The past two weeks things here have taken a slight turn. After slogging through a couple weeks as roommate to a woman with a warped sense of reality, I moved... again. Yeah. I'd really like to be finished moving for a while. The move was a short one, just across the street, and I'm now living in the basement of my tutor-ee's house.
My junior year in college I got an offer to do an hour's-worth of tutoring in basic chemistry over a break from classes. I decided it couldn't hurt to earn a few extra bucks, never realizing how awesome the arrangement would become. After helping out with chemistry I offered my services up for any other subject- the sciences, math, some English, etc. As a result, I received consistent work once or twice a week for the remainder of my college career. And I became pretty good friends with the family, a single mom and her 16 year-old daughter.
I kept in touch with them this summer while in Wyoming, and they were the ones to suggest the arrangement with the crazy woman across the street when I returned home. They felt bad that things hadn't worked out as planned with the house, so they offered me a way out and invited me to move in with them. After a strange series of unpleasant events across the street, I decided my living situation couldn't get any worse than it was and made the move. Long story.
So now I'm comfortably arranged in the basement with the mom and her daughter. And five dogs. And four cats. And a llama. And four goats. And two pigs. And six calves. And two miniature ponies. And two normal-sized ponies. And a fish. And my three rats.
Oh, and did I mention the 13 horses? As in the 13 performance horses used on a regular basis for competition in rodeos? Those horses?
Yeah. Much nicer over here on the other side of the street.
I've been busier this past week than I was the entire time I was in Wyoming. On top of grad school applications (which I'll hopefully, someday, be finished with), I've been walking dogs, pitching hay, mucking stalls, feeding horses, and riding. And riding, and riding, and riding. Thirteen horses and two ponies take a lot of work, and to keep them in good condition they need a lot of exercise.
Which is where my newest brand of pseudo-employment comes in. Yes, I continue to tutor, to run errands and do odd-jobs, and to walk dogs to cover my room, board, and incidental expenditures. But on top of that I've been requisitioned to help work the horses, at least two every day, to keep them in good shape and prevent them from picking up bad habits. During week one, my butt had never been so sore. During week two, I fell back into my groove, dug up a recollection of a proper seat from deep in my muscle memory, and starting building back muscles that I haven't felt in years.
This weekend, to benefit some of the lesser-used steeds, our group (the girl and her mom, myself, and the horse trainer) took three horses to a gymkhana (a casual rodeo, more or less translated into "games on horseback") to compete. I rode Cash, an antsy quarter horse cross who needs work staying calm at the starting gate. Having never before been in a rodeo, I got a five-day crash course in the events, then entered in the senior's (14+) novice class. We competed in four events: barrels, pole bending, flags, and a "mystery event" that turned out to be "turn and burn."
Most people are at least somewhat familiar with cloverleaf barrels. Pole bending consists of weaving in and out amongst a series of six poles. In both events, knocking over a barrel or a pole will result in a time penalty. Flags is a straightforward course where the rider races in an oval pattern around the arena, first planting a flag in a bucket of sand and then picking another flag out of a bucket before returning to the gate. Turn and burn is a long stretch followed by a complete circle around a barrel before the return (the worst event, since most horses are trained to go only a half-circle around a barrel, not a complete turn). All the events are done at speed and are timed.
Cash and I placed fourth in barrels and second in flags, out of 10 and 15 riders, respectively, in the novice class. In turn and burn Cash got confused about making a full circle around the barrel and pulled wide, and in poles he spooked coming around the first end pole, which a). cost time for me to reset him and b). threw his stride off, which resulted in a downed pole and a time penalty. Ah well...Can't place in everything in your first rodeo after only five days of practice, right?
So I guess thus far, I've been doing pretty well for myself without a job. I'm loving being back home with my family and friends, and I'm living well as a "ranch hand" on a horse ranch. Funny that I spent nearly half a year in the "Cowboy State," and it's only after I leave that I get to cowgirl up.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
17 Days
The world is a very strange place. Just a few weeks ago I spent most days alone, hiking through sagebrush or winding between dense stands of ponderosa pine. I would wake early, work, return home in late afternoon, and spend the remainder of the day leisurely, searching for schools, writing emails, reading... Yet somehow, even though I was working overtime and fit the other bits and pieces in elsewhere, I never felt as if I had all that much going on.
Since I've moved to Nearby Town, though, it's as if there aren't enough hours in the day. I get up only moderately later every morning. Most days I go immediately to feed the horses, then the dogs, then the cats. Afterwards there are hosts of other things that need to be taken care of. My "roommate" will have some question about the complexities of technology (Why can't I take pictures anymore with my camera? Because your SD card is full.), my across-the-street neighbors (my pseudo-employers) will ask for the completion of some task, an errand to run or a horse to exercise or an animal to feed or a subject to tutor. And then, after all the stuff that happens at the whims of others is completed (an absolute necessity in order to keep myself afloat without a job), I have my own bits to take care of.
Grad school applications.
