A not-so-passive-agressive rant about elitist bibliography style guides

Revisions, revisions, revisions.

That is the theme of this week. 

Putting together bibliographies, checking footnotes, and making sure that all things are in their proper place. 

Bits and bobs. 

But even then, Oxford just has to be pretentious. 

They won't let me use elegant Chicago style (and I am passionate about my Chicago style guide). 

Oh, no. 

Oxford just has to have their own guide. And the Oxford History Faculty has to have its own style guide. 

FALFIEFJODIAJFAAEOIGJADSOAOBIJAOBIAJSBOIJASDO. 

^That is how I feel about it.^ 

On a related note, I finally figured out how to find that style guide on RefWorks. 

So, you know. Progress. 

Even so, just look at this line from the "Conventions for the presentation of essays, dissertations, and theses in History" style guide: 

"Style is a personal matter, while the precise structure of an essay, dissertation, or thesis (henceforth referred to collectively as 'thesis') will depend on your subject and the kinds of material you use. So any rules given here can only be of the most general kind." 

Really? Really? General rules? Thanks, guys. This is really helpful. 

The rest of the style guide is almost as vague. Almost. Not quite. But almost. 

This is going to be a fun week. 

FADFLKAJFOIALDFKEJAOIJDOIJOBJAOBIJOAEIGOADJFLADJFADFADJ

^Still how I feel about this new style guide I have to use.^

#oxfordproblems
#historystudentproblems
#ivorytowerproblems

*But in happier news, things are actually going well with these essays and it's good that I can be on the revision stage instead of scrambling for an argument.

This also happened while we were talking about my paper on 1920s U.S. foreign policy:

J: I think that Joan Hoff-Wilson [a historian of the 1920s] called it "independent internationalism" or something like that. Anyway, look it up.
M: Okay. And I think George Herring [another historian] called it "involvement without commitment."
J (bursts out laughing): That sounds like something a terrible frat boy would call a relationship.

Basically, my thesis advisor can stay. He is allowed to stay. 

My theory of devolution

 . . .  or on why I was never called to be a sister missionary on Temple Square.*

I have a theory that the further down the rabbit hole of the semester you go, the less you care about how you look. You know how at the beginning of the semester, everyone** is all bright and happy and wearing their shiny first-day-of-school faces? You wear your new shoes and jeans, curl your hair, make sure your makeup is perfect . . . it's like you have a date with success and expectation.

By Thanksgiving Break, you are ready to break-up with school. For good. Forever. El fin.

And so you just stop caring about what you wear.

I've noticed that for most people, the devolution starts around week 3 of school. I know that for me, it starts when I stop wearing my contacts and just put on my glasses. That doesn't mean that I'm dressed like a complete slob, but if I wake up later than I should and don't want to put on a lot of makeup, I'll just put my glasses on and call it good, claiming the favorite "Marian Librarian look." Classy, yet practical.

By midterms, it's practically over. There might be some days where people try--maybe there's that cute boy/girl in class that you are still trying to impress, maybe you are someone who believes in looking classy every single day of your life, but for most of us, we're just too tired to care anymore.

And by Thanksgiving Break, oh honey, it's game over. It's long gone and you are just waiting for finals to be over so you can spend all day in your pajamas and eat chocolate oranges.

EXHIBIT A: 

First day of school. Notice the bright eyes filled with hopes and expectations of good things to come and the carefully chosen first-day-of-school outfits. Also note the curled hair, bright colors, and sheepish grins.

VS. 

This just screams: Help me. I am drowning in papers and tests and not even awesome fishtail braids or BYU hoodies can save me. I have given up trying. I don't even care what other people think. 

It's a thing, people. It's a thing. The struggle is real.

*There is a reason I was never called to be a sister missionary on Temple Square, if you couldn't already tell. Because there are some days when I don't want to care what I look like. I am perfectly fine being a Frumpy-McFrumpster when I want to be. I remember in the MTC the MTC presidency telling sister missionaries to remember to put on makeup and a "belt or scarf around it" to complete your outfit. But believe me. When you're freezing in Ukraine and wrapped up in thermals, leggings, two pairs of woolen stockings, two pairs of gloves, sweaters, a heavy coat, scarf, and hat--you don't care what you look like. You are just trying not to freeze. 

**And by everyone, I mean almost everyone. Because there are always the people who never care. Ever. And who can blame them? 

The Evolution of the Paper

Just a typical Thursday night research paper session . . .

Start out confident that you know the direction you want your paper to go:

Just happily typing away . . .

What to write next?

Hmm . . .

Oh yeah.

Typical writing game-face.

Bored.

Should I make cookies?

No, this paper's due tomorrow. Get back to work.

Crunch time.

Uh-oh. Writer's block.

More writer's block.

