Waiting, still...again

Tomorrow will mark two weeks since I submitted my concept paper draft to my chairperson. She acknowledged its receipt, so I know she's got it. Since then, radio silence. What is happening in Florida, I wonder? (She lives in Florida.) And in the other places in which my faceless, nameless committee resides? Maybe their laptops and smartphones were swept away in Hurricane Sandy. If that is the case, it would be callous of me to complain about them not giving me timely feedback, if their homes are floating somewhere off the Jersey coast.

I think I've been remarkably patient. I've only checked the course room for updates once or twice a day. I haven't called my chairperson to breathe heavily into the phone. I haven't sent chatty little email reminders: Hi, Dr. C., hope everything is going okay! Hi, Dr. C., here's hoping for good news! Instead I've tried to be productive with my enforced hiatus. For instance, I cleaned the clutter off my desk. That's an accomplishment, if you've ever seen my filing system. I took out the recycling, dodging the cunning little piles of doggie crap that dot the back path. I even changed the sheets on my bed and washed a few loads of laundry. Whoa, look at me go.

Holding my humdrum life together gets put on hold when a paper must be written. I can live in squalor for weeks, months if necessary. Even still some substantial things remain undone: I haven't yet vacuumed the rugs. I'm saving that exciting adventure for a rainy day. Rain is forecast for the next seven days, so there ought to be a moment in there when I can drag out the vacuum cleaner. Or not. And the kitchen floor is turning into a sticky swamp. I guess I'd better mop it before the cat gets stuck like a fly on flypaper.

I probably sound like a self-centered egomaniac, thinking only of myself and my needs. Yeah, so, what's your point? That is the way a chronic malcontent thinks. You should know that by now, if you have suffered through reading this blog before. I'm trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but all I can do with my upper lip is grow a little facial hair on its quivering surface. I'm trying to hold my life together enough to go to work and do my job, and for the most part, I think I'm doing okay. I haven't broken down and wept in front of a class. I haven't shown up to work with my undies on the outside of my clothes. But this waiting is excruciating.

Part of me just wants it to be over. What if she says, The committee says your concept sucks. Get a new concept or take a hike. What would I do then? Would I try to conjure up another idea, knowing that it will set me back another six months? Best not go down that road. I'm dabbling my toe in the wreckage of the future again. That only leads to tears. Maybe I would just feel a profound sense of relief.

When I don't know what to do, I look to my cat for guidance. Whatever he is doing, that is what I do. Eat, sleep, play, poop. Right now he is trying to sit on my hands while I type. That might be good advice. See ya later.