I know, it must be getting old for you all to read every week now for months. Grad school applications, grad school applications, grad school applications. Perhaps you didn't realize just how involved and extensive the application process can be. I took the GREs in April, started researching schools in June, contacting prospective advisers in July and early August. I maintained contact with promising leads throughout September, worked on finding fellowships through the end of October, and I've just now started working on the actual applications. Which just happen to be due starting the 1st of December. Which is only 17 days from now.
The applications themselves, of course, are no joke. Each school wants answers to its own questions, essays formatted to its own specifications. 1-3 pp., 2500 words or less, 4000 characters including spaces. Each school wants copies of GRE scores, transcripts, recommendation letters, all at different times and in different numbers and sent to different places. Keeping it all straight is enough of a mess. The hardest part? Trying to make myself stand out.
I'm not great at selling myself, at identifying characteristics that might make an admissions panel take a second look. Many of the students applying likely have similarly strong academic backgrounds and research experiences. Many students will likely have more research experience, perhaps some have already been published. What do I tell the admissions committee there? I'm working on it, okay? And some schools leave no room for explanations.
Ivy League School, for example, which has been my school of choice since I began the whole process, is cutthroat. With ILS, there is only one essay. 1000 words to explain why I want to go to ILS, who I want to work with, what I'd like to work on, and how my academic background and research experiences make me a suitable candidate for admission.
Schools like ILS, Yet Another UC, U Big City (all schools to which I'm applying) accept, on average, only 5 to 7 students a year to their ecology programs.
Yeah.
I'm screwed.
Dear Ivy League School,
I'm so adjective, I verb nouns.
Sincerely,
Jax
Since I've moved to Nearby Town, though, it's as if there aren't enough hours in the day. I get up only moderately later every morning. Most days I go immediately to feed the horses, then the dogs, then the cats. Afterwards there are hosts of other things that need to be taken care of. My "roommate" will have some question about the complexities of technology (Why can't I take pictures anymore with my camera? Because your SD card is full.), my across-the-street neighbors (my pseudo-employers) will ask for the completion of some task, an errand to run or a horse to exercise or an animal to feed or a subject to tutor. And then, after all the stuff that happens at the whims of others is completed (an absolute necessity in order to keep myself afloat without a job), I have my own bits to take care of.
Grad school applications.
I know, it must be getting old for you all to read every week now for months. Grad school applications, grad school applications, grad school applications. Perhaps you didn't realize just how involved and extensive the application process can be. I took the GREs in April, started researching schools in June, contacting prospective advisers in July and early August. I maintained contact with promising leads throughout September, worked on finding fellowships through the end of October, and I've just now started working on the actual applications. Which just happen to be due starting the 1st of December. Which is only 17 days from now.
The applications themselves, of course, are no joke. Each school wants answers to its own questions, essays formatted to its own specifications. 1-3 pp., 2500 words or less, 4000 characters including spaces. Each school wants copies of GRE scores, transcripts, recommendation letters, all at different times and in different numbers and sent to different places. Keeping it all straight is enough of a mess. The hardest part? Trying to make myself stand out.
I'm not great at selling myself, at identifying characteristics that might make an admissions panel take a second look. Many of the students applying likely have similarly strong academic backgrounds and research experiences. Many students will likely have more research experience, perhaps some have already been published. What do I tell the admissions committee there? I'm working on it, okay? And some schools leave no room for explanations.
Ivy League School, for example, which has been my school of choice since I began the whole process, is cutthroat. With ILS, there is only one essay. 1000 words to explain why I want to go to ILS, who I want to work with, what I'd like to work on, and how my academic background and research experiences make me a suitable candidate for admission.
Schools like ILS, Yet Another UC, U Big City (all schools to which I'm applying) accept, on average, only 5 to 7 students a year to their ecology programs.
Yeah.
I'm screwed.
Dear Ivy League School,
I'm so adjective, I verb nouns.
Sincerely,
Jax
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Another Week, Another Move
Nearly another week has passed since my return home, and my time in Wyoming seems very far away. Every once in a while I'll see some sagebrush, or hear the far-off echo of a distant train, but otherwise little reminds me of my former life. I have occasionally thought of Capone, and of the dogs at the Weston County Humane Society. Otherwise, the entire experience seems to be quickly fading.
I miss living alone.
Last year, my senior year of college, my best friend and I rented an apartment a few blocks east of campus. It was an old, run-down place with plenty of cracks and creaks and came complete with a treacherous staircase. It had its charms, though, and we both liked living there. I certainly didn't mind living with my best friend, either. There were times I greatly enjoyed the company. Especially when she made cookies.
But there's something about living on my own, alone, that I really appreciate. It's a type of independence and solitude that's hard to otherwise gain. Hiking by oneself is extremely short-term, camping by oneself is somewhat dangerous. But an apartment with a good deadbolt in a decent part of town is worth its weight in gold. Feeling sociable? Invite someone over, meet a friend for lunch or a movie, visit the parents, hit the town. Want to stay in for the night? No problem. Just lock the door, pull the shades, and the world is yours and yours alone.
I wish I could do that now.
Just a week after my return home, I moved a second, albeit less complete, time. After transporting the great majority of my belongings to and then from Newcastle, I packed up my bedroom furniture and my more often-used clothes and transported them all to Nearby Town, a small town on the fringes of My Home Town (MHT). I was offered a "deal" of sorts by a friend of a friend. A woman looking to move to several hours away needed a house sitter to watch her horses, dogs, and cats while she stayed up north in a search for an appropriate place to live.
