Drifting

Before 5 years ago, I had never even considered having a “5 year plan.” It was my most desperate wish to get back to drifting aimlessly as soon as possible.  To be honest, I would still like to get back to that… I’d just like to do it in a way that doesn’t involve total poverty.  To this end, 5 years ago I developed a 5 year plan.  The plan was to get educated and then make another plan. I’ve earned a degree in Sociology, and somehow upsold myself from a minor in Philosophy to an additional Bachelor of Arts.  In this way, the “getting educated” part of my plan went exceptionally well.  I’m in the “making another plan” part of that plan.  It feels a lot like drifting down a river and waiting to get snagged on something.

I don’t mind this feeling.  It’s kind of my comfort zone, actually. Drifting. Waiting to see what opportunities the current snags on. It’s only been a few months since graduation and the new plan is starting to take shape.  I can’t quite see it just yet… but it’s forming.  It includes Graduate School, sooner rather than later, and a PhD… probably.  A super cool Grad program presented itself to me, and pointed me down a path that I hadn’t actually considered.  A path that I had, in fact, spoken openly against… for myself anyway.  Suddenly, though, it absolutely made the most sense and no amount of my having said “I hate psychology” made any kind of difference… because the program focuses on LGBTQ couples and families.  My community *needs* this service, and I have a “see a need; fill a need” personal policy.  Phase one of the new plan: Begin a Master of Arts in Marriage and Family Therapy specializing in LGBTQ couples and families. People who know me personally will probably find this part of my new plan ironic for a variety of reasons… because it is. Whatever.  I am really excited about it.

The coolest part of this Grad program is that I can do it almost entirely online. I mean, not the internship or practicum of course.  I have to do those locally wherever I want to be licensed. Until then, however, I can actually get a damned job.  This is phase two of the new plan, and it has not yet become clear.  For several weeks I diligently submitted 3-5 resumes and cover letters per day, often with basic applications.  There must be a million of them floating around in this general area now along with being posted on several job boards.  I’ve lost a bit of diligence at this point, but I put a new application in every few days when something catches my eye.  I had one interview… but that didn’t work out. What’s interesting is the opportunities that come from my posted resume on the job boards.  For instance, I may join FEMA Corps for a year and be a part of the Corporation for National Community Service again. This means travel and adventure!  Or, if I got some kind of major brain injury, I could choose to be an auto insurance adjuster and become some new version of Tyler Durden.  Gender bending the old movies is the cool thing to do these days, right?!

I would really like to get a job.  Strictly speaking, it could be any job but I just earned 2 BAs and qualify for jobs that society calls “careers.”  The word “career” freaks me out.  It calls to mind horrifying images of boredom and permanence.  It sounds like a trap, or a corral in which mustangs are broken.  I don’t see myself stumbling into a “career” just yet, and when I do it won’t be one that resembles a corral.  The trouble is, the jobs for which I’m actively applying reflect my level of education and experience and therefore resemble careers… which means *I* have to resemble a relatively normal adult of some kind to get one.  So… we’ll see how that goes.  Until something pans out and the rest of my new plan becomes clear, I’ll just be comfortably drifting.

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Jaded About Gender: A Life of Accidental Gender Adventures

Introduction

Gender has begun to bother me in the last four or five years.  I am not personally asked how I identify because my physical appearance is decidedly female.  My body is shaped in a womanly way and I would have to work against that shape to be anything else.  I don’t mind my shape, or being female, but it’s bothersome that being female automatically equates to being feminine in the minds of most.  I am not feminine most of the time, nor am I masculine on most days.  I hold a variety of very masculine skills and traits as well as a cache of feminine talents and qualities.  However, dividing these aspects of myself into abstract task and skill categories is total nonsense.  I am a human being who happens to be very good at a lot of unnecessarily gendered things.  I do not understand the cultural need to put every body and every thing into either the pink box or the blue box.  It has never been important to me whether I was feminine enough to comfort those around me.  I was not very well socialized.

