Has it really been two years?

Well, I am officially one week away from submitting my thesis. Or at least, exactly 7 days from now the offices will be closed for Christmas and if my thesis is not in their hands, then I'm in big trouble. How is it that it's not really comforting to know that in one week the hell that has been this writing process, ney, this entire process, will be over? I just went to get a signature from the program coordinator, who is also my mentor, to allow me to submit my thesis and she was all smiles. Two years ago, she says, I remember you here in my office crying because you weren't happy and you wanted to change supervisors. Now look at you! You did it, in just two years! Well, I reply, if you pluck the right string I'd come full circle and be crying in your office again. - How is it that after two years I don't feel like I'm any further along with my life, that I'm no happier and just older?

Ask just about anyone with a Masters or PhD and they'll tell you one of the hardest things, or even one of the worst things, they ever did was write a thesis. Why is it that we subject ourselves to this ridiculous process of demoralizing, discouraging, rat race treatment, and for what? I don't even want to do research for a career! Why did I feel the need to continue and get my Masters when two years ago I was unhappy? When you don't know what you want to do in life, is it worth sticking on a path that you know isn't right, but at least you are on one? All evidence in my case points to the contrary.

I realize that the timing of all of these hyperphilosophical questions is really only just a product of my current thesis-saturated state of being. But in all honesty, I probably should have done some soul searching two years ago before I restarted my Masters. I thought changing one situation would improve everything and it really didn't. If I had to pick one word for my entire experience here it would be disappointing. I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, but I have really yet to find that reason. Perhaps I just need some perspective on the situation and once I am not in the thick of it, as mentioned in my last post, I'll be able to find some humour in this. Really, all I think I've learned is don't go to University. Go to college or tradeschool. Come out with a useful degree in something you like and start working. That way you not only start building up respect in your field and your bank account, but when you are 25 you won't turn around and say 'well, that was a waste of 3 years, when should I start my next Masters?'

An Interesting Lesson on Tragedy

The day after having, what felt like, my life turned upside down in this city yet again, I had an enlightening conversation with a coordinator in my department. I went down to ask about some paper work, but Tom and I soon found ourselves deep in conversation about what is (apparently) becoming my epic story of growth. It may have started with him asking how I was, and me responding with tears because, well, there were no words. In life, when you feel like there is no way describe how you are feeling and the only way you can express your anguish is through tears, doing it in front of departmental administration is probably not the most ideal situation. In my case, however, Tom was a gracious consoler and he gave me a very important lesson on tragedy.

Once I had calmed down enough to explain that my wallet had been stolen the day before, from a rare place where I feel safe and happy in this city, we started talking about my experience in Montreal beyond that of academia. It turns out that Tom had had a very negative experience himself in another city - for 10 years! And here I thought 2.5 years was bad. He told me he came to accept that every city has an energy and either you connect with it or you don't. So Montreal and I just haven't connected. It sort of makes it all seem so simple, and yet, I will probably hold these negative emotions for life. Not true, says Tom. An interesting fact about tragedy is that with time, it suddenly becomes quite funny. Tom had taken the negative experience he had and turned it into something positive: stand up comedy. Not as a profession, but as a hobby that makes him feel better about the dark cloud that hangs over that period in his life. It got me thinking: will I ever be able to, one day, talk about this experience without the anxiety it provokes at this moment in my life? Well, it has now been almost 3 years since the day I moved here. And boy what a day it was ...

Early January 2009. I move to Montreal with big city dreams. And with that comes big city apartments. Dirty, disgusting, big city apartments. After spending hours scrubbing the bathroom, I notice it's snowing. Really, really snowing. I'm new to town; I don't know the parking rules, so I go online and look up the situation with snow. There are no rules against parking on the street while it is snowing. Awesome! So I go down to shovel my car out. The plow has already gone by and there is snow up to the door handles. I only have a mini shovel in case the car gets stuck and have to dig my tires out, so it takes me over an hour and a half to shovel all the snow away from my car. The temperature never went above 0 degrees that entire month. I'm pretty sure that day was -20. But it's ok! I just moved to a new city and I'm pretty excited.

