If my personal statements for grad school were really honest

Most schools want a 500 word essay on why you want to go into their program, and I don’t have the energy for institutional game playing or the interest in gushing about what I think they want to hear; so I’ve decided to write some honest personal statements.

“My desire to return to graduate school stems from a deep desire to retreat from the real world as much as humanely possible. Working a 9 to 5 desk job has been a soul sucking, mind numbing, and spirit murdering endeavor. I am convinced I will never find a job I enjoy, and the one small beacon of hope is this program. That being said, I am assured even with this degree I will still hate my job, and be coupled with crippling student debt. Yet here I am, willing to pay tuition and fees and apply my degree in a relevant field. Perhaps I will even apply said degree to achieve moderate local success, and I will plug your program as “life changing, personally challenging and a wonderful foundation for getting where I am.” Is that what you want me to say in this box?”

“Just like everyone else writing one of these, I too have a desire to change the world. You’ll even note I made an attempt at that my first year out of college. However, as you will also note my time teaching in the inner city was a complete and total failure. This time before I attempt to change the world I would love to have even a modicum of relevant training before being thrown to the wolves. My research indicates that your 2 year degree plan would more than provide me with tools, knowledge, and resources to actually, you know, be successful in any future world changing endeavors.”

“I am entirely bored out of mind at my job. To get a job in a field where I hope I won’t be bored out of my mind, I am told I need this degree and several years of relevant experience. Please let me in, my cat is so incredibly bored of arguing about policy issues with me. I think he might leave if I don’t find a more productive outlet for it.”

“I actually enjoyed reading microfilm of the congressional record concerning education policy in the US. As a member of what I’m sure is an unbelievably exclusive club here, I’m looking to make this into a career. Library science requires I keep far too quiet so, here I am.”

“I work in enrollment, I hear people tell me 500 times a day they want to go into teaching because they love kids. I promise you, I’m not here to go into policy because I love politicians, or constituents. I’ll be totally transparent here, and say I have every intention of climbing whatever ranks I can to enact as much iron clad policy that aligns with my personal position as possible. Acting in the spirit of my personal political hero, Alexander Hamilton, I seek to build a quasi-monarchical but still democratic system. Give a girl a boost onto that first rung?”

“Oddly enough the internet is flooded with seemingly witty tech savvy bloggers who think they have something original to say about popular culture. Saturated markets don’t make a great opportunity for another mildly amusing, neurotic, Carrie Bradshaw/Lena Dunham wanna be. However, I hear very few 20 something women of this persuasion want to go into politics, niche market anyone? I really don’t think Monica Lewinski used her position to anyone's advantage. I plan to use mine much more resourcefully.”

Ready Player One - Ernest Cline

I have to admit, reading Ready Player One, was a new experience for me. A very niche subject matter - 80’s pop culture, mostly video games - with a post-apocalyptic flavor and a twist of expected teen romance; it was predictable enough to keep from tearing through it at light speed for plot alone, but interesting enough to keep me reading through some severely slow moving and self pitying stretches. Not sure I liked it enough to keep it up, but too intrigued to put it away for good, it played out a lot like an over eager date - there’s nothing overtly wrong with the dude, but do you really wanna go on date number 3? In either case, nosy neighbor that I am the answer is yes. Unlike going on that 3rd date, I think the payoff here was worth it. (Much less guilt plays out in the end).

The first date is great - not spectacular mind you, but conversation keeps up and despite it all you find yourself excited about it. Even walking away from it, you know definitely nailed it, and he thinks you’re great. Despite it all, something is nagging at you. You have enough in common but you can’t shake the uncertainty . It’s exciting to bust out of a rut, to be free of sad whiny teenagers who won’t talk about their feelings. Right away Cline’s set up feels just like this. A slow build that pulls you in out of curiosity for what's to come, rather than having hooked you already. You even stay a half an hour later than planned - the dishes can wait another day. While not the first thing on your mind, the idea of a second date hangs in the back of your mind, giving you reason to smile throughout your work day.