Things are different in the country

            I began my life in a very small town in central Kansas. Looking back it is clear to me that gender roles were rigidly either feminine or masculine.  I was one of two “tomboys” in a class of 47, though I don’t remember ever being called a “tomboy.”  In ranching and farming communities some traits and behaviors that are usually considered masculine are useful regardless of the sex of whoever possesses them.  Ingenuity, physical strength, problem solving, mechanical skill and leadership skills are cultivated in anyone who seems to have them.  I built my first bicycle out of junkyard parts with my step-dad when I was five years old.  Building and fixing were my life.  I worked on cars and tractors, built forts and barns, and lead my buddies to the end of the world and back.  I didn’t consider any of these behaviors masculine, and no one told me that they were. 

In retrospect, however, it seems that my grandmother was concerned about how I would grow into a woman.  She only ever gave me gifts that would come in a pink box.  Dolls, jewelry, dresses, and hair accessories could always be expected from grandma.  Dolls were okay if they did something. For instance, I had a Cabbage Patch Kid with hair that “grew” and one with hair I could style of which I was quite fond.  I liked jewelry and shiny hair things.  Dresses were fun but became awkward, and embarrassing for my mother, when I climbed trees and hung upside down.  I remember my mother once telling me to “get out of that tree. Everyone can see your panties.”  I replied, “Yeah, mom, but my panties are covering my butt and that’s what matters, right?”  I was six or seven and absolutely serious.   If my mother was amused, which seems likely, she did not show it.  She made me change into jeans and that was the end of it.  The only times I got to wear dresses after that were special occasions immediately after which I changed into jeans. Apparently panties showing were a much bigger deal than I thought.

Divorce changes everything

            Two weeks before my thirteenth birthday, and after several months of family chaos, my mom and I moved to a college town.  The transition from Rockwellian country life to the real world was rough to say the least.  I started school at a junior high that held three times more people than my hometown.  More people said “hi” to me on my first day than I could remember ever having talked to in my life.  The drastic difference in community and society caused me to experience a serious case of culture shock.  I had been a strange kid in the country but now I was a stranger in a strange land. 

This thriving metropolis, by my standards at the time, offered me some new ways of seeing the world.  I became distinctly aware of gender via the sudden realization that I had sexual desires and I had them for other girls.  It had not occurred to me to consider how I present myself until I wanted to do it for the purpose of attracting another. My mother told me that this was my “identity crisis,” which was something she was learning about at the university.  It certainly seemed like a crisis.  I knew nothing of gender presentation or alternative sexualities.  Before that year I did not even know that girls could and did fall in love with each other and so did boys.  I knew that I could be a “tomboy” because Miranda was the quarterback on our middle school football team, but I had no idea that I could be gay.  I didn’t even know it was a thing.  To make matters worse, I had no clue as to how to be more feminine or more masculine without compromising my own comfort.  I decided not to worry about it.  I decided to be myself and let other people see me however they saw me. 

Probably the most interesting aspect of more or less ignoring my own gender is realizing that people only see what they want to see and they add whatever gender they need in order to feel comfortable.  Butch lesbians and classic cis-hetero men see the feminine traits to which they are drawn.  Femme hetero men and lesbians see the masculine qualities that they prefer.  Trans* folk and other gender non-conforming people tend to see, or at least comment on, both ends of the spectrum regardless of what they prefer personally.  While the idea of gender being in the eye of the beholder is intriguing, it has caused me no end of trouble.

Conclusion

            I feel like I have spent my life in an equi-gendered state.  Inside myself I feel like I am all genders and what floats to the top on any given day could be anything or perhaps nothing if that is possible.  I know, however, that if I wake up feeling genderless and put on a genderless combination of a t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes I will be gendered feminine by default, or masculine due to a lack of makeup or depending on the color of my hair.  No one will confuse me for a man, but no one will ask me how I feel about it either.  If I begin a relationship with someone who has chosen a particular end of the spectrum, they will fixate the bits they like for a while and then they will begin to try to suppress the bits they don’t care for.  My personality is relatively androgynous, I think, but for reasons that I don’t understand people are uncomfortable with that.  This is why gender has begun to bother me in the last four or five years. I’ve thought a lot about it.

