Don't Teach That Which You Don't Know

I have taken roughly four psychology classes. Yes, they have all been introduction classes. Two I withdrew from, one I flunked and one I am currently taking. Don't judge me. That's not what this post is about. What this post is about is how teachers can teach things they don't completely understand or how they can justify standardized testing in America. I just don't get that shit.

A multiple choice test or a short answer test that ask me the definition of 'depression' will always baffle me. As a psychology professor you should know that I cannot define depression in a sentence or a short answer or even a short essay. You want me to define depression? Really? What, exactly, would you like me to define about? Would you like me to tell you how it feels to have the motivation sucked right out of you? To feel as if you are the biggest failure on Earth, as if you have disappointed everyone that has ever loved you or met you? Or would you prefer the feeling of depression? The feeling of the world on your shoulders? Or the feeling of every ounce of love leaving you only to be replaced by a gaping nothingness? Or better yet should I define how depression looks to others? The vague stare? The hollow eyes? The helplessness? Or the laziness that it is often mistaken for? Or how about the sayings that go with it? Like "SNAP OUT OF IT!" "What's your problem?" "I don't know what's wrong with me!" "Just go away!" "Leave me alone..." "I hate everything."

A professor who asks me to define depression ranks right up there with a professor who asks me to define anxiety or addiction or love or motherhood or imagination. Somethings cannot be defined, somethings have to be felt or experienced. I cannot explain to someone what it feels like to give birth, its impossible, only someone else who has given birth can relate. Men will never know what it feels like to have a child grow inside of them, kick inside of them, eventually emerge from them and suckle from them. (Side note: suckle is a weird slightly gross word) I have been asked more than once what panic attacks feel like. I've tried to explain the shortness of breath, the way my stomach drops and chest tightens but the words are nothing compared to the experience. In the same sense I cannot tell another person what it feels like to be an alcoholic or an anorexic. I can't tell you how it felt to be raped. I cant tell you  how it felt to give birth. I can't put into words how it felt when I nursed my son for the first time. And I can't tell how how it felt when I found my soul mate.

I don't like definitions, if you couldn't tell by now. I feel definitions are a lot like labels, they confine things, words, people. Definitions, like labels, put boundaries on people, fence them in, put them in constrictions. Psychologists can define depression all they want but a student can never truly and fully understand what it is until they have succumbed to the disease so deeply that the only music they can listen to is Simon & Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence.

The point of this whoooole rant and rave is this: you can't understand something until you experience. Yet here I am studying history planning on teaching others about a ton of events I have never experienced. Hello, pot? This is Kettle, you're Black. Ugh. I know I know I know...so maybe the moral is this: we can never hope to understand everything in this crazy mixed up world, the best we can hope for is the ability to empathize and the drive to want to understand...and mainly, the knowledge to know we will NEVER fully understand unless we have fully experienced because, really, nothing is worse than ignorance.

Trust Me, I Do Not Want Your Parenting Advice

There is something that happens when you have kids. It starts when you become pregnant and never, ever stops. Unsolicited advice. 

 When I was pregnant, I could not believe how many random people would come up to me to give me advice on pregnancy and babies. It was as if I had a sign posted on my forehead "I have no clue what I am doing, please help me." I worked on on perfecting my "I don't give a f*ck what you have to say" look but apparently these people didn't care. Not only would they give me advice, they would also tell me horror stories about giving birth. *WARNING* If you have NOT had a baby yet: if you ever become pregnant, people feel some unknown reason to tell you the most horrifying birthing stories when they find out you are pregnant. It is disturbing. After I gave birth and it was clear that I was not only a first time mother but a single mother, well, the advice just came flowing in (along with the sympathy of course. I was, after all, to be pitied. Geez.) 

I don't know why people feel they need to give mothers advice. Do we, meaning ALL mothers, look like we are utterly clueless? Do you, meaning people who have children who are older than mine, feel like you did such an amazing job with your children that you need to pass on your sage advice? Are you children that amazing? Are you an award winning child psychologist? Have you written a NYTime's Bestselling parenting book? No? Than shut up! Did I specifically ask you for your advice? No? Than shut up! I DO NOT WANT YOUR ADVICE!

It's bad enough when the advice comes from random strangers (is that redundant? are all strangers random? Hmm, I will have to think about this one...) but when it comes from your relatives that seems to say, "Clearly you are screwing up, let me help you" at which point you want to fire back "Hey, I've SEEN the product of your parenting, I really don't want your advice, thanks". 