Getting into the puzzle that the book presents is date two. Pleasantries and “oh what did you major in?” are out of the way, so you can get down to what is really important things - as in did he just catch that Clueless reference? Or “oh you don’t like 30 Rock? hmmm.” You can’t really put your finger on anything wrong, in fact stepping back everything looks great in perspective. The book introduces elements of romance, a really good bad guy, a quest, suspense, and obviously all the 80’s trivia a girl could hope for. I could not shake the feeling while reading that I was missing something though, beyond just the video game references.
Despite that feeling you keep going until you taper off at a point where the going gets slow. The electricity you though might be there is less the humming of a bug zapper and more the sad sparks of a dying, slightly damp firework. Cline has a lot of these moments (Just like date two. More of a fizzle than a bang. Actually.) where the going feels like quicksand. The action is well written enough that it certainly wasn't enough to stop me from reading, but my enjoyment of the book felt somehow retrained.

Date three is the big one. The point where things pick back up, or you find yourself alone sharing a low fat yogurt with your cat for dinner on a Saturday. (Boots says: One one paw I want the whole yogurt to myself, on the other I don’t want to share my hooman. LIFE IS SO HARD. I think I’ll just settle for chewing on someones toes). Gearing up for the end of Cline’s book was enjoyable enough - most of the loose ends are knotted up neatly (no thanks to you, Boots). Friendships re-bonded, battles won, grail quest wrapped up, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Up through dates 1 and 2 things feel slightly unpredictable. Nothing was going terribly awry, yet nothing was going spectacularly well. Back on the date, everything finds itself on an even keel, which compared to the chaos of the rest of your life, is pretty enjoyable. Until you realize you are stuck and always will be stuck at an even keel. Cline’s book plateaus in the last third - becoming easily predictable, as if coasting on an even track, whereas the first 2/3rd really keep you slightly more on your toes. Thank god books end, and you don’t have to consider a 4th dates because lord knows I would be the whore of Babylon were that the case. I’m real book slut, I can barely stick to one I really love, let alone when it’s only getting a lukewarm reception.

It ends much as you would expect, as you've been suspecting, since the peak of the action. This book definitely left something to be desired - just like dates 4, 5, 6, etc. will if you end up on them, until you check out enough that he breaks it off with you. It is only after you google the book reviews over a glass of wine - or tell your girlfriends over brunch that its over, that you realize you were right all along. Until someone tells you that nagging instinct that something could be a lot better, it’s easy to settle into an even keel. That being said, this is a finite novel and not some guy you met on the internet. It was a nice change of pace from what I have been reading, with witty writing, and some pretty strong female characters.

Boots says: As much as I like to sink my teeth into a good book, I'm glad the human read this on a kindle. It means more room for me to smother mom, and a free hand to scratch my ears. It also means my fleshy servant eats and reads at the same time, which means less careful guarding to the dairy products.

The Spy Misteress - Jennifer Chiaverini

Readers, beware the “Buy 2 Get 1 Free” table at Barnes + Nobel. I know, I know, I feel it’s allure too - neat stacks of paperbacks, intriguing covers that call out “pick me! read me!,” and most irresistible of all getting that free book. The table is at its most dangerous when you don’t have a plan, when there is no goal, no target to be acquired. While you are just browsing it seems to inch its way right in front of you, offering a wide selection without overwhelming you like the shelves do. I am here to tell you it’s all a ruse. 30% of those books make the “Most hated High School reads” list, and the other 60% are there to be off loaded onto unsuspecting customers. They don’t live there because they are the most popular girl at the dance. These books are Anthony Michael Hall’s of the store - always the one left without a love interest, kinda cute if you squint, and usually a total saltine (plain, dry, and boring).

This is how I found myself dawdling through "The Spy Mistress." Nestled between the hits of 2004, and Catch 22, it’s subtitle “Inspired by a true story of civil war espionage” was enough to pull this history nerd in for the kill.

"The Spy Mistress" is The Other Boleyn Girl’s plain and humble stepsister. It has all the potential in the world to be full of suspense, steamy intrigue, and super hot civil war soldiers (Seriously, check  it   out). Instead it took cues from OJ’s “If I’d Done It” and detailed a very believable account of Elizabeth Van Lew’s involvement in espionage for the North during the Civil War. If you are a respectable person looking for a less boring version of an aside in your 11th grade history book; or someone who neither has 14 hours and the emotional fortitude to watch Ken Burns’ “The Civil War” I would recommend this book. As a character of ill repute, and someone looking for smutty intrigue this book was not what expected. I probably wouldn't read it again even if it were the only reading material available to me as prisoner of war in Fort Sumter.

