On schmoozing

With one interview weekend down, I am a bit discouraged by the fact that I am absolutely sick of talking about my research. Sick!

Lucky me, I get to go through interviews again. Some people with whom I have spoken told me that interview weekends were some really great times. I mean, you get a free trip, the students always take you out and get you drunk at least once, and of course you get some free food out of it as well. How could this possibly be bad, right?

Well, I am an asshole. I like to set impossible goals for myself. Therefore, I apply to really tough schools that aren't so much trying to recruit - they are, in fact, trying to weed us out one by one. Slowly. Painfully.

The interview at my number 1 choice was this weekend, which of course meant it had to be first. It was fucking cram packed full of shit to do, and most of it involved interacting with faculty in some capacity. On top of that, I had to interview with five different professors. Ugh.

This meant that, one right after another, I had five nearly identical conversations - during which time each person took extensive notes. They squinted at me, studying me carefully as I talked, picking holes in my research to date. It's a horrible dance that always proceeds in the exact same manner where you are scrutinized from the moment you walk in the door, through dinner and faculty lunches, until you are taken, drunk and tired, to your hotel room.

Somehow, at dinner, I always get stuck sitting next to the department chair. It fucking sucks. He or she is typically in charge of admissions, and by the dinner I'm usually fantasizing about going home and sobbing uncontrollably and in no mood to turn up the charm. But there I am, in another fucking interview. It is worse than the worst of my worst dates.

So I am tired of talking about my research, since everyone is boring and can only talk about what shitty little thing he or she is studying. I am tired of asking questions and clearly getting evasive answers. And I am really fucking tired of wearing a suit.

I have five more weekends like this. Then at the end of the month, I had to schedule some interviews in the middle of the fucking week. This means that for 8 days straight, I will be wearing a suit, talking about my research, and asking the same questions over and over and over and over.

There is no wine that could possibly dilute my horror. I can't wait for it all to end.

Interviewing

So, it turns out I was all freaked out for nothing. I was asked to interview at every program to which I applied. I am heading out for the first one next weekend.

I've asked people exhaustively about how I should best prepare. No one really can say for sure. So I've come up with the following:

1. Be able to talk about your project in detail. Be able to give a general overview, kinda like an abstract, but then talk individually about specific findings. I'm preparing a powerpoint presentation. It is important that I say some people will not like that, so say you have it during the interview, but only take it out if they want to see it. Being able to talk about your project without visual aids - and have them understand - is the most important.

2. Know what the people are doing. Have questions prepared.

This is really all I've been given. I hope it all works out. Otherwise, I am totally fucked.

Fuck yeah!

Interviews!

Unabashed worry

I spoke with the director of admissions at one of the universities that denied me admission last year. He said that there was nothing wrong with me, that the people who interviewed me recommended me enthusiastically for admission.

So what was the problem, then?

Apparently, two of my three recommendation letters were "superficial." This means that with my added experience, I should get accepted in the programs to which I applied. So people keep telling me.

It is the winter. My blood is cold. I can hardly fathom the spring. I can hardly fathom the idea that I didn't get in to school last year, so as far as I'm concerned, there's a really good chance that I will not this year either. It's really pressing down on me right now.

Oh, red wine! What would I do without thee?

I keep checking my email obsessively. I even checked to see what day I was notified of interviews last year. The time has passed for one school. For fuck's sake, I want to hear something. Something!

Fuck.

The horror!

Applications are in. All of them.

I need a fucking beer and the ability to sleep for about a month.

Contemplating murder

Can we please get a centralized application system like the one they have for medical school? That would be great. Thanks.

My letter writers like to give me heart attacks. I feel one coming.

"You mean the deadline is in twenty minutes? Ok, maybe I'll go get that coffee and then I'll write your letter."

Fuck.

No matter when I say the deadline is, this particular individual always waits until - literally - the last fucking minute. There I am, pacing the halls, clicking refresh obsessively, bloodshot eyes, the whole bit - and this person is calm and collected. Not even apologetic. If I should go to jail, this would be the reason.

The centralized application system would be great at moments like this. This person gets to do this to me another eight times. I can't wait!

Also, that sinking feeling I get in my stomach every time I hit the submit application button would only have to happen once. I would love that. I check over the fucking thing a million times, times nine. Nine for nine programs. Ugh.

I hate grad school already.

Naked and crying

I always hated looking for jobs. The endless forms, the writing of your name a million times, the same information over and over and over and over.

I hated the interviews, in which I would spew the same bullshit answers to different people in different offices with different degrees of enthusiasm.

Grad program hunting. Bleh.

I pretty much have my lists narrowed down, thanks to a conference I just attended. I keep looking, though. Why? Because people tell me that I need some safety schools.

Now, I can certainly understand the reasoning. I applied to four schools last year, interviewed at two, and didn't get in. All four schools were top-notch programs. This left me kinda screwed. Therefore, I should have also applied to "less discriminating" programs.

Sure, it makes sense, right? But then I think about the phrase "safety school." It is, essentially, a school I would only go to if my top choices were unavailable. But would I really want to go there, then? Do I want to commit five years of my life to a place I viewed as sub-par? Do I??

This time around, yes. Yes I do. My ass is getting in to school this time around or I'm going to set my degree on fire. Or my lab. Or something.

I hate this.

You know what?

I'm tired of looking at my statement.

I'm tired of looking at my CV.

I want to kill the institutions that do not have entirely online applications. What fucking century are we in that I have to physically send in letters? Do they think this reflects well on their high-tech facilities? Fucking paper applications??

Self-loathing

I'm applying to graduate school this year.

Again.

Applying to graduate school is a soul-sucking process which I thought I would only have to endure once. Unfortunately, I was an asshole and only applied to schools that either a) kinda wanted me or b) laughed at my application. It was joyous.

Now I am at it again. So, what have I learned? Nothing.

Example:

I want to write my personal statment. A summary of advice is as follows:

1) Write about your science, but don't exclusively concentrate on your science.
2) Be confident, but not too confident.
3) Tell a story, but be short about it.
4) Get to the point, but keep it in essay format with intro and conclusion, making sure the whole thing flows and comes back to an original point.

Fuck's sake. What it boils down to is some people will like what you wrote, others will hate it, and that's it. I wrote something that is less than five hundred words and completely arrogant. I think I'm screwed.

There is a knot in my stomach that won't go away. When did it become so fashionable to get your PhD? I don't know.

Fuck.