What is really hard is when your mother gives  you advice. Apparently, my mother thinks I constantly need advice. It really makes no sense when you think about it. She was such a great parent that she feels the need to dish out her advice freely YET if she was such a great parent, you would think her children (ME that is) wouldn't need advice on how to parent. Its a conundrum (which is a great word). 

I think my kid is awesome, I may be bias but he pretty much rocks and I like to think that is ALL my doing though Matt may have a little something to do with it. He throws tantrums, he whines, he occasionally bites/kicks/pinches but always says sorry and has a good reason plus he's three years old so that should be reason enough. But he is hysterical, kind, incredibly intelligent, unbelievably athletic, a gentleman, a sweetheart and phenomenally awesome. So I must be doing something right. And I'm doing it with your advice...so bite your lip unless you wish to comment on how adorable we are and how wonderful I am doing as a parent, got it? Okay good. :)

 

 

You Just Might Find, You Get What You Need

There is a new TV show on CBS called "Partners". It's great, incredibly funny. Its about two male best friends who are also business partners. One of them is gay and one of them is engaged to a woman (Sophia Bush, who I ADORE).You should check it out. ANYWAY, one of the partners (Louis, who is played by Michael Urie) tells Sophia Bush some "advice" to help her with her fiance. He says, "Secretly every man wants a woman from the 1950's" (don't quote me on that, I couldn't find a direct quote or the episode but that is pretty much the gist). Louis was trying to make the point that men want a woman that will clean for them, cook for them, be the "little woman".

Now, I am ALL for women's rights but I do not mind being that kind of woman for my man. However, that is also due to the fact that I LOVE cooking, love it, almost as much as I love eating it. I do not, however, enjoy cleaning. But I don't like living in a dirty house-who does? Even those people on hoarders clean their insanity. And, finally, I was always obsessed with "The Patty Duke Show" and "Pleasantville" and "The Dick Van Dyke Show" so really, I'm just playing dress-up.

BUT if every man (and when I saw every, I don't mean EVERY) wants a woman who will have dinner ready for him, rubs his shoulders, brings him his favorite drink while he watches TV, births his children...than every woman wants an old school gentleman-one who will hold the door open, give her his coat when she's cold, punch a guy who is rude to her. Of course, we all still want a freak in the bed.

Everyone's relationship is drastically different. I watch some people and wonder how on Earth they ever ended up together. We all think it. We see the couple where one is clearly better looking than the other and think, "How the Hell did that happen? Vodka?" Or the couple that CONSTANTLY fights and you just want to scream, "FILE THE PAPERS ALREADY!" despite the fact that you have only known them the 10 minutes it takes for you to pay for your take-out. There's also the couples who seemingly have it all together but you find out later that they were faking it or at least one of them was. Everyone is different but do we all want the same thing? And what is that one thing? Do we all want a Happily Ever After? Or just a happily ever now? Do we want a Prince Charming or the bad boy villain? Do we want Danny Zucko at the beginning or the end of Grease? Does it matter who the man is? Or do we just want to be the princess? The little woman?

I think even the women out there who are career-driven want The Guy (or gal). Everyone wants to find The One. Everyone wants to find that one person who understands them better than anyone else. Everyone wants to find the person who has the ability to fill in the holes we never even knew we had. Everyone wants someone who will hold their hand through everything and through nothing.

But does this hinder us as individuals? Does love hold us back or does it free us? Relationships, love, makes us responsible for another person, another's heart, another's soul. And in return, we give up a part of ourselves. We sign an unwritten unspoken contract-I will give you a part of me in return for a part of you; I will cherish this part of you, I will protect it and love it until my dying day; and in return, I ask that you do the same with the part of me that I am giving to you. It is the ultimate act of trust, blind faith. Does this act hold us back? Or does it somehow free us? Does being in love free us from fears? From everything?

SOOooo back to the original point, hmmm, was there an original point? Oh yes, talking about what men and women want from their partners. Do we want the Prince? Do we want to be the Princess? Do we want to be free or tied down? Honestly, I don't think we know what we want but I think we know it when we get it. I think we think we know what we want but only vaguely. I think, at least I like to believe, that when what we want really want and what we really need is front of us, we realize it and its not until its directly front of us, kissing us senseless that we recognize it. And it is up to us to hold onto it dearly.