What's Better Than Steak? Pamela Anderson, that's what.

In an advertisement that is probably supposed to equate eating meat to cannibalism Pamela Anderson is marked for slaughter, but the latent messages in this picture are almost as harmful to the woman depicted as the slaughterhouse is to the cattle she is attempting to save. The slicing up of bodies is not usually as straightforward as it is in this PETA ad, but it is a common theme in ads for nearly everything. Breasts are used to sell shirts, midriffs used to sell beer, legs used to sell sports ware. Advertising has become an assortment of pieces of people. This bombardment of disembodiment wreaks havoc on the collective unconscious. People begin to see themselves in pieces. Pieces that are unlike the ones they see on television or in print advertisements and must be bettered. The goal is to be like the person in the advertisement. Often, failing to look like the perfect person in the picture, the person watching will simply buy the product advertised as a consolation. Perhaps they buy products because they think quiet thoughts along the lines of, “that beautiful person sure does look good drinking that beer,” or “those pretty people seem to be having a lot of fun with their nicotine patches on.” Whatever the case, ideal body image is always on society’s minds, figuratively carved into rumps and rounds.

Showing only body parts, instead of a whole person, dehumanizes the person in the photo. Women are most commonly the victims of this process, both because they are more often the subjects of advertisement slaughter and because they receive the negative consequences to which this dehumanization leads. It has been suggested by a gaggle of feminists that this process of dehumanizing women causes the general public to think of women, as a whole, as less than human which opens the doors for domestic violence and feeds into rape culture. In advertisements women are often pictured as objects. They become beer bottles, cars and cigarettes to name a few. Objects, as a rule, do not demand respect or care and are therefore not respected or cared for. Framing women as objects, and slicing them into pieces, puts them in a position to be disrespected and uncared for. This, of course, is a set up for physical abuse and rape. It isn’t just men that this message is sent to either. Women also tend to think of themselves, subconsciously, as “less than” and “secondary to” men. Since throughout history to be human is to be “man,” thinking of themselves as less than man equates, on some level, to thinking of themselves as less than human. This mindset causes women to believe that they don’t deserve to be treated equally. Why else would a woman internalize spousal abuse and believe that they themselves must be in the wrong somehow? (Don’t answer that; I’m on a roll) Objectifying women causes all of western society to view women as lesser beings to be cut into pieces and devoured (usually figuratively).



While it is true that there are also pictures of parts of men in advertisements, they are neither as prevalent nor as objectifying. Men, for instance, are rarely framed as objects and even the most “heroine chic” male model is posed in a position of moderate power. Women, on the other hand, are often framed as something breakable or, ironically, as something with which special care should be taken (a luxury car, perhaps). The reason for this lack of equal representation in objectifying advertising is relatively obvious: there’s nothing in it for them… the men, that is. Men control the vast majority of advertising agencies, the corporations they work for and the networks on which their ads run. It would not serve their interests to make themselves seem trivial and un-powerful. Doing such to women, however, puts half of the population at their feet hence bringing them more power still. It also helps to quell their fears of what they do not understand. Women have been regarded as having great power all throughout history, and men have never been able to pinpoint the source of that power. Centuries ago, with the wide acceptance of Christianity, that power was greatly subdued; but men’s fear of it was not entirely put to rest. Keeping women “in their place” has been going on for at least two thousand years and at this point in history is very likely done out of habit. The fear is probably also habitual. Fear and habit aside, subjugating women has been in the best interests of the ruling gender for a very long time.



