Welp, I’m in full-blown grad school now.
I mean, I’m going to school part time and working full time. Which means this might not happen very often anymore… this here blahgging.
Or maybe it will. Maybe I’ll be procrastination [like right now] and blahgging instead of reading, designing, animating, recording, etc.
This has already been one of the more challenging things I’ve been a part of.
Daily I have to look at myself in the mirror and say, out loud, to myself…
– You’re a junkshow, but it’s a beautiful junkshow. You can do this. I promise.
I literally have to affirm myself out loud. And scribbled in my notes are tiny, tiny words… helping me get through…
Everything’s new. It’s just a hard thing to try. It’s a hard thing to learn. Learning to try. Trying to learn. It’s intimidating as hell. Putting yourself out there. Being exhausted.
Being the older, sweaty, awkward girl in class. [i broke a drawer in front of the whole class already… and the whole time it was happening i was nervously saying, “ohp, yep, it’s really broken… oh, it’s so broken… oh, i broke it… i’m the worst.”]
There is a theme of breaking in life right now. Breaking down. Breaking things. Taking breaks. It’s so nice to have the breaks. The breaks to connect.
Like when my momma called the other day just to tell me a story…
A three year old boy was with his mom walking in the clinic. The boy went for the stairs, to start walking down and his mom said…
– No, honey we’re not gonna take the stairs. Here, I want you to come push the button on the elevator.
He looked at her, and around, with hugely peaked interest and asked…
– What alligator?
I love it. I loved it. Mom said that he didn’t sound scared or confused, just very interested on where the alligator was and which button on it he should push.
And then there are the breaks where I again find myself watching youtube videos of kids on drugs after surgery:
I couldn’t help but laugh/cry at, “Oh, I don’t know how I’m doing, I’m just crying and watching soccer, and mom won’t get me Panda…”
The breaks where I get to go sit in a hot springs with a good friend and talk to some older guys from Boston. There was a shorter, smiley one who lived in Montana now and then his taller, quieter friend who was visiting from Boston. They were both hilarious, with the thickest accents, both drinking rum and cokes at 11am… which I might have then taken part in.
The smiley one says…
– We used to get in major trouble. I used to steal things, lots of things… mainly books.
– Ha, really?
– Yeah, but then I cleaned up and went to college, which was hard cuz I had dropped outta high school, but they let me in cuz I played basketball.
Seems fair enough. He continued…
– Yeah, and then I had this psych professor who was wicked cool, such a great guy and I ended up telling him about the books. And he said, “Well, have you ever thought about taking them back? Giving them back to where you took them from?” I had never thought of that and he thought it was a good idea, so I went and returned every one.
– Wow, that’s awesome.
– Yeah, my psych professor offered to help and drive me around town to return them, but that was before I told him I had around 200 books.
– Yep. And we drove around movin’ books all day… from place to place. But, well, I did keep one thing. You ever read Reader’s Digest? Remember the “Word Power”?
– Well, I tore every single one out and kept ’em. I still have ’em, but I gave back the rest of the magazines.
I loved that. Stealing books. And then years later, giving them back. But keeping pages.
– Yeah, we boys cleaned up. He over there, now he’s the head of the Gang Unit at the Boston Police Department.
– Wait, really? [i look over to his friend and say] I’m pretty sure they make movies about you.
His friend excitedly chimes in…
– Oh, they do! He gets Mark Wahlberg and Matt Damon comin’ to him and his boys learning how they talk and how they work. All them boys from The Departed and all those movies.
– That’s amazing! You hung out with Marky Mark and Matt Damon?
– Yeah, I just showed ’em a few things. We ended up drinkin’ beer in a cop car.
It was such a refreshing encounter. So intriguing. A break.
And then it was back to the books. Back to the computer screen. Looking hard.
Listening to this:
Crying at Rule 14: Don’t Give Up.
Because before, I would never admit it to myself, especially not this early in the game, but it’s there. It’s the deepest, darkest whisper. It’s there. The “just give up” voice. And it hurts the most.
But I won’t.
I can do this. I promise.