Back to cleaning. After soaking the parts of my stove in Easy-Off for a day, it's finally sparkling. And I'm starving. What would be great? Anything at this point. But low and behold, in my glorious attempt to make the appliance look appealing, I have somehow broken it. I take the elements out and put them back. Nothing. I check the fuses: all functional. I check the fuse box: nothing blown. I check the plug: still attached. The lights will go on, but the heat is not coming. I call the landlord. He reports that the appliance is not his; it belongs to the guy who I am subletting from. Wait .. what? Who rents a place and doesn't provide the appliances? And more so, who moves their appliances from rental to rental?! And finally, you mean I have to call the guy who lives in New York City to ask him what to do with the stove? Forget it. I'll go out.

I live a block from the metro, I decide that while I'm out, I might as well buy my transit pass and stop by the bank to deposit my rent. Apparently you can only buy student bus passes at certain stations. And you can't buy a single ride with a debit card. Fine, I'll walk to the bank. On the map it was only 6 blocks. Well, Montreal has ridiculous business hours and that bank was closed. Yup, closed. Some guy tells me the closest one is just a few blocks further. 10 blocks later, I deposit the cheque and start my walk home. Reminder, it's still -20 out. And I moved from a warmer part of the country where anything below -10 is the apocalypse and thus, I am dressed inappropriately.

So. I have money. I have eaten. I have a couple meetings on campus. I go all the way downtown and am appalled at the way Montreal keeps their sidewalks. They don't shovel them and they sure don't salt them! After a few close encounters and I find my way to one of my supervisor's offices to let him know I have arrived in the city. He takes me to my other supervisor's office to say hello. 'Here is our new masters student!' he says. Pause. Response: 'Ughhh, we have a new masters student?' Great. This already looks promising. Next, I spend 40 minutes walking up and down Sherbrooke street to find the admin building whose address is on the street, yet they are located inside campus, no where near the street. Fail. Finally, I attend a super long, boring graduate student orientation where they tell you not to plagiarise for 2 hours and add a 'welcome to the university!' at the end. Fun times. At this point I'm exhausted and just want to get home. But not before slipping on the unsalted sidewalk while walking downhill, only to land in a pile of slush. It was totally the way they do it in the movies, where you go 'woop! woop! woop! bam!'. I even sat there for a few moments like a turtle on its back with my giant backpack under me. The best part of it all? My soaking wet pants were frozen by the time I made it to the metro. Epic fail.

Meanwhile, just to add insult to injury, they had posted no parking signs for snow removal during the day while I was cleaning, and by the time I got home, my car had been towed. And this, my friends, was my lovely welcome to Montreal.

But the time I finished this story in his office, I had Tom howling with laughter. What was interesting was that I too was giggling. Was it true that, with time, such a horrible day could transform into something entertaining? All of it now seems quite surreal, and yet this is just the tip of the iceberg. I decide that Tom is right, and that this has probably been the most enlightening conversation I have had regarding positive attitudes and negative experiences in cities that you just don’t connect with. So for anyone that is going through something that just seems never ending, or couldn’t possibly end well, just remember this one equation. I know that from that day in Tom’s office until now, it has really been a stronghold for me and has pushed me through the last few months.

Tragedy + Time = Comedy

And no matter how dark it seems right now, one day, you will laugh about it!  ☺

It's a never ending roller coaster ride here ... and I'm not having fun.

I can't stand feeling like a victim. I can't stand feeling so defeated in this city. Every time I change my attitude, or my outlook on this city, something else happens to knock me down.

Where does someone get off going into the back of a restaurant and rummaging through the employees' bags, and stealing their wallets?! Now I have to replace everything: credit cards, bank cards, student card, bus pass, driver's license, health card, hospital card, pictures, etc. And some stuff is just gone, like gift cards and receipts and money. Why couldn't you have just taken the money!?  You stupid SOB. I essentially just worked the entire day for free because you stole over a days worth of pay. Thank you for f-ing up my life just a little more.