The mild objectification of men in advertising pales in comparison to the constant bombardment of incredibly objectifying images of women. If the incredible number of ads featuring and disassociating women isn’t upsetting enough, men also don’t face any consequences to do with the handful of ads that feature and objectify them. Men are the ruling gender. This idea is only contested by those that know that it is true, but would rather other people didn’t believe it to be true. They’re arguments are generally pretty weak. Since this is true, and undisputed (more or less), it is reasonable to assume that men would not put themselves in any position in which they would have to face adverse consequences as a gender. For women, the objectification creates a much deeper fear that is a constant reality. From very small children girls are taught to be afraid. They don’t know exactly what they are afraid of, but as adults the fears are realized in the women around them. The rape and/or abuse of women occur on a regular enough basis that every woman, once a girl, comes to understand what she’d been taught to fear all her life. This is not, in any way, a consequence that men have to face on the rare occasion that they are depicted as objects. This is not a world that men have to live in. I had a professor once tell the class that the fear that women live with every day of their lives is comparable to the fear that soldiers face when they are deployed to a battle zone, but with a very important difference: Soldiers eventually get to come home; women exist in that battle zone. He is a really great professor.

POOR PEOPLE CARE MORE

A Thing that I have noticed in the last few years is that I have a bunch of friends (and a mom) that would LIKE to help me out… but are just as crushingly poor as I am.  They gladly share GoFundMe campaigns created to try to keep a roof over our head, and offer couches and floor space for a time when I will inevitably fail at that task.  They would, of course, contribute to said funds if they weren’t in nearly the same position.

Conversely, I have family & people who have at times said “if you need anything….” that could feasibly help but couldn’t be bothered to care if my daughter and I end up living under a bridge… and would, in fact, rather blame me for not being more successful even though I am in college right now to correct that problem.  If I were complaining about being a member of the working poor, they would suggest I get an education and then a better job.  I think we all know that is not how the economy works… but I seem to be in the process of doing that anyway.  Since I am taking the advise of dim witted conservatives, working my ass off at obtaining that education, the advise they offer now is “get a (shitty) job” on top of the 50+ hrs/wk you spend on school and the time that you should be using to raise your kid.  But, for god’s sake, don’t expect a “handout.”

For four years I have managed to basically get by without much help (though I have called in all the charity organizations at some point in the last year and have completely tapped out that source of aid), but then I did something stupid on the weekend following New Year’s.  A stupid thing that is fairly common around that time.  You guessed it; I got a DUI.  This is a mistake that I obviously cannot afford.  If I a member of the other class of college student, you know the ones whose parents are paying for their education, the ones who drive shiny new cars and chant racist songs on frat busses, if I were one of them… I could just throw money at it, do some community service, and be done with it all.  I am, however, not one of them.  I have thrown quite a lot of money at it though, because I had absolutely no choice.  I’ve lost 3 months rent on this mistake… and they want so much more.

if only…

I am aware that my mistake was a bad one, and I’ve no intention to try to defend my actions.  I fucked up.  I can’t help, however, but notice that the punishment for such a crime is MUCH worse for poor people than for people with any amount of money… even though it is the exact same punishment for everyone.  This mistake has the potential to completely derail everything that I have been working to achieve.  I have been travailing the arduous road out of poverty for FOUR years.  I want a better life for my daughter.  I want a better life for me.  Hard work, I’m told, is the way to achieve these things… and that is what I’m fucking doing!  One mistake, and any chance that I’ll be able to put my kid through college disappears.

Let’s run the numbers and options, shall we? So far I have spent $1,935 on things directly related to this mistake. I was fortunate to have gotten my student financial aide a few days after it happened, but that money was earmarked for survival and got spent on staying out of jail.  I was sentenced on March 20th and informed of the rest of the money that this will cost.  Hear is the run down of those fees and fines:

$960 to the DA’s office to be paid in the amount of $40/mon,

$480 to be paid to my probation officer in the amount of $40/month,

$1,325.80 to the court clerk to be paid in the amount of $50/mo,

$385 for DUI school,

$100 for a victim impact panel,

$75 fine from the university,

$4,600 (give or take $1,500) which is the cost of installing and renting a breathalyzer device for 5 years. 

