I get it; we’re all making fun of the East coast (and especially Virginians) because they freaked out over a 5.9 earthquake that wasn’t even from a plate fault. I posted a funny picture. I laughed a little too. But every time I see that photo of those people scared out of their minds, two emotions are evoked. First, mortality salience-related fear that I have experienced but twice in my life-once on 9/11 and the other yesterday. While we all stood around talking about who felt what and where (to determine the origin of the earth’s quiver), I noticed how calm and beautiful the day was and how dissonant that felt from what was going on. Sure sure, it was minor for us PA residents, but having never experienced anything of the sort, it was a new and real situation. And unpredictable. Maybe what I felt was a form of low-key terror, considering it’s the second time in thirty years I’ve felt that way. Needless to say, earthquakes aren’t really anything to fuck around with, and they’re one of the main reasons I would never live on the West coast. Those guys don’t blink when a huge 8.0 earthquake rolls through. They wait it out and go about their day (if they wait it out at all). So “wah” on us lame-ass East-coasters. Shame on us for freaking out about something that would actually be terrifying for someone not desensitized to it.
Which brings me to my second evoked emotion: disgust. We’re a human race, people. I’m dismayed at how many of us don’t have a humanitarian molecule in our body. Jokes are fine, especially considering how calming humor is, but when you pair a picture of people running out of buildings screaming because they’re afraid and then poke fun, I want to punch you in your disrespectful face. I hope you get mugged at gunpoint and you shit your pants so someone from the ghetto can take a picture of it and caption it with “what a pussy” because they live that shit on a daily basis and you got scared. You girl.
Oh, and one last thought: part of me would like a volcano to erupt so that people who live just outside the radius of the molten lava could say, “damn, I’m so disappointed I didn’t get to feel lava.” You didn’t feel the earthquake? Good. Me either, but I’m not going to whine about it.
Edit: I have two blogs — one for people to know about and one where I complain about every little thing that annoys me (and there are many). This might have been more appropriate for that second one.
I woke up this morning and, in an effort to keep any ninja rain that might come through out of my bedroom, I slammed my finger in a window. My first thought was, “if this is any indication of how this Foundations Exam/Comps is going to go, I quit now.” My second thought was that maybe it would be the yin and the yang of my day, so I’d better get moving.
The test itself was…exactly what I expected, I suppose. Two hundred questions is rather long, and I swear I’d never heard of a few terms that were on there (Intersubjectivity? Really?), but all in all, as a colleague described it, there were a bunch of questions I definitely knew, a bunch I definitely didn’t know, and the best I can hope for is that they balanced each other out and I passed. I’m not going to sit around brooding over how poorly I might have done when I might have done well; I’ll know when the grades get posted. I just don’t understand the point of running around saying “Well, I failed that.” I mean, to each his own, but I actually annoyed myself when I heard myself saying it after every test I took (and I wound up passing each and every one of them). So what purpose does it serve? Does it lessen the embarrassment later if you act like you’re expecting it? (“See, told you I did so bad I didn’t pass.”) Hindsight bias? Does it make you look or feel smarter if you don’t fail? (“Wow, I thought for sure I didn’t know nearly as much information as required to pass!”) A cognitive dissonance strategy of some kind, maybe? I don’t know, but I do know it doesn’t help anything to be so certain of failure. I’m not saying I passed, but I’m certainly crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. And I’m not going to be a Debbie Downer about it unless I know for sure that I failed. The embarrassment will be all the same at that time than it would be if I started preparing people for it today. But that’s just me. Again, to each his own, I’m sure.
I didn’t schedule my client, but I should definitely call them tomorrow and set it up for next week. I feel like I’m being completely selfish by taking the next six days off before the storm hits (classes, clinic & practicum), but I’m not going to get another break like this (and I have to read for the first day of classes anyway), so why not, right? Am I a bad person?
Now if those DAMN KIDS would go to bed already, I could re-open my bedroom window and not get a headache. Sheesh. Would I rather buses and ambulances over screaming suburban 6 year olds? At least the latter doesn’t go all night long. Then I’d have to kill them. Instead, I shall nap them away.
The other day Mike referred to me (to Luke) as “Aunt Linda.” It was the first time I’d heard anyone say it, but it had such an effect. Thanks, Mike. That is all.
Yes, I have a gigantic comprehensive exam in two weeks. Yes, I have to edit and finish an intake report. Yes, I lose my life come Labor Day. But right now…as I lay in Stefan’s bed, listening to the rain pour, there is nothing that could make me happier: I’m home for 10 days, I get to see my mom, spend most of my time with Stefan, study when I can, go to the beach (Fire Island) with the “mil” and “sil,” spend a night in CT with my love, eat well, rest sometimes, laugh, and not particularly miss Philly life. Yes, it makes it so much harder to go back, but I love it here. ❤