I'm officially EXCITED to do research for a paper I'm writing, on the grammar of the subjunctive mood in English. Gulp.
I can see it now . . . . I start off as a relatively normal girl, surrounded by friends. Together we enjoy watching shows like The Mindy Project and making fun of pretentious academics. Then I glance at a blog here or there, start getting interested in writing and language. Think maybe I'll postpone the real world for a year by teaching English. Realizing I need to actually learn details of English, I sign up for a grammar class. Earn a few university credits, stop by the library to do some research.
My show preferences begin to change....less New Girl and Grey's Anatomy, more 60 Minutes and PBS. I stay in on a Friday night, opting to do some light reading "for a class." Find myself absorbed in the nuances of verbs. I don't mind the extra pounds the library book adds to my backpack--they just feel right.
College passes. I buy a cat, or two or three. I obsessively seek out immigrants just so I can hear their take on learning English. A tall and attractive man asks me out (despite the spinster I've become), but I turn him down because his response to my greeting is "I'm good" instead of "I'm well." At least I have the cats.
And suddenly I'm the universally hated grammarian, trying to teach all the rowdy students the correct placement of commas. I find solace only in my worn copies of British novels, a steaming mug of chamomile, and my gently purring felines.
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