All told, with what I’ve already put into it, this will cost approximately $10,000 which is nearly what I live on in a year (about $12,500-ish).   This is to be spread in varying thicknesses over the span of 5 years.  Initially, the cost is $460 + $130/mo which is what I am expected to pay RIGHT NOW as I struggle to figure out how to pay my rent through the summer and the other bills that I currently owe (electric, phone, internet, etc.).

well… I certainly can’t

The effects of the financial demands of my mistake?  I can manage without internet and a phone; I’ve done it before.  Electricity won’t matter much if I don’t have an apartment… but keeping those two things would obviously be better for the fragile stability I try to maintain for the kiddo.  These are the primary concerns, but looking to the future other serious issues pop up.  It is certain that I have to “get a (shitty) job” to have a chance at surviving this without going to jail (which comes with a special breed of child development issues which you can read about here: Children of Incarcerated Parents) or becoming homeless again (which has it’s own effects that you can read about here: Homeless Children).

Even with a job, this may not work out… and there’s a fair chance that I won’t be able to get one in time, or at all.  My class schedule is heavy this semester, though almost over.  It’s going to be hard to find something that is willing to work with it, even temporarily, and give me enough hours to hold off the wolves.  I have 2-3 weeks to come up with about $600 to spread around through the various debtors and keep a tenuous hold on stability.  If I manage this, my primary concerns will be taken care of but this will occur at the cost of my grades because it will use the time I have earmarked for writing term 4 term papers and studying for 6 finals, again, to stay out of jail… and in a home.  My grades can probably stand to take a hit of sorts (they’re pretty good at a solid 3.4 GPA), but if the hit is bad my dreams of one day being a college professor may stop dead in their tracks because grad schools can be pretty picky.  The chance of forfieting grad school, I think, stands at about 50/50… IF it is at all possible to even get paid $600 within 2-3 weeks which, let’s face it, is EXTREMELY unlikely.

What is more likely to occur is a lot of begging.  I can get a job and some shitty hours that won’t be nearly enough but will work with my schedule and leave me a modicum of time to do the school work that remains over the next 3 weeks.  Since I am unlikely to be paid by said job for 3-4 weeks after I start working there, I will have to beg everyone I owe to be patient and cross my fingers that this will work.  There will be 2 bench warrants for me next month (if I don’t come up with $90 by the 1st), regaurdless of begging… which means I could go to jail at any moment.  My landlord might work with me if I have some money coming, but if not they won’t kick me out officially until the latter half of May, and I could theoretically ride the squatters rights until the beginning of June.  The electric company will work with me until I miss my first payment on whatever payment plan they set up for me… then it’s lights out, but not until at least the beginning of June.  I can use the internet at school, but my kiddo will have to get real cozy with some books because that will be the only entertainment in the apartment. We will not be reachable by phone, or email… so, people will have to either stop by or write letters if they want to communicate… at least for as long as we still have a place to live and an address to send letters to.  It is possible that begging will maintain things for a little while. Maybe even long enough for me to become sustainable again.

Worst case scenario: Homelessness –> traumatized child, Jail –> traumatized child, Bad grades –> no grad school –> greatly lessened career path.  There is also the possibility that I will have to quit school entirely to clean up this mess, which means that I will be $60,000 in debt for absolutely nothing! Maybe I’d get back to it… maybe not. Struggling with all of this AND student debt while working a shit job and without the possibility of a better job (via graduating) sound like the set up for a vicious cycle of neverending bullshit.  This mistake that I have made has the potential to ruin our lives.  Can that be said of those who are NOT struggling with poverty?  Does a DUI generally set people up to live in continual poverty with fucked up kids? Should it???

Check and… check.

I firmly believe that the punishment for this crime should be uncomfortable.  It should not be a walk in the park or a lovely picnic.  It should absolutely suck.  But should it have the potential to ruin not one life, but possibly TWO?? Is $10,000 a reasonable amount of money to demand of people who barely have enough to survive? And if not, what is a reasonable punishment and what kind of sliding scale would represent equal discomfort for those who have no issue with throwing money at problems?

