inlikeflynn

"Once you're out of college, you can't use 'I'm a college student' to describe yourself to people, anymore. All you have left is 'I'm a ________'"
- Emily

I was in the office kitchen just now, cutting olives for my salad and constructing a provocative discourse in my head on the nature of change and why I may actually be afraid to graduate, when I was interrupted mid-thought by Jim's little boy, Austin. He'd followed me in from the cubes - I suppose because Rodney is never terribly interested in looking at his pictures of the Human Torch - and was watching over my shoulder.

"Yeah, you shouldn't do that," he said.
"Shouldn't do what?" I asked.
"Cut olives. You should leave them whole. It... preve- no, it preserves the flavor. Of the olives. And tomatoes."
I stopped him microwaving a personnel cell phone he'd found at an empty desk and started myself a cup of chai tea.
"Where'd you learn that?" I asked him. (And, incidentally, if any of you can verify this information, I'd be interested.)
"A man came to speak for our Home Ec class last week. He told us," he said.

Austin told me all about how he was class clown and had worn his clothes inside out and backwards one day. He showed me how he could squeeze his dad's wrist tension exercise machine all the way down so that the grips were touching. He asked me how long I'd worked here in the office, and I asked him whether or not he came in all the time because he was interested in doing what his father does. He told me that no, he didn't really know what he wanted to do, that he was in 6th grade, and that he thought I was 28.

That brought me back. And provided me with a decent tie-in, too, because I had planned to mention that one evening, when I was about his age, I closed myself up in my grandmother's spare bedroom and sat for an entire afternoon in the dark.

My mother, who had in the meanwhile launched a full-scale federal investigation to discover where I'd got off to, finally found me there, half-hysterical, and we had a long talk about how afraid I was to go to high school. I was afraid because once I was in high school, I'd have to start thinking about where I wanted to go to college, and once I was in college, I'd have to take classes and determine what I wanted to do with my life, and once I had figured that out, I'd have to graduate and then I'd be on my own - running errands, doing chores, paying bills - and I'd be a grown-up. And from there, a family, and from there, savings and school for the children, and on and on until I was old and sad, like so many of my grandparents' friends, sitting down and playing with various grandchildren until my back complained and then crying when they'd all gone. Crying for my friends who'd moved away, or were sick, or dead, and crying because soon I would need someone to take care of me, as if I, myself, were an infant again. And then, eventually, I would die, and that would be it. I wasn't sure about my atheism at that age, but I had inklings. It scared me. It still does. It seemed like a long, hard, lonely process with an abrupt end that didn't make any sense. It made me feel as though I needed to do something huge and important and influential, something to leave behind for people to appreciate. Not having the slightest idea what that would be made me very, very nervous. I was only able to articulate a small part of that for my mother, but she gave me a hug when I was done, and told me that I still had a long way to go; that I still had middle school to get through, and high school, and that I had plenty of time to work things out in my own way. That helped. Mom's always been good at that.



I had a flare-up again today on my way to pick up my grad check results from the Arts & Sciences building. I have only 9 more credits to take here at University. One history of philosophy course for my minor, and 2 required 4000 level writing workshops. I've got the history lined up for this semester, but I have to wait until spring to take the 4000s. My plan had been to graduate after fall and get a job with International Programs to take me back to London. I'd like to spend some time there working and writing and see where that takes me. That's still the plan, of course (shifted back one semester, and possibly the summer, as well) but that's as far as has been charted, and it's only another 2 years, maximum. This new development buys me one more. The 4000s filling up early isn't my fault, of course, but I'm beginning to wonder whether some part of me is purposely putting off graduating. I'm getting dangerously close to the edge of the known world, and the big blank space that I'm supposed to fill in is starting to freak me out.