I've Been Dreaming of You Since I Heard My First Fairytale

WARNING: This post will make you gag, jealous, probably throw up a little bit in your mouth, go "awww" and "ooooh", will make your heart melt and may make you teary eyed. You have been warned.

I was never popular with boys growing up. Never. I had a tendency to be awkward. Plus, I was chubby and I had those stellar 1990s glasses that apparently only came in one style and three colors. When I got older, I was became even more awkward and seemed to go through puberty overnight, meaning I suddenly got hips, curves, and breasts. Sixth grade boys are mean when they don't understand something. 

I was a Senior in high school before I got my first boyfriend. Jesse was a complete sweetheart and I will adore him forever. Throughout college I dated briefly but my longest relationship never went past 4 months. I, like most girls, dreamt of a Prince Charming, a Knight in Shining Armor, a Hero...a version of Ryan Gosling from The Notebook or Zach Morris from Saved by the Bell or Channing Tatum in The Vow. I wanted The Perfect Man despite what reality and life had taught me, he did not exist.

My mom claims that I told her three different times that a guy/boyfriend was "The One": Mike, Greg and Jason. Mike to this day is one of my best guy friends. I love him to death and I believe it is my friendly love for him and our friendship that always made me wish for me. I had heard the numerous stories of friends falling in love, of Harry and Sally making it work, of Chandler and Monica, and felt that that HAD to be Mike and me. Thank God it wasn't. Greg and I lasted two, maybe three months, before we broke up. He grew up in NJ and I in ND. We came from two different worlds, it never would have worked. I have nothing to say about Jason other than it wasn't love, it was a codependent. It was unhealthy. And that's all I have to say about that.

When I first met Matt, I had no make-up on. I have no idea whether or not I had showered that day but I'm assuming not since I wasn't done up. He works with my dad and I had taken my son to visit that day. I remember shaking his hand, looking him directly in the eyes, and thinking, "This man is beautiful." His smile was gorgeous. I don't remember what he was wearing other than a Yankees' cap but I remember his smile and that everything else melted away. It was the end of March. And that was the beginning of the end.

We officially began dating on May 22 and on June 1 I fell in love with him. I talked constantly with my best friend about him, texting her after our third date: Write down this date so that when you give your Maid of Honor speech you can say this is the day I knew I was going to marry this man. Honestly, he seemed too good to be true. He was sweet, he was beyond handsome, he had an actual grown-up job, was mature...his only flaw was his choice of sports teams. I kept waiting for the bad news, I kept waiting for him to dump me, for him to hear something about me that was simply too much.

I told him about my sordid past and he didn't care, his exact response: "I liked you before and this doesn't change anything." I took my time introducing him to my son but when I did, I kept waiting for it too be to much. Matt doesn't have any kids, no experiences with kids, so when my son would throw tantrums I fully expected him to bail. I wouldn't have judged him, I would not have thought less of him. It's a lot to handle for anyone but he did not blink twice. He just smiled and he stayed. 

We were two months into our relationship when I met his family-his parents, his brother, his grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins. It was a lot but by this time he had met almost all of my family, too. It was the summer so between vacations and reunions, it was natural for him to meet them. It was also during our second month together that we somehow got to talking about our future and we decided that we both knew we were meant for each other. I have no clue how it originally came up but it was natural, I know that.

On the 22 of November, we will celebrate six months together. It's funny how much your life can change in six months. Its hard to think of my life without Matthew. It is regular routine for us to put our son to bed every night. Everyday after work he comes over and we talk about our day. It is normal, it is comfortable. It is perfect.

It is hard to explain and to put into words what I feel when I with him. Everyday I somehow seem to fall more in love with him. I love everything about him. He drives me nuts but I love him. I watch him with my son and I literally feel my heart swell. I lay beside him, with his arm wrapped around me, and I know that I was somehow made to fit into that spot. I turn to smile at him and find him already staring lovingly at me. I feel at peace when I am with him, I feel as if a part of me is missing when he's not here. He makes me a better woman, a better mother, a better human being.

