Days and Days

63 days until April 15th. Tax day, of course, but also the day when decisions are due to MFA programs. The day by which I must notify any offering programs of my decision to attend or not. 63 days, with mercy less, of hoping there will be a decision to make.

I received an email from School C on Thursday afternoon. They said that my application was currently with their review committee, and in the mean time, their director would like to give me a call to see how the application process is going and to answer any questions I might have. They wanted to know what times would be good to reach me by phone. Knowing I would be an idiot to try to hold a decent phone conversation in a crowded convention hall, I told them I'd be available any time that evening, or again on Monday, but not Friday. My heart was racing, and it was hard to stay focused for the rest of the night at work. They never called.

Up and at 'em early Friday to get to the New York Comic Con so I could take pictures for Mr. Stankfoot, who writes for a PC Gaming website. (Not PC Gaming.) I wasn't getting paid, but he did buy the tickets and food. For my part, I was just happy to be there, amidst the herds of nerds, away from the jerks of work. I also took joy in the challenge of taking photos with the Mistress's too-fine digital SLR. Adjusting aperture, shutter speed, focus... it's like I was a real photographer or something! I ended up with a handful of cool photos, which I'll share when I get motivated to resize them all.

Saturday was a good time too, with the Mistress and I getting together with Spanky and Zanzibar to play Munchkin, the most entertaining card game I've had the pleasure of playing either side of the Mississip. It's designed around a base module which can be played alone, and features 7 expansions that add different elements to the game. Sounds like a bit of a ripoff, but it surprisingly isn't. Each one changes the nature of the game and keeps things fresh. We bought Spanky and Zanzibar the base set and three of the expansions for Christmas, and now I want to pick up the rest just to take over and play. I would love to pick up a set myself, but I don't see who the Mistress and I would play with, shut-ins that we are.

Sunday we watched Fog of War, which is an essential history lesson and reflection on the nature of what it is to be human in the 20th/21st century. I don't know what it says about me, but I had a hard time not relating the ethical dilemmas Mr. McNamara evoked with those explored in Battlestar Galactica. Even though many of these philosophical pauses might go right over the viewer's heads, or be overlooked in lieu of the crazy space-drama and shaky-cam space-action, this show will be held eternally in my highest regards for not only breaching these questions at all, but for doing so with skill and grace.

Also, it was pretty hard not to both empathize with the haunted McNamara, while at the same time noticing the similarities between the handling of Vietnam and the Gulf War II. It's easy to forget how complicated these situations are, how human the players.

After the movie, the Mistress heard my phone ringing. I ran upstairs to get it, hurting my ankle in the process, only to miss the call by less than a second. I was so close that the cell phone counted it as received, not missed, while the call itself went to voicemail. It was the MFA director for School C wanting to discuss my application. He said to call back in the next few minutes if I could. I did, but the line was busy, so I left a message. I sat for two hours, like a dog watching the door for his master, but was never called back.

Though I had Monday off, there were still many inopportune times to be called. Taking a crap, arm deep in a chicken carcass, picking a wedge. It was time, however, for the tried and true, practically cliche, sudsed-up hair and dripping from the shower phone call. I turned the shower off and walked to my bedroom to get away from the loud fan, but it wasn't School C. It was School D! The excitement!

They needed Mr. Templeton's letter of recommendation by the end of the week. The letdown!

Yesterday I had a meeting with my supervisor regarding my yearly performance appraisal. She had nothing but nice things to say about me, which always feels good. We were discussing areas of improvement and projects we want to tackle in the coming year when she mentioned that it's odd planning for the next year out when I might not be around to see it. I had to agree. We then discussed a letter of intent, which I will have to provide, officially documenting my plans to inform my supervisor of my decision to leave or stay by a set date. Provided I wanted to stay, which I am completely welcome to do, she added.

This was the first time the idea that I might leave if I am not accepted into a school was acknowledged. I think she knows I'm growing restless in the position, and she soon brought up the possibility of re-evaluating my hours. She proposed that we would be able to change my schedule to regular, honest American, good ole 8-5 hours, (just like dear old dad used ta work), provided that I'm available to come in other times to monitor events that need attention.

This gave me pause. Would it be worth staying if it meant I could work regular hours? Sure, waking up to get to work at 8am sucks, but you know what? So does working on Saturday nights, precluding most chances of visiting friends. So does only seeing the Mistress for a few minutes in the mornings and for an hour or so before bed. On one hand, I know that the nature of the job itself wouldn't change. The folks who irritate me would just irritate me at different times. The mind numbing tasks would not lose their mass of banality. However, I could see something as simple as a shift change transforming a job I hate into a job I can happily tolerate. It's not as if there aren't things I like here, projects I want to see through, and it's not unreasonable to believe that changing one major fact about the job could put me in a better place, a place where I might actually enjoy what I do.

Of course, I know this is the stuff of rationalization. The reasoning that justifies toxic relationships and addictions. Things will be better when condition x is met, where x is an arbitrary condition of varying probability but ultimately minimal significance. If met, a new condition is selected to keep hope while the situation remains the same. Sometimes though, a little change can make all the difference. I'm convinced, irrationally enough, that had my bed in my college apartment been pushed against the wall instead of left to jut diagonally from the corner, two years of my life would have been significantly different. (Jeff Goldblum could explain it better, I'm sure.) Either way, I will have todecide relatively soon. Sooner than April 15th. I would love, love, love a school to call, mail, or email this decision away. Until then, I'm just counting the days.