Elizabeth Van Lew - a spinster in her 30s because her betrothed and true love died of some lameo virus like influenza or something - lives with her mother in Richmond. Initially outspoken, compassionate, and possessed of strong convictions and Union sympathies, I had high hopes that Elizabeth would be the hero I wanted. Alas, she is mostly a whiner, who happens to accomplish some pretty brave things. She and her mother live off her father's fortune left to them under the condition that the family slaves cannot be freed. The family slaves are described as deeply loving and devoted to their masters and perfectly content to stay - particularly when faced with Elizabeth’s many apologies for the conditions of the will. It is also oft mentioned that Elizabeth and her mother pay their slaves, there is no condition of the will preventing this, so they’re basically just servants, which is cool dudes. EXCEPT THAT IT IS NOT AT ALL.

Elizabeth carefully builds an underground network of Union sympathizers to get information in and out of Richmond. She uses the disregard for her station as a southern woman to charm and bribe her way into the local prison in order to exchange information with the Union soldiers being held prisoner. The Confederate officials, who are really due no kind light, are painted simply as exhausted and confused men. They are easily plied by Elizabeth’s pleas to treat the Union soldiers in the good faith that the good ladies of the North are doing the same for their boys. Essentially, without flat out saying so saying it, Chiaverini characterizes the Confederate men as compassionate foot soldiers who are just following orders. Many a valiant escape is organized by Van Lew and her underground spy network, which returns many a man back to Union soil. Somehow, though a foolproof method of transporting people North is devised, it seems to be used exclusively for white people. The only black people who show up in the novel are the slaves belonging to the Van Lew family, and as is said many times, they feel too much love and loyalty to even think of leaving. Again, it’s totally cool bros, the slaves are choosing this, so it’s okay. Their owners are just that nice, they want to stay and serve them forever.

Issues of historical lens and race aside, this book presents an interpretation of the few facts and sources of information we have regarding Elizabeth Van Lew, a real woman who took on crazy risks to support the Union, and has faced her own fair share of unflattering portrayal through the years. Chiaverini spends a lot of time in Van Lew’s head - lamenting the war and Confederate sympathies, planning an escape -  and plenty of quiet moments biding time in the Van Lew mansion. As a lover of history, particularly antebellum and Civil War America I made it through out of personal interest - rather than really loving the book. History nerds out there who enjoy reading with a critical lens, and soccer moms looking for a book club book read away. The rest of you should really just gird your emotional loins and sit down to watch Ken Burns’ The Civil War. It will take you roughly the same amount of time as trudging through this book and you will walk away a better educated person.

Don't leave your keys in the door, you never know who might find them

Having a house to yourself is pretty much EXACTLY like Risky Business as far as I am concerned. No roommates, no pants, no volume control, and certainly no manners or normal niceties observed. The summer after my first year of teaching, in a matter of a week I went from having a full classroom and a house full of roommates to living completely alone. It was amazing. Not to suggest that I feel anything but affection for my former students or house mates, just to say that after a year of near constant people, having a whole to floors to myself was a glorious luxury. I found a job as a swim instructor, ensuring I never really had to wear pants ( a life long dream come true), and there was no one to scold me for drinking my wine right out of the bottle (really, why get a glass dirty when you’re not even sharing?).

Living the bachelor pad dream, I spent entire weekends without speaking to anyone but the delivery guy, and entire evenings on the couch with nothing but Det. Elliot Stabler and a bottle of wine for company. All done, of course, while wearing pants as infrequently as possible.

With no attempting to eat urinal cakes, or jump out classroom windows on my watch, no one out to steal my keys to try and lock me out of the classroom, I let my personal awareness float away in a haze of chlorine and sunscreen. The keys thing though, is an issue for me even when I am on alert (there’s a reason teachers actually wear lanyards - they’re not just for college freshmen). I was on a first name basis with the campus security force in college because I locked myself out so frequently, and my roommate Jo got on average 3 texts a week asking if she knew where I had left my keys. So it should come as no surprise that I have a bad habit of leaving them in the door once I unlock it. The house I was living in was not in the best of shape, the was funky and the lock even funkier. When shuffling a pool bag, groceries, a couple books, and a towel getting inside the door was no small accomplishment; this frequently led to me dropping everything on the stairs, yelling at the door, finally getting it open, throwing all my things onto the landing and storming up the long flight of stairs to the kitchen. You’ll note that nowhere in this melodrama do I remember to yank the keys out of the door. Living with roommates, someone generally comes through the door yelling at you about leaving your keys in the door (again) and all is (mostly) well. Living alone, you have no such luxury.