So you're gagging aren't you? You ready to puke, if you haven't already. Well, its not all goopy and gooey. We often miscommunicate and I find myself getting mad at him for no reasons. Early in our relationship, I would get mad at him for no reason, now I think its because I was trying to push him away to see if he really would stick around. He also hasn't doesn't have a lot of experience in relationships so he does or doesn't do a lot of things that drive me CRAZY...like he doesn't open doors for me or automatically help me up and he has NO CLUE how to take off my bra. Also, he never makes plans for us. Never. Just once I want him to say, "Okay, we're having date night tonight. I got a babysitter, I've made plans. It's a surprise, just make sure you dress up." But nooooooooooo I always have to make the plans. He also has very limited movie knowledge, which is tragic for me, a movie buff; it also means he doesn't get a lot of my jokes or references so I'm not recognized as being as hysterically funny as I really am. Additionally, he doesn't own grown up clothes. Well, that's not true, as he recently purchased some since I MADE HIM but until that point he only wore American Eagle shirts. He's 26 years old wearing AE. WTH. I told him since he wasn't in High School anymore he couldn't shop there.

And finally...so you know that he's not always to blame...I have a tendency to, um, whisper in my pants when we sleep together. I don't know what it is but I seem to always do it when we sleep together, which isn't often. The first time we slept together, I woke myself up. That's right, I woke myself up FARTING. That's how loud it was. I couldn't believe it. I didn't move an inch, afraid it would wake him up. Thank God he is such a loud snorer. Regardless, I do this nearly every time we are in bed together. I don't know if its because I'm sleeping so soundly or my body is trying to humiliate me but it happens. So far, he hasn't said anything and I'm damn sure I'm not going to bring it up, at least not until our 50th wedding anniversary. The last time, we were spooning...I literally farted ON him. I'm so disgusting sometimes.

BUT whatever the reason, I have been lucky enough to find my soulmate, my Mr. Darcy, my Rhett Butler. And ladies, he may not be perfect but he's pretty damn close. Prove it you say? Fine. Here's the text he sent me this morning: You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. I couldn't ask for a more perfect girlfriend. Every day I find myself more in love with you and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know exactly how special you are to me. I love you forever Beautiful.

See? I told you :)

Expectation is the root of all evil.

Ever had high expectations only to have them come crashing down? I have found it is best to go into situations with no expectations. I'm not talking about having LOW expectations, I'm saying its best to have NO expectations. I'm sure you're thinking to yourself, "Wow, this lady is depressing, what a downer, I'm need to stop reading this bullshit and switch on The Big Bang Theory." Okay, well, you should 1) definitely switch on The Big Bang Theory because that show is phenomenal and 2) hear me out.

When you have a 3 year old (or a toddler in general) it is best to have no expectations but plenty of contingency plans. Regardless of how many times you tell yourself as a parent, "It won't turn out the way I want it to," you cannot help but imagine the most perfect scenario. Here is an ideal example that happened this weekend: I scheduled professional pictures for my son who turned three October 16. I debated over whether or not to do it as I have a very nice Canon camera and take roughly 500 pictures PER MONTH of my son, some good others I erase-the beauty of digital photography right? BUT Matt convinced me that we should plus a great local photographer was recommended who was uber cheap who would also take pictures of the three of us for no extra charge. We set the date. I picked out clothes for all three of us, including buying new clothes for my son and myself. I spent HOURS on Pinterest (I'm going to naturally assume you know what Pinterest is because if you don't...well, you're strange) looking up and repinning toddler photos and family photos, searching for adorable and unique poses. I was IMMENSELY prepared for Sunday's photo session. Clearly, the best mom ever. EVER. So what could possibly go wrong?

First, it sleeted. Sleet in ND (where I'm living) consists of rain that isn't really rain but more along the lines of chips of ice falling from the sky. It was also 40 degrees. Why did the weather matter? We were shooting outside! At a park. Thankfully, for the hour we shot, it stopped sleeting AND cleared up in the sky. Perfection. Second, my son acted like a little shi----um, turd. He did not want his picture taken. He would not even look at the photographer let alone talk to her. He would not sit on her adorable little blue chair. Even after we bribed him with M&M's he wasn't cooperative. It took about 30 M&Ms and  20 minutes of family shots before he would let her shoot him on his own and even then she had to shoot incredibly fast as he wouldn't sit still. All those poses I looked up? Forget about them, we were lucky to have him even look at the camera.

The photos will be ready in 2-3 weeks. I'm hoping for one good close-up of him, one full-length of him and one good family. That's three good shots out of an hour long shoot. Now do you understand why I think it's best to have no expectations? At least while you're children are young...once they get older, you definitely need expectations. I think. I don't know. We'll have to wait and see. All I know right now for sure? Always ALWAYS bring M&Ms. That's just a give-in.

