Terrified.

Perhaps I was absolutely, positively, utterly delusional about grad school. I must have been. Or someone has forgotten to sit me down and slap me in the face with the reality of what grad school means.

I sound like I've started the semester already, don't I? Well, the truth is, I have only gotten two innocent enough emails. One with a book list and dates each is to be read by in its entirety and the other with a fifteen page syllabus.

Class one: 11 books.

Class two: 12 books.

I will be taking four classes. At this rate I'll be up around 50 books a semester. And for the sake of being internet-classy, I wont spell out the financial portion of this panic attack. But let's just say, even buy them super use online is proving to be a horrifying, panic inducing task.

I don't know which is freaking me out more, the massive amount of money I am pouring into these books or the enormous task of somehow reading, comprehending, intellectually engaging with and remembering the contents of each.

I know tons of people pass through grad school each year. They manage. They are able to do it, stay sane and come out the other end with a magical job-earning piece of paper. So why does it seem to utterly impossible to me?

I'm having trouble just keep everything I need to get done to move straight, this stress is not needed and seems to be having this paralyzing effect on me. Kind of like deer in the headlights fear. Like that AHIMGOINGTOBECRUSHEDTONOTHING fear.

But, you know, I have always wondered how professors accrued the massive amounts of books in their offices and homes. I have always marveled at how their walls were just LINED with books. I used to think they must have been for reference, no one person could possibly have read all those books.

Now I know the answer. They went to grad school. That got them half. then they started their doctorates and wham. Other half.

End product: awe inducing library/personal collection of books.

I suppose that's one small thing to look forward to. I am bringing two book cases from home. And stealing Chris' bookcase. Sure, he has things on it. But apparently...I need it more.