Not long into my summer of solitude I left my keys hanging in the top lock. Dried out and eaten alive by pool chemicals, I couldn’t wait to take a shower, and stay dry for a full 12 hours. In my haste to feel human again my keys slipped my mind. 45 minutes later, I was well settled into the couch, watching Law and Order reruns with my dear friend Charles Shaw, in what had become my go to loungewear, underwear and a tee shirt. although I like to pretend my life is a sitcom, I don’t have a highly paid stylist to make sure that I look adorable even when I should be disheveled and gross - I just look disheveled and gross. Following the iconic “dun dun” or Law & Order I hear a door rattling and commotion. Assuming its the opening to the horrific crime about to be tried, I thought little of it until it seemed to be getting louder. The rattling and pounding of the  door stopped and the shouting sounded less like TV and more like someone in my house. There is nothing quite like an SVU marathon to make you fear the worst. Jumping up, wine bottle in hand I stuck my head around the door frame of the living room to peek out over the landing of the stairs. Hearing the still indistinct shouts even louder I approached the top of the stairs. Standing on the top step, dressed in nothing but an oversized college tee shirt and underwear (definitely not the cute ones either) armed with a bottle of 3 buck Chuck I found myself face to face with our downstairs neighbor who was rattling my keys and yelling in an attempt NOT to scare me as he returned them. Frozen to my spot - thankful it was not a serial killer, but I’d like to see any of you react quickly to the guy downstairs materializing in your apartment while you are pantless - I had nothing to say.

In what I can only assume was an attempt to be witty he said;

“Looks like I have a new car!”

Still startled, I must have looked confused because he clarified it was a joke, and he was just there to return the keys he’d seen in the door. Gathering the few wits I could I grabbed the keys and thanked him.  Before closing the door behind him, Mr. Downstairs turns around and says, “Come over anytime, I’d love to hang out.”

Judging you so harshly right now. - Boots 

Eleanor & Park - Rainbow Rowell

I hate it when reading makes you feel guilty and stupid. Not because of the content, mind you, but because the book isn't living up to your expectations. I'm in the middle of Eleanor & Park, and I was so excited to read it. It has been received with much acclaim, by a lot of people who I respect. It has been recommended by authors, reviews, and friends who have given me many wonderful suggestions in the past. I can't shake the feeling that I am missing something entirely, or that something is deeply wrong with me because I don't get the hype.

Set up is a small midwestern town in 1986, half Korean Lloyd Dobbler clone (if you didn't just get that reference go watch Say Anything RIGHT NOW and don't even think about coming back until you have) and chubby, quiet, red haired Eleanor who hides a miserable home life fall in love on the bus. The story is told through the perspective of both teens, flipping back and forth between the two through each moment. The raw emotions, the insecurity, self doubt, and infatuation of first love is absolutely there, but it's doesn't do enough for me as a reader.

There is a passage that struck me as I was reading, where both Eleanor and Park are sitting in honors English where they are reading Romeo and Juliet (why are they always reading Romeo and Juliet in teen novels? It's not poetic, it's pedantic. Even if it standard 10th/11th grade reading. So are a lot of things.) Mr. Stessman, the teacher, attempts to draw Eleanor out by engaging with her on why Romeo and Juliet endures as a beloved classic. Unsuccessful in soliciting the answer he wants from a cynical Eleanor he turns to Park who says, " "Because people want to remember what its like to be young? And in love?' "

Reading that shortly have paging through my massive stack of journals from college it struck me that maybe this is EXACTLY why I don't love most the YA fiction I'm reading right now. It's praised for its portrayal of young love, and the emotions therein. I do not need any reminder of blundered romances, the feeling that you've entirely ruined a relationship with one text, the feeling of making a mix tape for someone and hoping they like it; and also the total fear that they will hate all of it. I don't need a reminder of the pints of ice cream I ate, sobbing in a dorm room or the unavoidable "stupid boy grin" I get when I receive a text from a crush. (Think for 5 seconds and you'll know that look. Poker face, not a thing I do well.) Or rather, I want to read something that evokes the same feelings pulling out my journals do.