We Accept the Love We Think We Deserve

The first time I asked myself, "What have I done to deserve this?" I was in sixth grade. I was at recess and we were playing tag. I was never a fast kid and I was out of shape, kind of chubby (my parents owned the local Dairy Queen so that really should explain it all) so I had a tendency to ALWAYS be "it" and NEVER be capable of tagging ANYONE. It was lunch recess, I was standing there, being "it", and the group of girls who were my friends, but not really because they were uber mean to me as only 6th grade girls can be, stood in a line and stared at me, daring me to tag them with their eyes, knowing I could never catch them. I put my face in my hands and dramatically thought, "What have I done to deserve this?"
I would think that line many more times over the years. I would think it in seventh and eighth grade when that same group of girls multiplied by more even meaner girls who made my life a living Hell. A person really doesn't know what "vicious" is until they have meet a junior high girl with a vendetta.
I would think it again and again in high school as my heart was repeatedly broken. I always thought about it dramatically, I may have a touch or a flair for the theatrics, and with a deep sigh and wonder, "WHY ME?" Unfortunately, the times would come when I would think it sincerely, with a dropped head, a tear on my cheek and a heavy heart. These times happened when I would get made fun of at the Student Council convention by my high school's entire student council; the numerous times I got rejected for dances; the three years I spent without a boyfriend or being made fun of by the boys in my high school; the first two years when I shared the high school with my older brother and apparently could do nothing but embarrass him on a daily basis; the countless times I struggled with my depression and anxiety, my anorexia and bulimia.
College consisted of the same thing: dramatically asking myself "What have I done to deserve this?" while puking during a massive hangover to asking myself while I sobbed uncontrollably at all hours, trying to figure out what was "wrong with me" or "why couldn't I get my life together".
During all this time, I never thought "clearly I deserve this" (although looking back clearly sometimes I brought situations on myself). I never thought I deserved something, I never thought I deserved these bad things or situations. I always believed that I was being unfairly punished, that I didn't deserve my depression/anxiety (I still don't, by the way) or the boys being mean to me or the classes I didn't pass (well, it happens when you don't go to class) or the teachers who didn't like me (also happens when you don't go to class).
Recently, within the last 6 months, I have been asking myself this question yet again. "What have I done to deserve this?" but now, it was for a positive thing. I have been fortunate enough to meet the man of my dreams, my soul mate, my other half. I am become blissfully happy in this aspect. My son has the most wonderful role model and male-figure in his life. I have someone with whom I can laugh, love and share the daily joys and despairs of life. So now I am asking myself,  yet again, "What have I done to deserve this?" Definitely my son deserves this  but why me? Why do I deserve to be incredibly happy? What have I done to deserve to fall head over heels in love? Whenever I slip into the crook of his arm, the place that was clearly carved out especially to fit me, I think how lucky I am but WHY?
Do you find yourself questioning what you have in your life? Do you question the good along with the bad? Do you wonder why you have a fabulous son but a crazy mother? Or do you just sit back and handle it all? Are you one of those who thinks there is an ultimate plan for life? That Fate exists? Or that everything happens for a reason? I don't know what I believe but I know what I DON'T believe. I don't think there is an ultimate plan, I like to think that I am in charge of my destiny. I like to think that Matt and I met at the right place at the right time. I honestly don't know what I have done to deserve such a loving relationship but I will take it and not for granted. I will work at it every damn day and I will work at being a good mother every day, too. I will love my son and my boyfriend with every fiber of my being and try to be the best person I can be, not only for their sakes' but for mine as well.
Maybe I should stop asking, "What have I done to deserve this?" and instead ask, "What can I do to hold on  to the good?" and "What needs to change and how can I change it?" Nothing lasts, I truly believe that, but that doesn't mean that things will get shitty, they might, but it also means that things can evolve, can grow, can get better. My education can get better, I can start showing up to class, can start doing my readings, get my ass in gear. My son will continue to grow, will test limits, will drive me crazy, will astound me and will make my heart grow beyond its limits. Matt will continue to show me what it means to be a woman, a girlfriend, will help me be a mother and a human being.
In his book The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chomsky writes "We accept the love we think we deserve." I don't know if I agree with this, I think we are given love others think we deserve and we learn to live up to it. We see how they love us, we see how they see us, at least in part, and we want to be that person, we want to be as good as they see us. I want to be the woman my son thinks I am, I want to be the woman Matt believes I am. Do I deserve to be that woman? Maybe not, but they sure as Hell deserve a woman that good and that woman is going to be me.

