Signs and Wonders

I was really surprised by how much I enjoyed the graduation ceremony today. I figured it would be boring and I would be annoyed and reminded of all the things I didn't like about MSU. Nope, it was the most enjoyable ceremony I've ever been to, barring maybe my honors fraternity initiation.
I love the PhD outfits that people wear. There's something about them that makes me think of wizards and Nostradamus. Since I'm a medievalist, I know this is not as off as everyone else might assume, but I find myself wanting to inquire of everyone I meet what everything means. I myself know that this cord and that stole and these pins all have specific meanings, and I know what mine mean, but I am curious as to others.
The woman they had come to speak was really awesome. At twenty-two, she had started her own company. (!) She then made it big through designing golf clothes for women, which she implied were demeaning.
As a feminist, I approve of a woman working for herself and doing something that huge. There aren't a lot of women CEOs out there, though sadly, they tend to make significantly less money than male CEOs. I was thinking that maybe one of the things that might possibly account for this disparity was that female CEOs were more egalitarian in how their companies funds were distributed, perhaps paying their workers more or investing more back into the company.
I have thought frequently about starting my own company. My family has saved money for when I marry, but I'm not planning on marriage since I disapprove of the so many aspects of the institution. I think I still deserve this money (since my sister gets the same amount for the wedding she will almost inevitably have), and I was thinking that starting a company might be the right idea. I've been quietly playing around with a few ideas.
It was really nice to see some people. I ran into Ben, who I took Young Adult Lit with. We spoke a little about the future (what everyone seems to be talking about these days) and a mutual friend. I also got tons of pictures with some friends from a program I was in a few years back, and a few people I've had classes with. I ran into one of my professors, and I thought maybe he hated me these days, but he was nicer to me than I've ever seen him. He said I made the department look good and that I had been an asset. I don't think he'll ever realize how much those words meant to me.
Actually, the thing I found most fascinating was the signers they had.
I'm not sure that signers is even the right term, but they are the people who interpret the ceremony using sign language. I find these people and their words fascinating. Paul knows some sign language, and I guess I should interrogate him more on this subject, but I like watching people sign, even though I'm not hard of hearing. (Ask my Mom, and she'll tell you I am.) There's something almost dance-like it. I was sitting maybe ten feet away from the signers, and I watched them more than some of the speakers. The blond was particularly great because she had such great expressions on her face for all of it. (Is that a sign of advanced signing? Or just a personal touch?)
As I was contemplating this, I realized that what I should be doing is writing a creative nonfiction piece on this. (How many people have read a piece, especially a creative piece, on sign language?) I was thinking I could title the piece "Signs and Wonders." :)

Hibernate Now, Graduate Later

I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping the last two months. I didn't sleep much last night, which is why I want to scream now that I'm tired but am suppose to be up for graduation in a few hours.
So I'm going to try to nap. Wish me luck on the getting up on time thing.

I Will Tell About It

Like I mentioned earlier this week, there was a picnic for graduating honors seniors. It was mostly fine. I ran into Mikey, and he told me all about his plans to go to New York. I ran into Courtney, and she told me all about her plans to go to Japan. I told them I was still waiting. I increasingly hate the waiting. I want to tell them that I have a plan, and it involves things. Mikey and Courtney are gracious people; neither of them made me feel bad for not having anything definite, but this doesn't help me feel better.
I didn't know the vast majority of people there. There was a couple there, Lauren and Paul, and they had just gotten engaged last night. I don't know why, but it bothered me. Looking at her face, which still had childhood's freckles, and his face, unpocked. There was something too young about them. The only thing I could think about was Kristina's smart remark a few weeks back about getting married young and having a tiny ring. Their ring made me think of the rings children find in their cereal, the kind that little girls play with when they are playing princess. She picked the tomatoes off her sandwich and gave them to him.
I walked home. I slept. I had a strange dream that I've had before and has nothing to do with this. And then I realized what it was that was bothering me as I woke. Looking at them, I went back to May 1937, the Sharon Olds poems. I've always liked this poem. I've always thought that I understood the angst of knowing how deeply your parents hate each other. And I still do, but now I understand why when people my age say they are getting married, or do get married, why I think "No. You don't understand how bad this could be. Be smart. Don't do this."
But how could I tell people that? It's easy to dismiss me; after all, I've spent the last three years avoiding long-term relationships. I'm finally ready, emotionally-speaking, to try again, to really try again, with some I love, but I've discovered recently that there's no one that feels the same about me. And I could be bitter about that, but then I think of this poem. I think of books on hips, of marriage, of "we would never hurt anyone," of wrong men, of suffering, of hunger, and of paper dolls, and then finally I think "No. I'm choosing. I am choosing to take things slow. I'm choosing to be smart."

This Final Term

Lately, I find myself annoyed with a few of my professors because I feel like they're not pulling their weight. It start three weeks ago, when a professor I've had multiple times gave a midterm. Although the basic format was the same, the questions asked on the midterm were surprisingly focused on a particular week's lectures, and the questions were short and vague. Neither of those things are like him. Usually, he writes questions that cover the widest range of topics that we got through in lecture. And they usually are pretty easy to write on, as long as you took notes in class and reviewed before the test. I've always felt that his exams were fair; he always asked us not to prove we knew everything but that we knew something about the topics at hand, and that we were critical thinkers who could synthesize that information in a way that made sense.
Today, in another class, we got a paper topic. That's right, a paper topic. Again, oddly vague, with little information, and from a professor who I usually think offers more. Offering one paper topic is risky, since the papers tend to be of lower quality. I also imagine the temptation to cheat is stronger, since everyone is already writing on the same topic anyway. I also dislike this professors bizarre habit this semester of asking us not to write traditional thesis papers but more creative narratives. I dislike that because I think it's important to be able to write coherently and persuasively, and because it seems like this class already struggles with that. (This professor complained, last paper, about students not using evidence to support their claims.)
I'm wondering if all my professors are so busy that they can't be bothered to do more for their classes beyond lecturing. If this is true, this could go either way for me. On one hand, they've had me before and both like me and think highly of me. So maybe they'll just kind of grade my work, checking to see I don't make any gross errors, and send me on my way. I have mixed feelings about that scenario, since I want to get good grades, but I also want to improve as a student, and making me feel bad about my work is the best way to motivate me. Rage has always been, for better or worse, the best way to get me to care. Or maybe my professors won't be paying attention and grade me down even if I don't deserve it. The latter scares me a little. I've worked so hard over these last few years, and I'm putting in more and more time to these classes. What I was really hoping to take this semester "off." I wasn't planning on giving up all my academic work, just taking some extra time to hang out for the last time with friends and have the kinds of good memories of this place.
I was thinking last week about the end of high school and how there was so much hooplah over it. I didn't want to do any of the things that one usually does: the ceremonies, the dances, the get-togethers. Some of it my Mom pushed me into doing, and the stuff we fought over the most was the stuff that I look back on and think was a waste of time. The few things I choose on my own were wonderful, and those are some of the limited good memories I have.
I wish I could choose to do those types of things now. I wish we had a senior skip day around here. Even though so many of my friends aren't seniors, hanging out with those that are, driving to and celebrating in Detroit or Canada or Cedar Point would be wonderful. I want to go to dances with these people, last dances. I want to have big parties with them. I want pictures, and presents, and, hell, even some tears. I need that now, and I'm sad that college graduation doesn't get treated that way. Graduating high school was glorious because I hated it there. But I love MSU and the thought of leaving makes me so sad. I want an opportunities to enjoy myself, with the people I love most, if only so I can say that I made every last second here count.