Epilogue

Jump to Comments

I forgot to take a little time out for myself after I turned in my MFA thesis yesterday.

It all started out very casual. I got to school early. I met a classmate and friend who was also turning in her thesis, someone who’d entered the MFA program the same semester I had, the two of us old program fogies, in the lounge, giving each other hugs and reminiscing, and also discussing future plans. It was, I thought, a fitting tribute to our cycle.

Then I got my thesis signed. Each of my professors took an extra minute with me–they knew this moment was poignant, even if I did not. We made small talk, at times, uneasy small talk. I hate small talk. I wanted to burst out with gratitude…but I did not. I gave them each a thank you note–the burst of gratitude was contained in those small white envelopes.

I went downstairs to the Provost’s office, where I turned in my thesis.

(okay–so far so good, right?)

The reaction to all this thesis finality? I was SOOOO HUNGRY. Starving. I started towards my car thinking about hurrying off to work, but I couldn’t stand my hunger–I’d never make it across the bridge! I’d DIE OF HUNGER So I turned around towards the campus cafeteria, where I bought myself a rice krispie treat (yes).

I didn’t stop to munch it. I munched and walked, still hurrying towards my car, not taking a single moment to sit and reflect and stay with my feelings. (Why was I running from my feelings? From this campus?).

I drove, drove like a banshee over the bridge, as if late to work (I was not–I had told everyone I’d be coming in later in the afternoon). I told myself I’d eat when I got to work, that I’d take some time out then.

Nope. I forgot to eat at work.

And by the end of the work day, when my friends jokingly asked me, “Should we call you ‘Master’ now?” I felt…so…forlorn and sad. I felt wretched. And hungry.

I had worked all those years and was now going back to the same industry I was in before I started (even though yes, it is an industry and job I really really like)…and I had a thesis to show for it…and…and…what was I going to do differently now that I didn’t do before? How had my life changed? I hadn’t thought any of this through. I hadn’t figured out the end at all. I’d prepared myself for the last year, for the last semester, but not for the very end.

I didn’t take time out for myself at all. No reward. My MFA time is about to end–the precious period that I kept extending and extending, is about to end. I should have taken an hour to just sit and reflect, maybe treat myself to a great meal. I should have had the foresight to apply to a writing residency to start after graduation, where I could just sit and decompress. Nevermind that. Why didn’t I take FIFTEEN minutes to just sit and reflect?

After work, my husband dragged me to dinner, knowing how awful and sad I felt. I was exhausted. I’ve never had postpartum depression, but perhaps this is similar. I drank sangria until I was anesthetized.

7 Comments

Filed under MFA, Writing