This is not the first police report I have filed in this city. Oh no. A year and a half ago some asshole stole my backpack, containing my laptop, from between my feet and the wall. Yup, I was sitting right there having coffee and he slid it out from the crevasse I'd placed it in thinking it was safe. I saw you target me on the security cameras. I saw your faces and if I ever see you again you can bet I’m going to lose it. That messed me up for a good month and a half. All my class notes, all my pictures, pretty much my entire life was on that laptop and you walked away with it and erased it all. I blame you for the shitty grade I got on my final because I had no notes, and no class recordings to study from. I still can’t really talk about this without getting really anxious.

I’ve also had a baby gift stolen from the trunk of my car. Yup. My mom bought a gift for my friend’s baby shower and someone at the mechanic’s thought it would be nice to just remove it from the trunk. And never replace it. Here I am having my car checked to make sure it’s safe to drive all the way home and meanwhile, the mechanic’s isn’t safe from thieving pieces of shit. Seriously, that’s literally stealing from a baby. How do you sleep at night!?

Oh and my car was broken into. Thank god I’m a cheap, technologically unsavvy slob and all they found in my consoles was garbage and not electronics. But it was a nice surprise to come back to my vehicle and have the lock broken and trash strewn about the front seat. Thanks a lot for making things just a little more difficult for me, dickwads. You dumbasses didn’t even take the $2.57 that was in the console near the gear shifter.

I don’t understand how you people were raised. I have so much respect for people’s things because I’ve been working since I was 7 years old with my family paper route and paying for my own shit. I could not imagine stealing something from someone. I know how hard it is to make it in this world, but that does not give you the excuse or the right to steal from people. Shame on you and shame on your mothers. I’m so f-ing angry at the world right now, but you know what I’m going to do? Cry, go for a run, scream, and then get back to work to make up for all the damage you’ve done. I hope you all rot in hell.

Hmm .. the start of something. I'm just not sure what yet.

It's never been my thing to blog. I love to talk on the phone, chat in person and even write the occasional lengthy e-mail. But blogging? It has never occurred to me. Until about 50 seconds ago. In the past, I've read some of my friends' blogs, I've been entertained by strangers' blogs, and now, here I am.

Actually, where I am is a story in itself. I'm sitting at a desk that is not mine, in an office that is not my own, and in a department I don't belong to. How then is it that I feel more comfortable and productive here than in my own lab?

After two and a half years enrolled in a graduate program at one of the most prestigious universities in Canada, I feel like I have wasted my life. Correction: that I am wasting my life. I have six months to complete this thesis and cram what should have been two years of research into 100 pages of glorified BS; all of which I could care less about in this moment. Three years ago I graduated with honours from a Bachelor of Science program, spent the summer studying Spanish abroad, and started a Masters degree a few months later. Only to find myself, roughly 10 minutes ago, searching for a website to send me daily encouragements and inspirational quotes. And even at that I failed. I think I've hit the bottom.

How does one go from being on top of the world, full of goals and dreams, with aspirations for the future, to blogging about their self-pity? Hmmm. Good question. I could go through all my trials and tribulations of the past three years, but I'd prefer to start fresh. I've spent a great deal of time complaining and quite frankly .. I'm sick of it. And I know everyone I talk to is sick of it. Every time I reiterate the story of how I got here (here being this strange office), I catch myself thinking about how I have become that type of person I dislike. The unhappy person who doesn't change what is making them unhappy, but rather complains about it incessantly. Now to be fair, I have tried. I changed supervisors and projects, apartments, and even friends. But this time I'm going to change attitudes.

So why did I feel the need to blog? Well, it is a way to get my thoughts out of my head. In the past, one would use a diary or journal, but we are, after all, in a digital age. I also think it makes those thoughts real. Writing, typing or posting them makes them tangible. (Haha. Tangible. I misdefined that word on an intelligence test once and ever since it has made its way into my vocabulary.) I would also like to believe that I am not the only person who feels as though they are searching for their place in the world. Perhaps blogging about my experiences can help someone else. And that might be the most satisfying of all the possible reasons. But above all, I think I just need an alternative outlet for all of the crap that seems to be floating around my head. Plus I'm trying to save all of the amazing friendships that have put up with me this long.

Well then .. here is to blogging and changing. Here is to taking control.

Alright ... my first post. Here I go ...