I was a grad student once. I believe perennial is the word. Last night I had a dream about it.
I was still in school, but it was becoming obvious that I needed to move on. I had flown to Los Angeles, because some people I knew out there had once offered a job interview. We talked tentatively about an interview date, and in this dream evidently I just booked a flight and went out there, assuming that they were expecting me.
The weren’t expecting me.
When I arrived (It was a university campus in the middle of the city with large white marble monumental buildings and guards deployed at the gates), I into the library and began looking for the offices of the people I needed to meet. I couldn’t find them, and the rest of the dream was a pathetic wandering search for someone to interview with. (Think: Are You My Mother?)
Somewhere along the line, I lost my notebook that had my technical portfolio. And I lost my camera. And I didn’t have a hotel reservation, nor did I know where the hotels were. And I didn’t think I knew many people there, except that I kept running into folks I did know: former grad school colleagues (who had graduated), people that I recognized from the library back home (and who vaguely recognized me, although they squinted to fetch up the recollection), and even high school friends (who I happen to know also finished their PhDs).
As the dream drew to a close, I had found a place to stay overnight. It was a tiny, dark place with a small living room in front and a bedroom in the back. A chair in the bedroom sat up against a narrow window that looked out on a small courtyard and the doors of the other rooms. I was sitting in the chair with the blinds drawn just enough so that although I could see out, no one could see me.
I was a grad student once. I believe perennial is the word. I don’t regret the time, far from it, but you sure wouldn’t be able to tell it from dreams like these.