New Beginnings at the End of Life
Maybe not the true end of life, but I read a quote from some random redditor's doctor which essentially read if you're over 40 and you haven't died from cancer, consider yourself warned. Guess where this fella falls? You betcha.
Tonight, like in five hours, I begin my work toward a PhD in Organizational Leadership. Roughly a four year commitment to post graduate level education. Like prison minus all the free sex and freedom. My focus, not a clue, yet. Might as well add another 2 years. Hoping I can outlive however long it takes with a few extra years to spare so I can relish in the reality of being Dr. Trash.
I know I'll once again be asked "Por qué, Tooks?" Well, I botched this answer in the orientation by shooting straight. "Because I believe I can, and I've been told I should" fell miles short of the mark set by my cohort members. One is working on their second PhD while also operating two personal businesses. Others hold actual careers in private sector big gov with top secret clearances and inherited narcissism.
Then there's me. Just a guy with a wealth of experience in trauma, manipulation, and depersonalization, who happens to be a little reckless sharp when it comes to problem solving and ideating. Am I PhD material? The school thinks so, my advisor thinks so, random people who could honestly give a half a shit about me think so. Sooooo, yeah, lezduit.
Spite is a helluva drug, especially when you no longer subscribe to substance abuse. As if catapulting myself into a doctoral program at my age isn't radical enough, I've also gone nearly completely straight edge over the past year. Quit alcohol and weed after 32 years of persistent usage, and am actively weening myself off the psych meds. Turns out, instead of helping, the prescribed stuff just exacerbated the OCD I never realized I had. Not much compulsiveness these days, but whew boi will I obsess over my own thoughts and sense of self until I've been reduced to a dry urine crust of a living being.
Despite spite being considered "petty," I'm embracing it in affront of the absurdities of my life professionally and otherwise. I must swallow my pride (no chaser) every morning I start my work day. Why? I have three degrees and beginning a PhD, while working in higher education at the higher education institution from which I seek this education. My now immediate supervisor who received a $20k promotion for holding hands with his best friend, the boss, while they pee in tandem only has a high school education. That's right. A now Director of a higher ed IT dept with a high school diploma. Immediately under him, his direct report, MY DUMB ASS with an AA in Communication Arts & Technology, a BS in Mass Comm, and a MS in Organizational Leadership. In four years, if he doesn't die from a rogue dropped piano or someshit, me, a Doctor of Philosophy will be reporting to a high schooler who makes life changing more money than I. Let's spell it out: h-o-r-s-e-s-h-i-t.
Once I complete this endeavor (not if, when), if things do not change with my employment here at private university in VA, I will be using my education for good by exposing the university's detrimental effect on the community as a prolific employer of Winchester city and surrounding counties. We don't get paid well, regardless of our time with the institution, performance (I received essentially the lifetime MVP award from this joint, which equated to a certificate with an incorrect date and a one-time $450 check), or scholarly pursuits (give the 55 year old high school educated guy a $20k raise, fuck that brilliant guy 10 years his junior with three degrees pursuing a PhD).
Hmpf... I suppose I'm not actually swallowing pride every morning. I'm actually rolling it around in broken glass and fisting-it as far up my ass as I can tolerate before passing out. If I were given a choice between that and getting kicked simultaneously in the dick and face by a horse, I wouldn't be fisting shit.
In what reality is this acceptab... oh, right. We Americans live in the upsidedown now, where the most depraved opposition to logic is rewarded with money and/or trafficked children. I'm fine without either of those, as they both have lingering stigmas associating them to the worst version of humanity that has ever awoken in the sun.
My high school boss is both a MAGAt and and an RFK sympathizer. That's right. He feels sorry for the stuff they have to deal with. Literally a bunch of OLD WHITE MEN fishing for their own shit, arguing whose turd is the softest in a toilet bowl full of just piss. Shed a fucking tear, will ya? Nah.
He's married to an Asian woman, and has children who look more like mom than dad. Now, for him, this is some kind of misogynistic flex, despite his wife having a college education and being the bread winner. Some weird 21st century mutually voluntary slavery bullshit, I guess.
I used to scream "MAKE IT MAKE SENSE" to myself. I quit doing that when I quit taking bupropion. No more screaming. Now we just nurture the frustrations and hate. Reform the negatives into motivation. Into a gift. My gift of absolute nihilistic principles (there are none, ha) as bestowed upon me by my environment and the those whom exist between the Earth and a snake's belly. The literal lipid molecules that provide enough lube for the serpent to slither. That's them. Snake scum.
The hoot to this post is where it was originally going to be published; My Linkedin profile. But then I thought it might be a little too honest for my weak-minded colleagues, resulting in being reported to HR not for the content of the post, but for using vulgar language. That's the reality of working at private university in VA.
My estranged child could go here for free this year, but fuck that. These credits are mine. She can beg her loathsome polyamorous whore of a birth sack to carry her through college like she barely has through secondary school. Turns out, public school in a wealthy area isn't cut out for kids who think they're better than everyone. Had she not threatened her classmates with gun violence, maybe she could be having a normal teenage experience with a father she'll allow advice from. But nope, nope nope nope. I'm amputating horrible people while rebuilding myself. Four years and about a dozen more cuts and I'll be free from my captors. Or still eating the dick they're force feeding me.
Go me. PhD class of 20-before I'm dead, hopefully.