This paper is due in T minus 12 hours! Panic.

Despair.

Paper. I keel you.

And that's the part I am at right now. It's a scary picture, I know. But seriously, if these papers are going to be the death of me, I'm going to get them first.

And then, once the paper's done, I'll be happy again:

It's the circle of life.

(Guess who's procrastinating her papers! If you guessed Megan, then you guessed correctly! Ding, ding, ding, ding! But really, I'm almost done with one of my papers. Which is good. But now I get to do the whole cycle again with three other papers. Woot.)

On Singleness

First things first:

When this blog became more about my life than about my travels, I made it a point to not talk about specific boys/dates. Those stories are reserved for my journal and for those who know me best, not for the public blogosphere. (Especially because I never know who is reading my blog.) I also really don't go into great detail about what I'm feeling or my fears and insecurities. Because I don't think people want to read about my angst.

That being said, I'm breaking one of my rules. And it's not the first one. This post is not about any boys in particular. I am going to reveal one of my deepest insecurities, but only because I hope that what I've learned can help someone else somehow.

Yesterday when I was studying my scriptures, I felt like I needed help with something, but I couldn't put my finger on it. You know those days when there are a thousand problems buzzing in your head--nothing too serious, but they cloud your mind and make peace impossible? That's how I felt. I wanted Heavenly Father's help and advice, but I wanted to be specific--you get specific answers when you pray for specific things.

So, I pinpointed a stressor: boys and relationships. It's a common worry for girls my age, and I am no exception. In fact, I'd say relationships are a constant worry for almost all BYU students . . . especially the singletons. The pressure to date and get married is a bit overwhelming . . . and not because I don't want to date and get married, but precisely because I do. I want to be a wife and mother more than anything in the world. But it can be frustrating feeling like you're doing all you can do, and still nothing. I'm not saying that I want to get married right away. I'm not saying that at all. All things in good time and all good things to those who wait . . . marriage is not something I want to rush. I also know that marriage is not a "fix-it-all." Ohhhhhh, goodness no.

Still, it would be nice to feel noticed, or at least have your love returned a few times. It can be difficult waiting for the promised blessings of relationships and marriage. I think most single BYU students would agree with me.

Anyway. I decide to focus on relationships and asked Heavenly Father to give me advice/help/comfort on the subject. I felt impressed to turn to the Index in my Triple Combination (the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price). I opened up to the "Think" entry, I believe. And I was going to turn to Moroni 7:45, which talks about charity, but then I felt like I should turn the pages over just one more time. I looked at the page I was on, and chuckled when I saw the bolded words:

"SINGLE, SINGLENESS"

Oh yes, I thought. God has a sense of humor. 


But then I looked at the words right next to the entry:

"See also Diligence"

I stopped. I had never thought of it like that before. I looked at the tidbits of scripture listed under "SINGLE, SINGLENESS":

3 Nephi 13:22 (cf. Matt. 6:22)--if thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light;
D&C 4:5--eye single to glory of God qualifies man for the work;
D&C 82:19--do all things with eye single to glory of God;
D&C 88:68--sanctify yourselves that your minds become single to God.

My mind started whirling with realization.

Isn't it interesting that the word "single" has no negative implications in the Index or the Topical Guide? Unlike the word "worry," which generally points to scriptural stories of those who lack faith (yes, I've looked up the word "worry," too . . . but it was a different scripture study session), the word "single" brings up scriptures that imply mountains of faith. It's hard aligning your will to God's.

It's hard to be single. It takes patience. It takes faith. It can be so hard to keep faith in blessings yet to be when another lonely Friday night rolls around--whether you're on the girl's end, just hoping for the phone to ring; or whether you're a guy, feeling miserable because you've been rejected again. It takes patience to go to family reunion after family reunion and have people ask you over and over again, "Where's your boy/girlfriend?" "Why aren't you married yet?" It's hard to have hope when you're crying over another unrequited love or devastating break-up. It takes faith to move on and keep on moving.

But it's vital to keep on moving.

It's vital to be diligently single.

While I'm single, I need to be diligent in keeping God's commandments. I need to be diligent in dedicating my life to Him; in serving Him and others--truly having an eye single to His glory. 

The single years are not a time to wallow in misery and self-pity. They are a time for joy, really--to solidify your relationship with God and touch lives in ways you couldn't otherwise. There's so much for me to do while I'm single. It's not a time to mope or wish away my problems--or dwell on dreams of the future and forget to live. God has a specific plan for me. And right now, I'm supposed to be single. I can have faith in His plan, even if it isn't comfortable for me or exactly what I want. Because guess what? I would like a boyfriend. Not gonna lie about that. 

