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My hand is still killing me. I think I'm going to try to avoid my computer ALL DAY tomorrow to give it a chance to heal, but for now I think I really need to write. This week has just been crazy.
Thursday morning I went to talk to our admissions coordinator, who is really awesome and has helped me out with a few other freakouts. I told her I was thinking about transferring and what did she think, and she said she thought I'd already made up my mind, and that if I was miserable, then I should go. So I started crying. We talked for about twenty more minutes, and she gave me some suggestions for which steps to take next and who to speak to, and how taking a year off works, and what to tell Yale if I did that and used my time off to reapply to UCSF. It was a crazy conversation. I felt like a giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders--they're gonna let me go home!--and at the same time I felt a deep sense of panic--there are things here I've come to love, and there's no guarantee I'd get those things back. I've got great friends here, and I really do like Yale.
In fact, I spent the rest of Thursday thinking, "This is crazy. I've been wanting to transfer since I got here, and finally a professor suggests it and an administrator supports it, and I don't want to go anymore?"
Friday morning I met with the campus counselor. She was largely useless. I spent the full 45 minutes giving her the backstory and explaining stuff and never really got to discussing the future. The only thing I decided was that I should make a giant pro/con list.
Then I went to talk to Susan again, and she informed me that she might not have enough funding to take any grad students this year. I ignored this, because she's crazy, and there will be funding, or, or... or... um... I'll just show up and start working and she'll deal with it. We also talked again about transferring, and she was supportive. Now I'm starting to wonder--do they not want me here?
Thing is, I really have been thinking about transferring since... since before I left Santa Cruz. I promised myself, back in April 2006, that I would give it one good year at Yale. That I would try my hardest, and do my best to fit in, and that at the end of that year I'd reevaluate, and if I was miserable I'd come home. I made this pact before I ever even left California, and I've held onto it like a security blanket. That faint hope got me through the long dark winter. But at some point I stopped hanging on to it as a real hope; maybe once I realized I'd missed the application deadline for the 07-08 school year, I stopped thinking that it was a reasonable hope. Thinking about it this week as something I could ACTUALLY do was both exciting and terrifying. The parts of me (the very few, small parts of me) that have actually managed to settle in New Haven and bond with Yale are reluctant to let go and take the risk of starting over. I really would have to start over; this year would be a complete academic loss. I might get some classes waived, but I'd have to do rotations and be a first year student all over again. On the other hand... California.
California.
It's almost, almost enough to think that I'll go back after I graduate. To think that there are only four or five more years to give to New Haven, and then I never have to leave California again. But the miserable part of me screams and writhes to contemplate four or five more years away from the sunshine, the fog, the climbing walls, the weed (and still, I don't even smoke). I guess I just have to sit down and figure out how much of me still really wants to leave, and how much of me is just afraid to let go of the idea that I can leave. In some ways, realizing that I CAN transfer has made me feel a lot better about staying; I originally felt that I came to Yale for some specific reason, that I'm SUPPOSED to be here, and I'm staying here because I'm SUPPOSED to. But since Thursday I've felt like maybe I'm here because I choose to be here. And does that make all the difference? I'm not sure yet.
I had a really good conversation with my mom (actually, two of them) this week. I finally decided to take a chance and tell her what I was actually going through, so I opened up (and expected to be ignored or brushed off), and amazingly she was really supportive and helpful and honest. We talked about living alone, and being 21, and sleep paralysis and how it's linked to feeling insecure. We talked about transferring, and mood drugs, and expensive counselors. And holistic healing and how her insurance will cover it, so I can go have some weird voodoo performed on my midsection and maybe it will stop destroying my life. Anyway, it was awesome to talk to my mom so directly again, to be Rory and Lorelai and actually connect. I missed that. I'm glad it's still there.
And it's been a good weekend. I've hung out with friends, gotten drunk and gossipped (and on a side note, I had the desire to drunk dial people last night, and went through a list of possibilities, and only realized this morning that Graham was on the list and Jamie wasn't--which reinforces that I'm correct in saying I'm over him), slept, and had a lovely two hours alone in lab (I love empty labs) doing minipreps and cell culture, followed by hanging out sober at a bar with two of my favorite people in the world. How could I leave these things? Even for California?
