crossing the road in front of me, forcing me to stop so as to avoid going to prison for vehicular manslaughter. By the time I made it to the other parking lot, I was halfway to hysterical. I parked, grabbed my stuff and hauled ass to class, only I still wasn't quite sure of the most direct route to my building from where I was. I was half running, half walking as fast as I could because my back and knees were killing me (I'm not that old! Why am I so achy?!) and I felt like I couldn't breathe because I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack (running late and being lost are two things that always set me off). By the time I finally made it to class, I was only about five minutes late and hadn't really missed anything, but I was also out of breath and sweating like a pig. Miraculously, I was able to calm down and enjoy my feltmaking class. We learned how to dye some of the wool roving that we're working with and we worked on some felting, as well. I ended up staying after class for two hours to get some work done and by the time I was finished I was completely exhausted. It's strange how when my mind and body are occupied with a task, I can keep going, but as soon as I take a little break, I'm done for, completely devoid of energy. But I mustered what little energy I had left and, again, I walked all the way across campus to the parking lot. Of course, when I got there, I realized that, in my panic to get to class on time, I completely forgot to make a mental note of exactly where I parked my car in this endless, sprawling lot. So I wandered around like an idiot until I spotted my ride, got in, and drove the hour home in a sort of half-conscious daze, totally on auto-pilot, all the while negative thoughts running through my mind. Thoughts that I should just drop out now, that I'm not going to be able to possibly maintain this kind of a schedule for the next several years if I feel this way after only a couple of days, that I can be an artist on my own terms, I don't need a piece of paper to make it official, that I should cut my losses and spend money on fantastic vacations instead of giving this university everything I've got in the hopes that I might be able to find a job upon graduation (yeah, right). It was a sort of flight or flight response and my instinct was to fly away as quickly possible.

Luckily, Friday was a little better. I didn't have to work that day, so I was able to go directly to school with plenty of time to park and get situated. It was the first session of my seminar/independent study class. Basically, all the textile students get together for discussion and critique, followed by time spent in the studio. It sounds simple enough but we went over all of the requirements and expectations for the entire semester and my head was absolutely spinning. All of us also had to show a piece of ours as an introduction to the kind of work we'll be doing throughout the semester, and it was immediately obvious that I was surrounded by a lot of very talented artists. It was intimidating. One of my studio mates is a Fulbright Scholar, for chrissakes. I felt like a total hack amongst all that talent.

This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. I've only made it through my first week of graduate school and already I have these lovely little bruise-like circles under my eyes and the glazed over, far off gaze and shuffling gait of a zombie. I have never been so overwhelmed and terrified in my entire life. What the hell was I thinking?! I'm running myself ragged all in the pursuit of some crazy dream of being a professional artist! It would be so much easier to just give up, it really would. I could use a nap. BUT! Let me tell you something. I have never been a quitter. I am a stubborn and determined person, it's just the way I am. Amidst  the urge to give up, this little voice of reason was asking me to consider what would actually happen if I dropped out, went back to my comfort zone. It told me that I'd be stuck in the job that I hate indefinitely, that not going ahead with school would narrow my options, that I would feel hopeless, that I would be more disappointed in myself than I have ever been, and that just because things are hard now doesn't mean I won't settle into it in time, find a rhythm.

The good news is that school itself is not the issue. It's trying to work full-time and go to school at a campus that is an hour away. I find myself wondering how I will ever fit it all in, juggle this crazy schedule. Believe me, if I could attend school somewhere closer, I would, but Kent is the only school in Northeast Ohio with an MFA program, which seems ridiculous (Cleveland State, I'm looking at you) and their textile program is really amazing. It's sad that my gut reaction to the stress and chaos is to give up on something that I've dreamed of doing for many years. Give up on something that means more to me than anything. Shouldn't I be thinking about quitting an unrewarding job that I'm sick of to make more room for the things I am unwaveringly passionate about? Well, I wish I could. But let's face the facts, I have bills to pay. Not working is not an option. If only they would double my salary so I could cut my hours in half. I'm going to have to figure something else out but until I figure out what that something is, I'll just have to keep reminding myself that I'm tough and I can do this, I can do this, I CAN DO THIS!