Anatomy of an End of Term Sunday

There's just something about the days at the end of the term that read like bad fiction.

Today wasn't bad, exactly, but it was filled with lots of little things. For example, while I got to lie in my bed with a bit of the sun on me and talk on the phone, at least one of the conversations was like watching someone else's root canal. The phone call was with one of the mothers, and true to form, roughly a half hour in, the grandchildren issue was raised in the best passive-aggressive way possible (I was informed that she'd had to resort to buying things for other people's children because none of her kids were doing their jobs). Because Mother's Day is coming, I refrained from telling any of the cruel "stop harping on this" sorts of tales that I might otherwise have.

And yet this evening, when I went to the post office to make sure my Mother's Day cards got in the mail, it wound up in an epic adventure because evidently working stamp machines are a thing of the past around here (and, incidentally, the ability to buy a single stamp must have been deemed outmoded). As if dealing with Mother's Day for two mothers who not only talk but compare notes wasn't bad enough, I need postal hassles as well.

At the grocery store, a whole list of items on my regular shopping list have vanished from the shelves: the cool, environmentally friendly laundry detergent, Peanut Lover's Chex Mix, and chorizo among them. But thank goodness I can purchase seven different kinds of Italian sausage. I'm so annoyed, I'd steal a line from Wednesday Addams about what those sausage are made from except for how it would make me sound.

This afternoon, I received an e-mail from one of the honor's students I'm working with - thankfully not the one I'm in charge of - telling me he'd have a draft of his thesis to me in the morning, and, oh, by the way, his defense is at 10 am. One of the great tragedies of e-mail is that typing out "Hahahahahaha! You're kidding, right? No? Get out." doesn't have the same effect as saying it in person.

Finally, tonight, joy of joys, the Ex Who Crushed Paris felt the need to again get in touch with me. This is a ongoing problem for me, and not just with this particular ex. I have enough ex-gf tales to fill a significant part of the book I'll one day seriously consider writing only to opt for a nap instead. And it isn't as though I'm particularly good at dating either. The only thing that's worked well in the past has been to fight fire with fire. My preferred message is one collect call at 3:30 or so in the morning for each unwanted communication (for best effect, let the operator choose the collect call carrier - ask them to pick one they've never had anyone request before).

Still, I've made it to the end of the day. The stars are out, the dog is sleeping, and the only thing left to be done is to send the e-mail promising to savage anyone who tries to get me into that defense. It'll be bloodier than a cannibal Thanksgiving.

(Isn't that the most disturbing .gif ever?)

Thank goodness summer will be here soon.


5 Responses to “Anatomy of an End of Term Sunday”
Post a Comment | Post Comments (Atom)

ash said...

1. That honor's thesis thing is ridiculous. There needs to be an enforceable rule about how many days in advance of the defense a student must submit a draft. At this point, you should be communicating with the advisor and not the student, as this is now their problem. And let me guess: tomorrow is the last day for defenses, right?

2. For some reason I find the chorizo situation possibly even more annoying. If you live in a place where there's no decent Mexican food in a 100-mile radius, at least you should have access to the materials to make some decent food for yourself! Geez!

May 5, 2008 at 12:44 AM
Dr. Curmudgeon said...

Setting a draft timetable is going to be one of the things I do from now on when I agree to serve on these things in the future. Unfortunately this is largely a case of difficulties with the direction of the overall project, and so I'll be working to make my point with the faculty member while not completely ruining the student.

The chorizo loss seems like part of a campaign on the region to destroy me. Last year, the only decent tamales I could get vanished; now chorizo. Italian food hegemony is killing me.

May 5, 2008 at 11:51 AM
Samantha said...

Did you ever tell your exes not to contact you?

If you did and they persist, then I understand (and applaud) your tactic.

But if you didn't, then I really don't understand why you feel the need to fight fire with fire.

May 5, 2008 at 12:34 PM
Charlotte said...

When you wrote "one of the mothers," does that mean you have a mom and a stepmom who harasses you about having kids, too?

Both my moms say they've given up on the marriage thing, but they want grandkids, dammit!

Mind you, I'm 28, and just got accepted to a PhD program. But. they. want. grandkids. Sigh.

May 5, 2008 at 2:44 PM
Dr. Curmudgeon said...

Samantha - I have tried to say it to exes, yes. Though now that I think about it, if the brick landed wrong, they might not get the message.

Seriously, yes - I'm pretty direct about how and where I'm comfortable with things, and in most cases, I don't have any great desire to try and keep things going with people I've broken up with. If I'm interested, I'm working to make things work. If I'm not capable of making things work, I'm probably not interested.

I've never understood the desire some of my friends have to try and maintain friendships with exes. I think it's some weird view of closure that people have from decades of pop-psychology. A great way to get closure, I think, is to say something like "We're through." or "We're breaking up."

Charlotte - the multiple moms is about that complicated though a bit differently. But yup, they both do harass about grandkids. It got bad enough in grad school that I resorted to awful pranks to stop the madness. It even worked for just under a year. People said I'd likely go to hell for it, but I think it was worth ten months of peace.

May 5, 2008 at 2:56 PM