But instead of worrying about not having a boyfriend, I can be diligently single. I can diligently seek out the good in the world, others, and myself. I can be diligently single by touching one life at a time. I can be diligently single by seeking to align my will with God's. I can be diligently single by developing my talents. I can be diligently single by learning how to commune with God.  

I don't know when I'll get engaged, married . . . I don't even know when my next date will be. In the wide spectrum of things, I could have a "Marius and Cosette" type of meeting with my beloved tomorrow and he'll be singing love songs at my window and we'll be married within a fortnight. Or, maybe I'll be single forever. I just don't know what the future holds. I'm not supposed to.

But my scripture study last night certainly changed my perspective on singleness.

There are lives to touch. There are people to change.

There is more to life than a changed relationship status on Facebook.  

Yay! Pretty picture to reward you for getting this far!

. . . anyway, I hope that was helpful somehow to someone. I felt like I should post this, so I did. And I hope I was coherent. If you got this far, thanks for reading. :)

Delving into the Depths of My Psyche

Do you know why I'm writing this blog post?

because I'm afraid to check my e-mail and this will take up more time before I actually have to get up my courage and just look. 


Yes, my friends, I suffer from What-Megan-Doesn't-Know-Won't-Kill-Her Syndrome, or WMDKWKHS for short.

It most often occurs when I send an important e-mail that usually deals with:
A) A prestigious study abroad programme
B) Internships
C) Sending papers to TAs/professors

This is usually the procedure*:

9:10 am--Write an e-mail to director/employer/TA/professor.

9:15 am--Revise e-mail to director/employer/TA/professor.

9:20 am--Proofread e-mail to director/employer/TA/professor.

9:25 am--Look over e-mail again. Take out cliche phrases.

9:30 am--Send e-mail to director/employer/TA/professor.

Now, WMDKWKHS usually doesn't manifest itself for at least an hour. If the director/employer/TA/professor e-mails back within an hour, there is no time for WMDKWKHS to take effect, because worry doesn't set in. But let's be honest. Worry's going to set in. It's me we're talking about, people.

9:30 am to 5:30 pm--Life. Mull over e-mail during the day, worry over possible replies:

A) NO! You are not allowed to come on this amazing once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Now go to a corner and cry!

B) NO! We'd rather hire a monkey than you!

C) HAHAHAHAHAHA! This was the worst paper I've ever read in my life! And you call yourself an English major?!**

5:30 pm--Go to the computer and wonder if I should check e-mail. Decide against it. Could be bad news (see above). 

5:31 pm--Go on Facebook instead.

6:00 pm--I really probably should check my e-mail, just in case they've written back. That way I can deal with it . . .

7:00 pm--Really should check that e-mail . . .

7:15 pm--Let's watch all of the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings, instead. Yeah, that's a great idea.

6:45 am--Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz *Music in the background: "Grey ships pass into the west. . ."*

7:00 am--Wake up from a nightmare about orcs forcing me to eat computers with BBQ sauce.

7:01 am--Oh yeah . . . e-mail.

7:02 am--Go to computer.

7:03 am--Slowly type my username and password. Close my eyes, bracing myself to read the incriminating response from director/employer/TA/professor . . .

G-mail Inbox: You have 0 new messages.

Me: ARRRRGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After that, the cycle continues indefinitely until I finally get a response.

And usually, it isn't bad. And if it is bad, I deal with it quickly and well.

It's just getting to the e-mail that's hard for me.

But here I go. I'm going to check that e-mail now.

Maybe.








*This is an exaggeration. Most of the time.
** Again, exaggeration. I don't really think anyone would write something like that. Unless they're sadists.

Passive Aggression

I smell a rant.

Basically, the German passive voice and I do not get along right now. Because there are like five or six (or possibly six hundred . . . I'm getting to the point where I couldn't care less) different forms of the German passive voice and I can't keep track of them all. 

And why do I need to learn German passive voice when all my English professors tell me to do away with passive voice whenever possible? 

Alas, alack. Such is life. 

In fact, I'm beginning to feel a lot like Cecily from "The Importance of Being Earnest": 

CECILY: But I don't like German. It isn't at all a becoming language. I know perfectly well that I look quite plain after my German lesson. 

Ain't that the truth. 

Although "quite frightful" would be a better description of me after a frustrating German lesson than "quite plain."  Oh well. 

In all seriousness, I really do like German. There's a lot of good that is German. Like my last name. And Goethe's poetry. And Erich Kaestner's "Das doppelte Lottchen." (Did you know that "Das doppelte Lottchen is the original "Parent Trap"? Cool, huh?) 

But I could do with a little less frustration and more understanding. 

Okay. Rant over. 

I'm sorry you had to listen to that. But it is my blog . . . I can write about silly frustrations if I want to. And you don't have to read if you don't want to. 

But thanks for reading anyway.