…or, My Exchange of Festivus Grievances With Myself

Well, apparently three missed class sessions plus a few times not doing the reading as carefully as I should have plus a 30-page paper that veered dangerously toward the polemic equals A minus. I realize that is technically a good grade but I cannot possibly stress enough how important school is to me, specifically how important me excelling at school is to me. I am miserably inept at just about every other endeavor I’ve attempted in my ever-lengthening life: I was a joke in publishing; I was a doomed dot-commer; I was enraged at Esquire; I was a nabob at NYNMA; I was an absolute dolt as a theater producer; I couldn’t sell a book even when I did sell a book; I am a certifiably insignificant columnist. And don’t even get me started on how shitty of a wife I was. It takes a lot of total life ineptitude to be married and divorced by 25, but I fucking managed it. I’m just saying, it would be nice if I could be good at something now and then (besides fucking up, which I am an absolute expert at, duh) and for the most part I am good at school.

So here at the end of my MA coursework, with six A’s and two A minuses, I should be rejoicing, but instead I am smacking myself in the forehead Kafka-style ("Bachelor’s Ill Luck") for all the tiny transgressions that brought about those two minuses. I will have nightmares tonight about giant minuses digging a grave and then me looking closer and closer at the headstone and realizing my name was on it (Kafka again, "A Dream"). It’s funny because I am far from being an overachiever in every other aspect of my life: I am a complete failure at locating a pair of $200 jeans that fit my ass; I could give a flying fuck about my job (I’m blogging at it right now, for example); my apartment is a sty; my finances are woeful; I never finished In Search of Lost Time, blahbety bloo. Some people would even consider me a "slacker." It is perhaps this "slacker" moniker that has caused me to morph into an academic nutjob; in college I was more of a "slacker." Now as I wait for these PhD programs to pass judgement on me (hopefully no sentences of "death by drowning," Kafka again) I can only hope that they see more of new type-a student freak me and less of old slacker me. Every once in awhile when I venture out on a social occasion, I solve conversational lulls by making people reveal something about themselves that may or may not be sincere. I often say: "I am not nearly as self-loathing as I seem. It’s my schtick. Truth be told I think I’m kind of awesome." This, of course, is insincere; self-loathing is a highly underrated personality trait and makes for good citizenship. But as a student I am normally very confident. I’m sure that when I begin my thesis I’ll resume confidence; I’m excited about my topic, which is entirely Kafka-related and will be discussed at length on this blog. I was initially disappointed that theses aren’t graded in my program, but now that these minuses are coming to bludgeon me in my sleep, I guess I should be grateful.

My Festivus grievance to myself: I am a great disappointment. Happy Festivus! Now who wants to wrestle?

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2 thoughts on “You’re all one big slacker. Slack, slackety slackeroo.

  1. I have the same damn worries. At my school you have to take a gym class so I took golf, because I played it in the past. Well, I got my mid-term grades and it said I got a B in the class. I felt like screaming. No fucking way is Golf going to fuck my GPA. Well, I found out from the teacher that it was basically an arbitrary grade and that he hadn’t looked at the test and other stuff yet. That isn’t that close to what you were talking about but I needed to say it because it still pisses me off.

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