Not All Who Are Lost Wander...

I am 27 years old. I still do not know what I want to do with my life. I hate when people say to me, "That's okay! I know plenty of people who are 30, 40 or even 50 years old who don't know what they want to do!" And my response is always, "Oh, and are they happy? Were they happy working a meaningless job for 10+ years trying to figure out what the Hell they wanted to do? How'd that work out for them? How's their quality of life?"
When I was younger, I wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice. I wanted to be this only because I found out they couldn't get fired. Once I learned I had to first become a lawyer, I was done with that dream. For a long time after, I wanted to a pediatric cardio surgeon. I saw a special on TLC one day and decided that that was for me. Then I got to jr. high and had biology and learned that I don't handle slicing and dicing too well, in fact I have a very poor gag reflex so there went that dream. Over the course of the next few years I threw around novelist, journalist, actress, lobbyist, interpreter until I finally had a "calling". I was going to be a Pastor for the Lutheran church.
What happened to that dream was this...I was really involved in my church youth group, to the point of being on a national board. I had a problem with alcohol however and got drunk at one of our national meetings. The board booted me off (at the age of 19), and I blamed the church. How could they, after all, preach forgiveness but not keep me on the board? At the time, I didn't understand that they could forgive me but not excuse my actions. Being young and being naive often go hand-in-hand. I stepped away from the church at that point and got lost in a monumental way.
I used to believe that you needed to get lost in order to find yourself. That was my motto throughout my college years...the first time I went to college that is. I thought that if I went to a big, huge, super large university, I could lose myself within the throngs of people, the Intro to Psych class that had 800 students (seriously), the 65,000+ students on campus could help me lose who I was. The thing was, they did, the campus succeeded, I succeeded, I completely and utterly lost myself and forgot who I was, what I stood for, what I believed in and what I wanted to do with my life. I forgot that in losing myself, I needed to find myself. I thought that my college years should be spend defining who I was, making grand epiphanies about myself and my life. I thought I would lose myself and create a better, 2.0 version of the girl who had graduate high school.  What I didn't realize at the time was that it is impossible to find yourself but it is quite easy to lose yourself.
Most people who are lost are lost within themselves. They are lost to depression, drugs, alcohol, or some other disease that lives inside of them like a parasite. People wander around inside of their heads, second guessing themselves, doubting themselves, not loving themselves, not living up to their potential, just wallowing in a shadow of who they really could be. These people do not need to "find themselves" nor do they need someone to "save them" though they do need someone beside them as they rediscover who they are, as they reinvent themselves, recreate themselves. You can never go back to you who were before you stepped off the path, before you dropped in the abyss, but you can always always always begin again. And that's what I did. That's what I had to do. It was either that or die of alcoholism.
Once I gave up the booze, I thought I got my life together. I haven't lost sight of who I am but recently, I've been wondering if who I decided who I want to be is really who I should be. I choose to pursue a degree in teaching. At first I wanted to teach English, then History AND English, now just History. Now I am doubting that as well. I wonder if I chose to be a teacher or if I just picked it because that's what people told me I'd be good at and I just wanted to finish school. If I could, would I still be an actress? Or maybe a baker? A chef? Or an editor? Or could I still write that novel? Or a children's book? Or a child's psychologist?
I talked to my significant other about it and he commented, "I don't think you ever really know what you want to do until you start doing it." I love him to death but we are different people. I do not think he is a dreamer, an artist. I want to be passionate about my work, I want to wake up in the morning, most mornings at least, dying to go to work. I don't want work to be something I do for money, I want it to be something I do to change lives, to make me happy, a way of making a mark on this world.
I like to believe, to hope, that I am not being unrealistic or naive, that I am being optimistic and that one day I will look back and think, "Thank God I did not settle, thank God I chased after a dream I couldn't see but knew I had to reach." But will that happen? Or will I merely look back and think, "Shit I wasted a lot of time and money" ?
I want to believe I am not lost, not again, I want to believe instead that I am simply spinning in circles, a campus frantically trying to find its way North. In the meantime, I have no motivation, no drive, no passion to do anything academically and I wonder, am I depressed? am I starting to lose myself? am I being nibbled on by a parasite waiting to devour me yet again? Or am I just tired of having no desire, of being unsure of what I want? Regardless, I am scared, scared of myself, of the parasite I know is always lurking, and mostly, scared of time, for it never lasts.