Thursday morning I went to talk to our admissions coordinator, who is really awesome and has helped me out with a few other freakouts. I told her I was thinking about transferring and what did she think, and she said she thought I'd already made up my mind, and that if I was miserable, then I should go. So I started crying. We talked for about twenty more minutes, and she gave me some suggestions for which steps to take next and who to speak to, and how taking a year off works, and what to tell Yale if I did that and used my time off to reapply to UCSF. It was a crazy conversation. I felt like a giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders--they're gonna let me go home!--and at the same time I felt a deep sense of panic--there are things here I've come to love, and there's no guarantee I'd get those things back. I've got great friends here, and I really do like Yale.
In fact, I spent the rest of Thursday thinking, "This is crazy. I've been wanting to transfer since I got here, and finally a professor suggests it and an administrator supports it, and I don't want to go anymore?"
Friday morning I met with the campus counselor. She was largely useless. I spent the full 45 minutes giving her the backstory and explaining stuff and never really got to discussing the future. The only thing I decided was that I should make a giant pro/con list.
Then I went to talk to Susan again, and she informed me that she might not have enough funding to take any grad students this year. I ignored this, because she's crazy, and there will be funding, or, or... or... um... I'll just show up and start working and she'll deal with it. We also talked again about transferring, and she was supportive. Now I'm starting to wonder--do they not want me here?
Thing is, I really have been thinking about transferring since... since before I left Santa Cruz. I promised myself, back in April 2006, that I would give it one good year at Yale. That I would try my hardest, and do my best to fit in, and that at the end of that year I'd reevaluate, and if I was miserable I'd come home. I made this pact before I ever even left California, and I've held onto it like a security blanket. That faint hope got me through the long dark winter. But at some point I stopped hanging on to it as a real hope; maybe once I realized I'd missed the application deadline for the 07-08 school year, I stopped thinking that it was a reasonable hope. Thinking about it this week as something I could ACTUALLY do was both exciting and terrifying. The parts of me (the very few, small parts of me) that have actually managed to settle in New Haven and bond with Yale are reluctant to let go and take the risk of starting over. I really would have to start over; this year would be a complete academic loss. I might get some classes waived, but I'd have to do rotations and be a first year student all over again. On the other hand... California.
California.
It's almost, almost enough to think that I'll go back after I graduate. To think that there are only four or five more years to give to New Haven, and then I never have to leave California again. But the miserable part of me screams and writhes to contemplate four or five more years away from the sunshine, the fog, the climbing walls, the weed (and still, I don't even smoke). I guess I just have to sit down and figure out how much of me still really wants to leave, and how much of me is just afraid to let go of the idea that I can leave. In some ways, realizing that I CAN transfer has made me feel a lot better about staying; I originally felt that I came to Yale for some specific reason, that I'm SUPPOSED to be here, and I'm staying here because I'm SUPPOSED to. But since Thursday I've felt like maybe I'm here because I choose to be here. And does that make all the difference? I'm not sure yet.
I had a really good conversation with my mom (actually, two of them) this week. I finally decided to take a chance and tell her what I was actually going through, so I opened up (and expected to be ignored or brushed off), and amazingly she was really supportive and helpful and honest. We talked about living alone, and being 21, and sleep paralysis and how it's linked to feeling insecure. We talked about transferring, and mood drugs, and expensive counselors. And holistic healing and how her insurance will cover it, so I can go have some weird voodoo performed on my midsection and maybe it will stop destroying my life. Anyway, it was awesome to talk to my mom so directly again, to be Rory and Lorelai and actually connect. I missed that. I'm glad it's still there.
And it's been a good weekend. I've hung out with friends, gotten drunk and gossipped (and on a side note, I had the desire to drunk dial people last night, and went through a list of possibilities, and only realized this morning that Graham was on the list and Jamie wasn't--which reinforces that I'm correct in saying I'm over him), slept, and had a lovely two hours alone in lab (I love empty labs) doing minipreps and cell culture, followed by hanging out sober at a bar with two of my favorite people in the world. How could I leave these things? Even for California?