The poor people who read this will say nice things because they care more.  Those who could feasibly throw money at the problem will tell me that I did this to myself (which is true) and that I deserve every bit of the exact same punishment that everyone else gets for the same offense.  They won’t give a shit that I’ve been trying to make a better life for me and my kid.  They will fault me for being imperfect as though they’ve never made a mistake or done anything unimaginably stupid.  They will make noise about how upward mobility is possible for everyone and downplay how difficult it is… or how precariously the prospect of a better life is perched ready to fall off the mountain of “hard work.” One slip up… and it’s all gone. Poor people will understand… but they won’t be able to help.

If you want to help and are able, you can do so here: HELP!!!

If not, I get it.  You’re either poor, or you’re glad I’m failing… or, I suppose, some combination of the two. Though that does go against my theory that poor people care more.

I’d like to know what you think of how the law affects different economic classes, so let me know about it in the comments. An interesting video to watch on the topic can be found here: Last Week Tonight: Municipal Violations.  My charge is criminal, but the same principals apply.

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Gender Dysphoria is FU<|<ING Dangerous

I learned this morning that my very best friend is in the hospital (or was a couple of hours ago) because of a particularly harmful bout with gender dysphoria.  He's a trans* guy who hasn't yet been able to afford the surgery that would make him comfortable in his own body... or, at least as comfortable as we cis-gender folk have the privelege of being.  

His struggle has not only been a battle with his body but also with depression, suicidal thoughts and tendencies and a variety of medical "professionals" who think they know what is best for gender-non-conforming peoples.  

I beg you openly to help him and his family to gather the funds to pay for his surgery.  We don't want to loose him.  He is the sweetest and most caring and helpful person I know, and he could really use a return on all the kindness he has put into the world. 

Please, go to this site and donate: 

http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/help-v-pay-for-male-chest-reconstruction-surgery/337839#.VS3NUTGNCY4.facebook

I will update this post with more information at a later time. This simply couldn't wait for fully formed thoughts. 

The way old people laugh

I have been volunteering my time at a Salvation Army lately, because I don’t have a job and the State prefers I do something to receive cash assistance. I can’t really blame them; I certainly have never expected to get something for nothing, though it is a little disappointing that even our social services are so incredibly capitalist. That however is a whole different post.

At the Salvation Army Family Store there is a well represented cross section of poverty stricken people. Some obviously struggle with language barriers while others’ struggle is with a fixed income. Still others are in my position: being single and/or unemployed, or underemployed, parents that simply cannot afford the necessities of life the way the world of retail commonly presents them. And of course there are those who are simply buying what they can find for the money their parents gave them, or that they earned at their after school jobs. High School, I think, is its own form of poverty. That too, however, is a subject for another day.

In the category of those on a fixed income I see the older people who come into the store. I quietly watch them, as I watch everyone, shop slowly and chat with the regular employees of the store while I rack some clothes and “rag out” others. They don’t trust me; I’m new and unfamiliar. I don’t wonder how I would respond if any one of them should chance to speak to me, because they wouldn’t… not yet anyway. I have found over the years that older people are more wary of the unfamiliar than we who are still energetic enough to deal with anything negative that may come of exploring. I think that there are fewer surprises in old age, which seems like the only logical conclusion. I hear them speak as though they’ve seen everything there is to see in a human being. They talk about one person’s niece, or another’s son, or someone else’s grandkid in a very matter-of-fact way that finalizes any judgment passed. And it seems to me that when they laugh it is often hollow and sarcastic… as though there is some painful memory of a distant time and a similar situation in which they find a mocking sort of comfort. I’ve heard it with my ears many times in this setting: that humorless laugh. And perhaps it is partly the fault of setting. The weariness of poverty and the lack of control over one’s own financial situation can certainly be disheartening. These persons of considerable age do not seem cynical to me… but in there laugh there is a knowing ironic undertone that gives them away. I tried to remember a time or place in which some older person I know or knew had a deep and sincere belly laugh, and couldn’t think of a single one. I may have covertly heard more proof that Santa Clause is a fairy tale. (Shhhh…. don’t tell anyone) There are likely many people who wouldn’t even notice (in fact, it is an absolute certainty that there are; I could go on for days about the things people don’t notice, and have chosen to start here I suppose), but I spend so much of my time watching and listening that it jumped readily to my ears and prompted thoughts about my own age.

