Last week, it occurred to me that during the past three years, I have yet take a vacation without taking work with me. I've never given much thought to that fact and doubt that I would be thinking about it now were it not for a comment that my brother made. He said something like, "You don't even take summers off." I laughed and shrugged it off, after all, graduate study requires a year-round commitment. The workload is just something I do. Nevertheless, it was not lost on me that his pronouncement carried with it the insinuation that, in his opinion, I should, at the very least, be taking summers off.
The more I think about his response to my workload, the more I am convinced that most people just assume that those who are in grad programs get to take summers off. By "most people" I should clarify that I mean those well-intentioned civilians who haven't the slightest idea about the rigors of graduate study. At any rate, I lamented my plight for about three seconds before acknowledging that despite how luxurious not working over the summer sounds, I know myself well enough to admit that unless I had someplace exotic to go and new things to learn about, I would probably become terribly bored.
That said, I decided to make a concerted effort to find more time to relax. My daughter needed a book for school. Bookstores (any bookstore) are widely regarded by those of the literary bent to be a premier destination. What could serve as a better break? With kid in tow, I headed to the bookstore, certain that it would be a relaxing way to spend an afternoon. It is, after all, a bookstore.
The bookstore in question sells used books and allows patrons to trade out books they've read for either cash or store credit. My daughter brought a sizable pile of books to trade out. I brought three... which is enormous for me... I have an aversion to parting with books, but that is a blog for another day. All told, We spent the better part of the afternoon rummaging through the store's enormous variety of books. My daughter found several books, including the one that she needs for school. I managed to pick up a few novels, some books on Modern Irish Drama, Twentieth-Century Russian plays, Drama Theory, and a very nice Bedford Introduction to Drama -- which, no doubt, will prove helpful when I take the Drama comprehensive exam next year.
Being at the bookstore was, in itself, fairly relaxing despite having to lug a bin full of books all around the store. The cash we earned back from the books we traded covered the costs of some of our new purchases. However, when we got back home I unloaded my new collection and began reading. The reading was more or less relaxing, but because I was reading drama, I was also taking copious notes. I read the introduction to the Bedford collection and a play I haven't read before. Of course, that lead to taking more notes. Afterward, I decided to type up an informal response to what I had read and add that to a notebook I've created to help prepare for the Drama comp. exam.
Upon reflection, I am not sure if I could call my attempt to relax successful. The trip to the bookstore resulted in me working again. Could it be that I can't relax unless I am working?
Mmmm, worth pondering, but that sounds like work.
ReplyDeleteCould it be that I can't relax unless I am working?
ReplyDeleteSounds like the classic writer's dilemma: not working = guilt, work = less guilt, less guilt=relaxation? Something like that, at least.