Waiting for Chris to finish up his school work then going to bed.
Well, today was my birthday. Twenty-three on the twenty-third. I kept telling everyone that it was going to be the best birthday ever, yet I seemed to forget that I actually hate birthdays, particularly my own. I don’t know why I do all the way. I think part of the issue is that bad things always happen on my birthday. Too many parties gone wrong, I think, with dramatic pre-teens. I remember when I turned 18, Chris was away in Woodbridge and I had nothing to do. Kimmy, Jason, and I got smoothies and then ate at Fuddruckers. I bought a dvd on The Beatles for myself and watched it. I also bought Chris a Bob Dylan biography because I learned in first grade that Native Americans would give presents away on their birthdays instead of receiving gifts. I think that is the year that I officially decided to begin hating my birthday and a big part of that might have been pouting over the fact that Chris and I were stuck three hours away from each other.
Today, though, I found myself having a mid-20’s crisis. I’m closer to 25 now than 20. I feel like I should be further along in life. I mean, I just bought a house and all, and I do have one Master’s degree, but I wish I had a “big kid” job. An adult job. Just one more year of this, I suppose.
That leads me to more questions. If I get another degree after this one is finished–and I’m rather sure I will–I don’t want to get it from Liberty. I’m thinking about other colleges in the area for an Ed.S. or Ed.D. Reading specialist? Guidance counseling? School library? Doctorate? These are all things that I consider. But, man, I am really kind of tired of going going going all the time. And I’d like to start a family eventually. Yet, at the same time, I’d like to be done with school by the time we start having kids. So how do all of my plans fit together? I don’t know and that is part of my mid-twenties crisis. When does school end anyway? And am I getting there fast enough? I feel behind, but then I remind myself that I got my B.A. in three years, my M.A. in the typical two, and this last one will take a year and a half at the most–maybe even just one year. I am making good progress.
After work, Chris and I went by the apartment to gather some more things left behind. We stood in the empty den, our voices echoing for the lack of pictures hanging on the walls, and we remembered. We remembered everything. The goose who lost her eggs in the rain and never came back to the pond. The all-nighter that we had all of our Poetics books laying on the floor, trying to piece our first semester of grad school together. The morning that friends stayed over until 4:00 am because we just lost track of time together. The thesis nightmare that stole every second of our lives for a month straight. The past two years in the apartment were amazing. Grad school was insane. Stressful beyond belief, agonizing at times, but certainly worth the pain for the sake of growth. We made it and I know I learned a ton that will be helpful as a teacher. I’ll miss that little place for the sake of memories, certainly. It has been home. So strange to see it emptied out in little boxes, taken to a new home, one more permanent with character.
And that was my birthday.
