Actually, it IS Rocket Science

Good Mormon to you

I’m entering that magical time in every graduate student’s life known as “Finals week.”  It’s a very special time for a young woman in her development into adulthood, and can be accompanied by feelings of confusion, misunderstanding, and even frustration at times. But with the proper education and support from family members and friends, she can emerge into an adult gracefully and the process can be both transformative and enchanting.

Or one could just lose her everloving mind and go batshit on some poor unsuspecting person who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Late last week, I participated in my practicum readiness exam (basically a test to determine if I’m cut out for this shit or if I’ve just wasted the monetary approximation of an Audi in loans and interest).   The exam, which was purely essay, required us to provide multiaxial diagnoses and ethical dilemmas for a hypothetical client without the aid of books or notes for the first time ever based on our memories from the DSM.

Now, for the rest of the world who will look at that and think I’m a pretentious asshole:

The exam, which was purely essay, required us to write down a full diagnosis for a hypothetical client while pulling from the psychologists’ bible- the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual-  It’s basically the guide to how we know where you’re fucked up the most.  Ain’t that FUN??!!

Now, yes, from the beginning of the program, we all know this is coming.  But so is death, and it’s not necessarily something every twenty-seven year old is necessarily prepared for, regardless of how much preparation she puts in.

For the past several weeks, I have been shoveling as much information in my mind as possible to prepare for the coming week.  Which is why my body jerked me awake at 5am this morning so I could continue my attempt at more cramming.

But at 5am, there’s a certain battle that’s waged between my need to do things and my desire to do things.  Having just shoved a boatload of material up there until midnight last night, I have zero in the way of motivation to just POP outta bed and begin again.

Except my brain was still wide awake and wouldn’t take “GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP” for an answer.

So I got up, reluctantly, and decided to take a walk.  I live at the pinnacle of a hill where if I walk down one side for about a mile I’ll be in the midst of a mini-mart. In that mini-mart there is a bagel shop that doesn’t have necessarily the best coffee, so to speak, but it’s a decent enough reward for your effort in getting there.  I usually grab one to bring back to the apartment to enjoy here.

That also means that I’m required to walk BACK UP the mile-long stretch to get back home.  An added bonus to a walk like that.

I made it down there, got my coffee, and began trudging up the hill.  The sun was already up so it wasn’t like I was walking in rape-city, but I really just wanted to be back in my own apartment to enjoy the coffee I had just purchased. Funny thing, when you’re walking uphill on a major incline, your admiration for the world around you decreases exponentially with every step.  Seriously!  Try it out sometime!  Go to a local gym, get on a treadmill, crank that sucker to 11 incline, and see how you feel about that cute person over there after about five minutes.  “That cute person” may very well turn into a demon who is only concerned with making you feel bad about yourself because they’re putting in so little effort and they still look amazing, while you’re here about to sweat out your body’s reserves.

So I’m walking.

And I get to a red light.  Now, I’ve wanted to write about this for a long time, and I will eventually, but my town’s law enforcement is apparently DEAD SET on making sure no one transgresses the primeval pact between pedestrians and automobilist’s on walking against the sign, jaywalking, or walking off the sidewalk.  I’ve gotten in trouble for this myself within the first several weeks of moving here, but I digress.  I’ve basically learned that when the red hand appears, stay the fuck put.

Now, in this case, I came upon a duo of decently clad young men in white buttoned-up shirts and dark full-legged pants riding their bikes.  In the summer.  Pants.  On BIKES.  All right, all horseshitting aside, here were some Mormon youths obviously doing their rite of passage pilgrimage to save the sinners around them.

You know what?  Do whatever you want.  I don’t necessarily agree with your plan, but I can at the very least admire your tenacity. But at 6am, the only thing I want to concern myself with is that liquid rejuvenation in my hand.

I schlepped myself up to the intersection and did my own prayer to Joseph Smith that he might ask the heavens to smile down on us and change the signals sooner than later.  My prayers were unanswered.   I was left at an impasse between myself and my helmeted brethren and I knew it was only a matter of ti

“Ma’am?  We’d like to give you this.”


“Would you like this?”

And he gestured a pamphlet toward me.


All right, you guys, I just need to clear the air and mention that I’m already at my wit’s end here with school and the like.  I’m sort of done.  Like, DONE, done.  As in my brain is no longer functioning on all cylinders DONE.  And I’ve been done.  I’m DONED.  And the last thing I want is someone hawking anything at me at that hour of the morning.  Let alone someone trying to change my (poorlyexistent) faith.


So here’s how I saw fit to reply to the caring young gentleman who was only doing his rightful job as an emerging adult-by-Brigham-Young’s-standards into his righteous calling:

After looking down at his surely-life-transforming reading material, I looked over at him and said: “Sure.  Just put it in my backpack.”

OH!  Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you.  I wasn’t carrying a backpack.  Actually, I wasn’t carrying anything.  Besides my coffee.

Which is why it’s not surprising that he did a double take and gave a pause more pregnant than something he’d seen at a birthin’ session.  There was a moment of sheer “does not compute” look on his face, and I could see we were still at least 20 seconds before we’d both be out of the intersectional woods.  So I, uhm, improvised?

“Just, you know, throw it in there.”

“Uh. What?”

“No, it’s fine, really, throw it in.”

“I… don’t…”

And the light turned green.  I scooted off as quickly as they did, as I’m sure their training hadn’t prepared them for encountering a woman who feigned hallucination of an attaché before, either.


I actually thought of offering him some of my coffee, but realized that would border on torture.


Trackbacks & Pingbacks


  1. * matthew says:

    And this is why i love you.

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 2 months ago
  2. * Ursula says:

    And this is why I love you.

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 2 months ago
  3. The swelling in my heart is telling me that this is why I love YOU GUYS.

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 2 months ago

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