Initially, this sounded like a good idea to me. I've been house sitting since I was 11, and I thought that having my furniture along seemed like a bonus. The original plan was this: I would live in the house for a month while the woman stayed up north, possibly returning to Nearby Town one day a week. Good deal, right? A whole month of house sitting, with only a few awkward days co-inhabiting with someone I don't know.
And what ended up happening? Well, the woman left on Monday, and came back yesterday. With all her stuff. To stay. Here.
What?
After only three days she'd placed an offer on a house, and returned to Nearby Town. She told me all about the place, showed me pictures and then proceeded to tell me the two possible outcomes: One, her offer is accepted and she is allowed to move in December 1st, leaving about three weeks of awkwardly uncomfortable co-living time (I would continue to house sit until her house in Nearby Town is sold, to keep it in "show order"), or two, she is outbid (by one of the two other offers on the place) and will then wait until the spring to look again for another home to buy up north.
Meaning....? If the offer isn't accepted, where does that leave me? There is absolutely no reason for me to stick around here if she's planning on calling off the search until spring. When I agreed to all this, I thought that I'd be here by myself the great majority of the time, with her only stopping by occasionally.
I am so sick of moving I could vomit. I find it hard to believe that she wont get outbid on the house up north, and I'm certainly not planning on staying here if she's going to be around.
Things are no better on the job-front. Every single one of the 18 biology-related jobs for which I've applied have turned up negative. I don't even know where to go from here.
I miss being in school, where crap like this never happened. It's why I'm trying so hard to make my graduate school applications shine. I'm feeling a great deal of pressure to make them as appealing as possible. They're all more or less due on December 1st, and I can't imagine how badly it would suck if I didn't get in. It's hard enough to have to wait until March to find out, one way or the other. I'm already tired of not being in school, and I really don't want to have to face another year of stuff like this.
I miss living alone.
Last year, my senior year of college, my best friend and I rented an apartment a few blocks east of campus. It was an old, run-down place with plenty of cracks and creaks and came complete with a treacherous staircase. It had its charms, though, and we both liked living there. I certainly didn't mind living with my best friend, either. There were times I greatly enjoyed the company. Especially when she made cookies.
But there's something about living on my own, alone, that I really appreciate. It's a type of independence and solitude that's hard to otherwise gain. Hiking by oneself is extremely short-term, camping by oneself is somewhat dangerous. But an apartment with a good deadbolt in a decent part of town is worth its weight in gold. Feeling sociable? Invite someone over, meet a friend for lunch or a movie, visit the parents, hit the town. Want to stay in for the night? No problem. Just lock the door, pull the shades, and the world is yours and yours alone.
I wish I could do that now.
Just a week after my return home, I moved a second, albeit less complete, time. After transporting the great majority of my belongings to and then from Newcastle, I packed up my bedroom furniture and my more often-used clothes and transported them all to Nearby Town, a small town on the fringes of My Home Town (MHT). I was offered a "deal" of sorts by a friend of a friend. A woman looking to move to several hours away needed a house sitter to watch her horses, dogs, and cats while she stayed up north in a search for an appropriate place to live.
Initially, this sounded like a good idea to me. I've been house sitting since I was 11, and I thought that having my furniture along seemed like a bonus. The original plan was this: I would live in the house for a month while the woman stayed up north, possibly returning to Nearby Town one day a week. Good deal, right? A whole month of house sitting, with only a few awkward days co-inhabiting with someone I don't know.
And what ended up happening? Well, the woman left on Monday, and came back yesterday. With all her stuff. To stay. Here.
What?
After only three days she'd placed an offer on a house, and returned to Nearby Town. She told me all about the place, showed me pictures and then proceeded to tell me the two possible outcomes: One, her offer is accepted and she is allowed to move in December 1st, leaving about three weeks of awkwardly uncomfortable co-living time (I would continue to house sit until her house in Nearby Town is sold, to keep it in "show order"), or two, she is outbid (by one of the two other offers on the place) and will then wait until the spring to look again for another home to buy up north.
Meaning....? If the offer isn't accepted, where does that leave me? There is absolutely no reason for me to stick around here if she's planning on calling off the search until spring. When I agreed to all this, I thought that I'd be here by myself the great majority of the time, with her only stopping by occasionally.
I am so sick of moving I could vomit. I find it hard to believe that she wont get outbid on the house up north, and I'm certainly not planning on staying here if she's going to be around.
Things are no better on the job-front. Every single one of the 18 biology-related jobs for which I've applied have turned up negative. I don't even know where to go from here.
I miss being in school, where crap like this never happened. It's why I'm trying so hard to make my graduate school applications shine. I'm feeling a great deal of pressure to make them as appealing as possible. They're all more or less due on December 1st, and I can't imagine how badly it would suck if I didn't get in. It's hard enough to have to wait until March to find out, one way or the other. I'm already tired of not being in school, and I really don't want to have to face another year of stuff like this.
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