Dissertating is not really work?

You know what really really really pisses me off? When, during the past year, people have told me that I don’t really “work” because I am writing a dissertation at home, at my computer, rather than messing around on the computer in a cubicle or office somewhere and getting paid for it. “I have to get up early and work tomorrow.” “What, Johnny? You don’t work.” “Oh, shit,” says I, “you’re right. They give out PhD’s, and I have high blood pressure because it’s so easy!”

A very good friend likes to call me “useless” because I have been in higher education for ten years. A nice thing to say to your friend who never makes fun of anyone’s job or education or hobbies (well, hobbies…). “Twenty-somethings are ordinarily such useful people to society,” says I, “I guess I missed the club.”

Too many people like to link the stupid things I do (like walking into swings) or things I don’t know with “all that” education or “too much” school. “Damn, gonna be a doctor, and you never learned not to walk into things!” “You didn’t know that the military budget comes down with missions in mind and that some of the funding is state money? Don’t you have a Master’s degree?” “You don’t know how to change brakes on a car? You pussy. What did you learn in college?” “I guess you drink a lot since you’ve been in school so long. Why don’t you know how to make drinks?”

“Oh, yeah,” says I, “they taught all that in philosophy seminars. I’m just stupid. Thanks.”

“All those degrees, and you still don’t have a job?” “No,” says I, “why don’t you pay attention when I explain to you that writing a dissertation is still school, like classes, only harder? Did you have a job while you were in school, your career-type job, not a supporting-your-studying-type job?”

“I hope you get what you wanted after all that school.” “Gee,” says I, “I hadn’t thought about that. I was just selling off my 20s for fun.”

“I guess you’ll be rich now.” “Why,” says I, “do you need a loan?”

“Oh, how hard can writing a book-length study be?” “Well,” says I, “I’m sure you could just do it in a week. You caught me. I’m just lazy.” (I did get angry recently at someone who said something like that and lashed out with, “I’d like to see you do it!” knowing full-well this person cannot and could not do it because he/she never finishes — or even starts — anything. Luckily, a friend of mine defused the situation with, “Hey, more power to you, Johnny. I couldn’t do that,” and the funny thing was that he probably could — but would never think so himself.)

It’s weird how much much license people think they have to criticize my current occupation. If I were to make fun of someone’s job, I would be a jerk. If I made fun of someone who makes fun of my graduate degree for not having a graduate degree, I would be an ass. If I made fun of someone who makes fun of apartments by pointing out that they have no money because they pay too much for a ply-wood shithole (no one in particular) and that, I don’t know, they are shallow for defining success and happiness by how big their damned house is, I’d be an asshole.

I’m shocked at not how shallow so many people I know are, by how deeply superficial/materialistic they are. Since I’m not working to get more money to get more shit, well, my education is crazy.

I told someone yesterday that I want to work for a non-profit, and he/she told me, “You know they don’t pay much.”

Geez, am I a completely misunderstood teenager again?