When you hear the phrase “blood, sweat, and tears,” you tend to think of athletes pushing their bodies to the limit. But much to my surprise, it actually applies pretty well to grad school. I mean, who knew higher academia could be so dangerous?
It’s great that Ireland is so god damn cold, so I only wear pants or tights outside my disturbingly boiling apartment because my legs are covered in bruises from stumbling into my desk and nightstand while I teeter back to bed from the bathroom in the middle of the night. Delightfully my bathroom lights do not have a switch and are motion triggered, meaning at 3am I get attacked by holy fluorescent light and am subsequently blinded after sneezing sixteen times (shout to all my fellow sun-sneezers, and yes, I mean you, Kate).
Then there’s the blood, and let me tell you, there’s a lot of it. The number of paper cuts I have gotten in the last four months is unconscionable and my poor fingers need a break. When I met with my supervisor last week (this is where the tears factor in), I had to explain why the bibliography I was handing her was quite literally covered in blood. I’m taking it as a win that I haven’t marked my territory on any library books yet, but there’s still time to ensure a part of me will forever remain at Trinity nestled between the pages of The Pleasure’s All Mine: A History of Perverse Sex.
And like every good college out there, the mattress Trinity provided is about as soft as the cobblestone across campus. So, hello neck and back pain! Now, here is when you tell me I should buy a mattress topper, and yes, you have a point. The thing is that sounds like a lot of work and I’ve found that I’m pretty okay with extended suffering to avoid spending €40. Besides, the whole leaning over a book for over 12 hours a day thing has already given me a hunchback at 25, so what difference does sleeping on a rock really make?
I mean, even the fun activities leave their mark! I accidentally clipped my finger today on my kiddie scissors while cutting the images out of last year’s “Medieval Dick Pic” calendar to hang them on my wall next to my fine arts prints. Just in case you don’t believe me that this wonderful product existed, I’ve attached a photo. (Admit it, you’re jealous.)
Here’s hoping I haven’t paper sliced my fingers off by the end. So, folks, I present to you grad school: cutting you up inside and out.
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