That brings me around to a huge BUT. This should make it that much easier to engage those feelings, it makes that much more disappointing that it falls so flat. There are compelling and emotional novels out there, and I have read them, SO WHY AREN'T THEY GETTING ALL THE ATTENTION? And thus we arrive at the rub of my constant grumping. All these books come so highly recommended but I am so sick of whiny white kids. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian is the only one of my recent favorite YA novels getting the accolades it deserves. Every single book list I've perused has an endless number of trilogies about post apocalyptic death games, or abusive and unhealthy love with supernatural beings. (I promise I will got off this soapbox sooner or later, bear with me) I promise you all, white kids in unfortunate circumstances are not the only teens out there, and I'm done reading about them.

Which brings me back around to my first point - I feel guilty and stupid about reading this book and how I feel about it. Clearly my opinion on the book is my opinion - and I get to make that decision, but am I missing something bigger - dismissing something because I am bored and frustrated with this kind of narrative. At the same time, I trust my gut to know what kind of writing I like, and really sparks a fire for me. This isn't doing that for me, and I trust that. What I don't trust is that I am coming down overly harsh because  "uughh more of the same" blinders. Thoughts? Feelings? Anyone? Bueller....Bueller?

Boots says: I love hardbacks with flimsy paper covers. Tastes like sad, desperate teenage love. I thoroughly enjoyed rubbing my face against the stiff corners of this book.

[MAJOR SPOILERS] The Fault In Our Stars - John Green

I won’t lie - I didn’t think it was great literature, but I sobbed like a baby. [MAJOR SPOILERS]

Unafraid of the hatred of a teenage Tumblr fandom, it does not bother my to say I’m on the fence about The Fault In Our Stars. I read it one evening after work, sobbing the entire way into my double order of spicy beef and noodles. Soggy eggrolls and tear sodden fortune cookies aside, after the initial emotional trauma of a tragic love story I didn't find myself particularly attached to the read. Those of you who know me at all, know that my highest rated Netflix category is “Romantic Tear Jerkers,” and I will cry at the slightest suggestion of something emotional. It should come as no surprise that I ruined my take out  with the salty tears of teenage heartache. John Green is inarguably a great storyteller, who has captured the essence of the teenage psyche in a way that many other authors have attempted and failed to write well. It is absolutely to his credit that he has reached so many millions of fans; as well as encouraged a love of books and reading in those who might otherwise turn on another episode of whatever replaced Jersey Shore on MTV. Green certainly tells a compelling narrative that pulled me in, but I can’t say I walked away from the book with anything more than a feeling of “well that time was better spent reading than watching Dirty Dancing for the 50th time.”

The plotline itself was highly predictable - privileged white young woman is slightly angstier than most as she faces living in perpetual cancer limbo. Neither in remission, not getting worse, Hazel just is.Arguably a much better reason to be depressing and angst ridden than most teenagers (especially you Bella Swan, I’m looking at you.) She immediately expresses her feelings that she is only a burden to those in her life, predominantly because all she will ever do is hurt people when she dies. This sets her on a course to eschew those she has not already committed to hurting, like her parents and instead spends all her time watching America’s Next Top Model re-runs (wait, do most people not do that?). My disappointment started here, as this really ruined the plot for the rest of the book. It was immediately apparent that she would forge a relationship, a romantic one, which will allow her to lower her guard on this front until that person does exactly what she fears she will do. Enter that someone, Gus. Gus Waters is the dreamboat of every well read, engaged, and intellectual teenage girl. Charming, eloquent, curious, good looking, and he plays basketball. From here unfolds the classic tale of star crossed lovers - only this time instead of a priest with some roofies and petty family feuds getting in the way, cancer plays the Montagues, and the Capulets. Now that I have spoiled the major plot twist for you all, you can read the rest yourself.

I did appreciate that both Hazel and Gus felt like significantly more relatable teenagers than characters in what I was reading in high school. Both are witty, and intellectual, engaged with their own feelings, and both have a distinct point of view carefully crafted from their own experience. It was refreshing to explore characters who were not typecast into Mean Girls-esque stereotypes, and who had opinions on more than the latest scandal circulating school. This made it that much more frustrating that the plot felt so pedantic. It was a gift to read such engaging main characters, and heart wrenching to watch them cling to each other as things fell apart, but I wanted them to have so much more. A rewrite of Romeo and Juliet with significantly less whining, (seriously, Juliet needed a solid reality check, from reality's hand to her face.) TFIOS left me feeling meh. It didn’t challenge me to think on another level, it didn’t leave me with any really big puzzles to chew on, it really just left me with some seriously sad and soggy fortune cookies.

