People that work with me can't make sense of this fear I have. I've had so many jobs in this company and have convinced people that I knew what I was doing in every single one (convinced being the key word). School is different. The fact that my future could be based on what one person thinks of my work, instead of a collective. With writing, there's always another publisher you can go to. With work, I can't remember ever having had only one supervisor, so there were always options. With academia, it is really up to that one damn person in each class that you take. Unfortunately, I tend to disagree with that one person more often than not. It would help if I were a little more quiet about it, but then I wouldn't be me, now would I?
My father has tried to convince me to discipline myself, to follow in my brother's footsteps a little (Jason is now a linguist in the Army, by the way, he's learning Arabic). As much as I love my big brother, we both know I'm nothing like him. It's probably one of the reasons we get along so well. I admire him, of course, but have no intention of turning into him. What's funny about this is that I learned my stubborn idealism from my father. He is the one who always used to say, "I don't care how it is, this is how it SHOULD be." He would rage on until he either changed the system or wore himself out. It's that sense of unfairness in the world that he ingrained in my heart, my brain, my spirit. Dangerous only to me, it seems.
Still, I go back on the 15th for a Psychology class and then the following Monday for Art History. Whether I like/get along with the teachers or not (include the students in that), I have to do well. It's the only way I'm going to move on and I am sick of being stagnant. I love the company I work for, but not for the company itself, but the people I've met by working here. I cannot stay here forever and education is my chosen path out.
So you'd think I've calmed down a bit, a little less stressed about it. But no, instead I've broken out into rash because of it. Luckily, it's not visible. And through this experience I've come to realize something: Benadryl when taken on an empty stomach is very much like too much vicadin. I become spaghetti and giggly and can't sleep. It's hilarious and torturous at the same time.
Someone buy this girl a drink.