And I can make too. But for the record, we’re not talking thin vs. thick crust. Although thin always wins out, always. And in boxers vs briefs, after a whole first marriage of boxers now the second time around it’s briefs FTW. Likewise, in the battle over paper vs. plastic, it’s plastic, although I’d feel less guilt if I went with paper but those plastic bags get recycled for several lifetimes so maybe that balances out? And in the most important decision – Godzilla vs. Mothra – everybody with two braincells knows it’s Godzilla. Because, really, what other choice is there? It has to be Giant Radioactive Lizard FTW!!! But these aren’t the decisions I’m making. Sadly enough. Although I wish so much they were.
No, this decision is much harder. With an additional six month commitment attached. And I’m struggling. Boy am I struggling. Like a fat kid in the Kitchen, with a slice of cake on one side, and a pile of vegetables on the other. And although that might not seem like a tough decision, the missing fact is that the fat kid’s Mom told him right before she left that she raised him to make good decisions… oh, and that the cake might or might not have been accidentally sprayed with bug spray.
Just like that.
But the decision for me isn’t cake. Or vegetables. Or boxers. Or briefs. It’s far harder. It’s school. You see I am currently 30 hours away from Graduation. 30 hours. 10 classes. And the original plan was for me to finish in two semesters, Summer and Fall, going full-out 15 hours each. Ambitious? Yes. Aggressive? Yes. Doable? Yes… that is if having a life wasn’t a real priority, and it’s not really so yes, it was doable.
Until last week. Until my world fell apart. Until the other reason why I embarked on this crazy midlife education adventure left me for good.
And now I’m really struggling with focus and I’m really worrying about the idea of 15 hours of classes. I’m no longer feeling invincible. I’m feeling very human. And I’m feeling stuck in a decision I didn’t want to make. You see, I know the vegetables are best for me. And I know I should eat them fast, get it over with, and move forward. But I don’t know whether I can.
I just don’t know.
So right now I’m going to eat the vegetables, not the cake, but I’m going to eat them slower. Stretch them out. And that makes me hate vegetables even worse than before. Have you ever eaten the same Rutabaga – one bite at a time – over the space of a year?
I just want the vegetables gone. That’s what’s in my head and my heart. I just want this school thing to end. Give me the paper, tell me I did good, then let’s forget I was ever here. That’s what I’m feeling. But I’m also pragmatic enough to think that if I start the original plan and then fall apart I’ll have to retake those classes that I bombed in. And my GPA is sacred… I’ve worked so hard to repair it… I will be eaten up with teh failures if I don’t finish with a 3.5. Go ahead, laugh at me, but I am literally having nightmares at the thought of getting a C.
So with that thought looming in my head, I’m likely going to scale back and slow down a little bit this summer. In order to allow myself to deal with what has happened. Because if I don’t it will not turn out well. Not well at all. I need time. Time is my best friend. But I have to be patient enough to allow time to pass.
Newsflash: I am not a patient person.
And that slow down means that I’ll be adding on a full Semester in the Spring. And I won’t graduate until May, 2013. Can I just say that here, honestly, that I really don’t want that. But I don’t see many choices.
I need choices.
But I don’t see them. I see this. Loss. Failure. Missing her all of the time. Psst… these are not good choices. These are far worse than those vegetables. These are the cake. Frosted with buttercream and the possible hint of DDT. Oh so attractive on the outside. But it will kill you.
So please hold my hand as I make this decision. Because there’s no way to go backward once it’s made. I hope I choose correctly. But I’ve learned in the last ten days that there are no sure bets. No way other than the passage of time to know you’re doing the right thing. It’s all guesswork. All part of a celestial game of Darts, where you’re blindfolded and you pitch the dart, but only after you’ve been spun around about a million times. All you can do is hope for the best.
I’m hoping… as I make this decision.