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Weekend Affective Disorder (WAD) aka Life in Storrs

April 19, 2011

In order to pay proper homage to my two years living on campus in the graduate dorms at UConn, I’ve dusted off a few excerpts from my long-retired My [_____] blog (the site formerly known as Myspace).

W.A.D. = Weekend Affective Disorder (October 14, 2006)

Storrs, CT

My current residence.  A dorm room.

Current creature comforts like KEXP streaming, red wine, comforter, crossword puzzles, and dreams of the future.

Otherwise, I’m stuck.  The weekends here in B.F. (bum-fuck) Connecticut are long.  Distractions are few.  Work is plenty.  Though I pace myself.  I hear people all around.  I haven’t said a word for hours, days.  This is how people get fat.  Yet I’m losing weight.  Becoming slight.  My pants don’t fit.  Its getting colder each day.  I need a warm coat and boots.

I miss things that make me feel human like eating food made for two vs. 2,000; watching movies in bed; talking with people who know me; sleeping at normal hours for normal amounts of time; dance parties; city streets; people over 22 years old; bookstores and cafes; walking with somewhere to go; good coffee; live music and art.

Living in the dorms made me just a little coo coo.

Storrs  itself is a corner.

The Second.  Numero 2.  (January 7, 2007)

I’m in it, deep this time.

Taking four classes.  Co-authoring a paper with my major advisor about undergraduate teachers-in-training cognitive complexity in relation to their descriptions of a “Good Teacher”.   I’m also creating an affective scale to measure the impact of perceived stress on a person’s openess to experience.  I will be piloting the instrument this semester.  [For those of you with any research experience at all, you know constructing, validating, and refining an instrument usually takes about three years.  Needless to say, my professor is a MadWoman!]

UCONN remains cold.  I spend my nonclass/nonresearch/nonworking time doing crossword puzzles, knitting, listening to music, and hanging out with my one UCONN friend.

In the early spring of 2007, I fell madly in love with statistics. Well, it was an arranged marriage, but I made the best of it.

Eigen, Cronbach, and Me (April 3, 2007)

I met Eigen awhile back.  He likes to think he’s all greater than one.  [Actually, he is.]  Yet, something about him leaves me unfulfilled.  [I know, I’m a complete tramp.  Or an opportunist, depending on your politic.]  Enter Cronbach.  Cronbach has substance.  Not only that, he constantly strives for perfection, the allusive 1.0.  I admire this about him.  And frankly, if he ever reaches .80 I’ll be completely satisfied.  [Don’t tell him that though, he needs to work for it.]

Mostly I read, wrote, and thought a hell of a lot.

Kinda like now, but in an even smaller space surrounded by thousands of post-adolescent maniacs (more on them in the next post).

TO BE CONTINUED (or altered)

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