I absolutely enjoy popcorn books, enjoyable reads that don’t leave a lasting impression, just like popcorn leaves you hungry a mere 20 minutes later. TFIOS was very much a popcorn book for me. Maybe I am too (prematurely) old and grumpy to really “get it,” although that’s a depressing thought, I had high hopes that Green would challenge his readers more. I’ve been watching his series VlogBrothers, a series of online conversations via video with his brother since high school, and I would highly recommend it. I have major respect for Green, from what to say about books and writing, and I love that he doesn’t talk down to his audience. In TFIOS Green has added a new dimension to the characters in a tired story, and treats teeangers as capable, intelligent, people with something to say. And yet, I feel he could have pushed it further. Personally, I wanted more, but I would most certainly recommend it to anyone looking for engaging characters, and doesn’t mind a good cry.

Boots says: I AM NOT A KLEENEX, and do not appreciate being used as such. It took a good 40 minutes of careful attention to my glossy coat to make it right after mom sobbed and snotted all over me. On the other paw, it was a short read so Mom had more time to pay attention to me,

Stuck in the woods with no flashlight

I don’t like the feeling of being held hostage by a book.

I am not one to abandon ship halfway through, unless it is truly terrible writing.

It frustrates me to no end to feel I’m not reading a book because I want to, or because I’m finding it enjoyable, but rather because I feel I have to know. For this reason, I have been known to finish a multitude of really awful books. Books that other people repeatedly ask me, “Why don’t you just stop reading it?” as I pause to complain out loud. Terrible content? I’ll probably finish it. Wildly offensive? Again, I’ll probably read it. Terrible writing, and totally boring are cardinal sins in my book(s). Perhaps I’m too nosy, but my insatiable curiosity (or sometimes disbelief that the book could get any worse) keeps me forging ahead in all but the most dismal of circumstances.

As an author it is a difficult thing to reveal enough information to keep a reader engaged, while also withholding enough to keep the same reader racing through pages. I mean no one would have read Harry Potter if JK Rowling had opened with “It;s cool guys, Voldermort is dark and twisted due to childhood of neglect. he can’t understand love, which becomes his ultimate undoing. Also Harry and Ginny totally end up doing it.” No one would have stood in line for hours to get their hands on the books. Think about best selling mysteries - Dan Brown (like it or not, he’s  a best seller), Agatha Christie, Gillian Flynn - they all keep us in enough suspense to keep reading, but lull the reader into a false sense of conclusion with various hints and side plots along the way. When done right I will stay up until 3 am to finish a book because I have to know what happens. When done wrong, and it can be done oh so wrong, I feel beholden and held hostage to a mildly grumpy jailer. Reading in short bursts and fits between loud rantings and ravings to Mr. Willoughby, I don’t enjoy a single part of the process. The feeling overwhelms the prose, the plot, and the characters. It causes the reader to lose sight of the forest - trees and all, for tunnel vision of being miserably lost in the woods and needing to get out.

I find myself in this predicament with my current read, and I find it all the more frustrating as the book comes lauded by authors, and book reviewers who I generally like and respect. It almost makes the feeling worse - as if I am too stupid to appreciate the book or I’m missing something bigger picture. At the moment the author continue to allude heavily and frequently to events just prior to the book that clearly have significance for where we are now. The allusions, however, are unfailingly the same on each page and do little to move anything forward, or provide much perspective.

The book is young adult fiction, and a romance, although one that deals with more than just the tribulations of falling in love at 16. The young woman appears to be struggling with family abuse and perhaps some abandonment. The novel unfolds alternating in perspective between the star crossed lovers (yes, I’m being deliberately withholding. To prove a point, and because I’m only 43 pages in and plan to do a full review) as they set out into their junior year of high school. Both misfits, and drawn together by circumstance - I am both intrigued and have high hopes for where the narrative will go. For now I remain in a Sisyphean nightmare of fervid reading and ranting until I can get some traction to find my way out of the woods.