...to turning down drinks with the guest speaker in my magazine class last night. Terry Sullivan, a contributing writer for GQ, not only gave a shpiel and answered questions for the group but also read the drafts we were workshopping. Guess who one of those drafts belonged to? Frema! He said that my transitions between paragraphs were very graceful and then complimented my use of the word "literally." He was not as kind to everyone else - he told one girl that her article rambled a lot and suggested that she read some Nora Ephron to get down the technique for the casual essay. No "nice effort" or "good try" - just "this stuff is hard to do."
Anyway, before class ended, my professor announced that everyone was invited to join him and Terry for a jolly good time at a local pub. I was a little bummed that I hadn't brought my wallet but not too concerned, until I was stopped by two classmates on my way out. They asked me if I was going along, and when I said that I thought I wouldn't have time, they said, "We're only stopping in for one. We won't be long." This time I felt like crap as I said no again but made it a point to thank them for including me. As I walked away, I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I cried a little more when I got home.
Stupid, huh? It's hard to explain. Graduate school, for the most part, has been a very solitary experience for me. I live too far away to be a part of a study group or have any regular involvement with campus life, so when these two students made such an effort to extend an invitation, it felt awful to have to say no; like maybe I had just missed my chance to be a part of something outside of the university. I'm not saying that having a drink with these guys would've made us lifelong pals, but who knows? Every connection has to start somewhere, right?
The odds of me keeping in touch with anyone after graduation in June are slim, even though there are several people I'd enjoy getting to know better. But it's hard to know the appropriate way to reach out. It's not like grad students are looking for new friends the way they were in high school. They're adults now, with full-fledged careers and spouses and children and friends of their own. And since I do live in Indiana, what's my opening line? "Maybe the next time I'm in the city we could hang out?" "Drive two hours to Rensselaer and we can have coffee?" I barely have time to see my established friends, let alone develop new ones. But who DOESN'T have room for more quality friendships? It's really pretty depressing.
Tomorrow I promise to be happier. It's Friday, after all, and I get to babysit an adorable little girl this weekend. Hooray for babies and days off!
:-(
That wasn't stupid at all to feel that way - I don't blame you.
I'm sorry you had a bad day - and yep - tomorrow WILL be better! You can count on it - and there's the weekend with the babysitting!
You write well and from the heart. Good job.
(a bored monkey out surfing and reading random blogs)
Posted by: Monkey | October 21, 2004 at 07:56 PM