I am only 30. I am not old, but I am not so young anymore either. Aside from a childhood in which I was adequately provided for, I have been poor my entire life. Always lacking some portion of what society considers necessary. Be it a roof, or food, or proper clothing (which are all basic necessities) or a telephone, running and/or hot water, heat and air, or lights and refrigeration, or the many more easily overlooked things, there is always something lacking and has been for 15 years or more. I wonder if I notice the tinge of cynicism in the laugh of the elders because I hear it in my own laugh sometimes and am well aware of its roots. Then I wonder if when I am one of the old ones my true laugh will have dwindled and died completely leaving only that sardonic chuckle. Will I then move through my existence as I do now, simply taking life as it comes and doing what I can? Or will this coping mechanisms lack of productive effort have worn me down to an angry bitter old lady? I suppose there’s a chance that I will find success somewhere in the future. If that happens, will that certain chuckle come only when that “painful memory of a distant time and a similar situation” comes bringing the comfort of knowing that I have overcome? Or will I find some lasting happiness that drowns out the cynicism spawned by life’s earlier disappointments? I have so many questions about what further life may bring. I am anxious to be old and find these answers… but that is likely just my youth talking.

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Scholarships, Grants, and the Dreaded Student Loans

It's February.  Worse than that, it's the END of February.   This is the month of the year that all lower income college students are either frantically trying to secure funding for the next year of school or equally frantically networking thier college butts off trying to secure a work that vaugely resembles something in thier field.  Me? I'm in that first group of students for now.  I start networking and studying for the GRE in the fall semester next school-year in preparation for graduation in May of 2016.  

Today I am finishing up round two of scholarship applications.  I've finished the departmental applications and been approved for grants and loans for the 2015-2016 school year.  All I have left to do is write a few short essays for the general scholarships.  Most of these are due Sunday, but one is due tomorrow.  The one that is due tomorrow I need for classes I have to take this summer to stay on track for my projected graduation date.  I didn't know that I needed it until today.  I don't usually take classes in the summertime and summer funding is all wonky.  It falls into the funding year and enrollment period directly preceeding it (2014-15 in this case) but doesn't get automatically funded like regular semesters.  Because of this, unless you know that you are going to take summer classes when you accept your funding at the beginning of fall the year before and set back enough to fund the summer, you will find yourself without funding when that summer comes. I find myself in this unfortunate position. 

It's okay though... sorta.  I can get the application in for the one available summer scholarship by tomorrow (complete with a letter of recommendation).  After that, I may or may not be able to secure a cosigner for an institutional loan from the University that basically behaves like any other student loan.  And if all else fails, I can let my summer tuition and fees slide until the very last minute and pay it with my fall funding which may put me in a tight spot for a few months, but lets face it: I'm always in a tight spot.  If I let it slide, I'll have another interesting problem.  I'll have to get a job.  This will be fine for May and June, but I have a heavy schedule in July that may be pretty demanding.  Up to this point I've been able to work when I'm not schooling and school when I'm not working, but I haven't had to do both.  I can do it, but grandma may have to have a little visitor for the summer. I learned several years ago that trying to work, mom AND school simply doesn't jive.  Parenting is a full time job, even if school and work are both part time there isn't enough time.  

This is very stressful, as you may be able to imagine.  I have assignments to get done, research to do, quizzes and tests for which to study.  These are the things that all students have to deal with.  I, however, add another level to all of this by also having the privelege of being a mother... of the single variety.  So to this can also be added middle school functions, regular meals, help with homework, and bedtimes. I keep telling myself that other women have done this.  Women in my family have done this. I

have been doing this for nearly 4 solid years. I'm not going to stop now when I'm so close to done.  I'm not going to be $65,000 in debt for absolutely nothing.  I want my fancy scraps of paper, damnit!