Crisis?

Ohhhh, boyoboyoboyoboyoboy. I need to examine a lot of things, I think, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to do that with my husband. He’s not really much for talking about things, talking them out… he’s more of the “What’s the problem, OK, here are the issues, let’s resolve it” kind of guy. And until I get to that point, where I can actually identify what the heck my deal is, I don’t think I can talk to him about it.

I also don’t think I can talk to my mom about it either. God bless her, but she instantly assumes that either it’s something to do with her, or it’s something that she doesn’t want to hear and she gets upset and worried. I think she has in her mind an idealized version of me that she wants me to be, and as long as I don’t shatter that illusion, we’re all good. Which is fine with me – I can be who I wish I were with her, and figure myself out another way.

This strategy has benefited me in the past. Years ago, I was adrift like this and decided I might have to re-enroll in college. I’d dropped out when I was a senior. Frightening, how easy it is really. You just stop going. Nobody comes looking for you; nobody asks you when you’re coming back. I was even working for the damn college at the time. The end of the year came, and I didn’t have enough credits to graduate, and I just didn’t re-enroll. I remember thinking at the time that there had to be some sort of fail-safe there. That, just like when you’re living at home, and you’re about to do something irresponsible, someone will come along and say, “Hey, what are you doing? This is a bad idea. Here’s why.” You might not listen – hell, I never listened when my parents told me not to do something. In fact most of the time, I ended up doing it anyway. It was my first lesson in real life. You can just stop doing something, and unless you’ve formed emotional ties with someone in an administrative function, or even a close relationship with a professor, chances are, nobody’s going to question it. That struck me as weird, I remember.

So years go by, and I start mulling around the idea of going back to school. Stupidly, I mention this to my mother, who has been after me to go back ever since I dropped out. The look on her face when I tell her that I’m thinking of returning just kills me – all that hope, relief that maybe I’ve come around. I’d told bullshit lies before, it was sort of commonplace. Nothing that hurt anyone up to that point: “No, that bra looks fine – no 4-boob action going on at all!” “No, honey, it’s not you, he’s an asshole who doesn’t know what he’s giving up!” “Sure, I’d love to help you move out of your third-floor apartment in the middle of July… just call me when you’re ready,” and the follow-up when they call, “Oh, man… I have a thing that day! Oh, that sucks! I was looking forward to cleaning your non-air-conditioned apartment that was previously occupied by an elderly cat lady. Too bad…”

So lying? Not a big issue for me. Until the school lie –
“Oh hey, Mom! How’s it going?”
“Not so good. I’m having a bad day today. How are you?”
“Kind of excited, actually. I called the school to see what I had to do to enroll in classes and finish my degree.”

I don’t know why I did it, or what in the world I was thinking. It was like an autonomic nervous response. Rather that fight or flee, I lied my ass off. How that made any sense whatsoever, I’ll never know, unless it was the cosmos using my own weakness for my mom, coupled with my tendency to try and make people happy when they’re sad, against me. Either that, or I’m just an idiot.

And man, was she excited. And I immediately felt like shit, and like… well, like I described above. The internal conversation sort of went like this:


Brain: What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you insane?
Me: Look how happy she is!
Brain: So you’re going to go back to school then? Have you thought about how you’re going to afford this?
Me: I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Brain: Well, dumbass, you’re there right about now. Go ahead and cross, genius.
Me: I’ll get tuition reimbursement from work. And maybe I’ll only take one class and if that sucks or is too expensive, I’ll stop after that.
Brain: And where were you planning on getting the money for this, exactly? You can’t even pay your rent on time!
Me: uh…
Brain: And what are you going to tell your husband? Didn’t the bank just call last week and threaten to repo your car because you’re two months behind on payments?
Me: Ummmmm…
Brain: When were you going to go? Were you planning on quitting your job? They don’t offer those kinds of classes in the adult ed program. What if they don’t accept you because you dropped out? Your grades were pretty shitty when you last went, remember? Kinda the reason why you dropped out to begin with, wasn’t it?
Me: All right! Shut up! I know! This was stupid! Maybe I’ll just maintain the illusion for a little while and then let it drop.
Brain: Oh, that’s brilliant. I thought you did this because you wanted to make her happy. Now you’re going to just lie, not do anything, and then probably act all offended when she brings it up again, aren’t you? That’s terrific. What kind of an asshole are you, anyway? Nice.


Ultimately, I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t maintain the lie, and hope that the whole thing would blow over. Besides, maybe I didn’t want to. And it turned out that the universe aligned just right for me to be able to complete my degree. It wasn’t all magic – there were times I almost couldn’t sign up for classes because I had a bill due. Or the time that I had to borrow a 30-year-old copy of The Riverside Chaucer from another university’s library until I could afford my own $150 copy. (I’m never selling that goddamn book, either. Evie and Fia will have to figure out who gets that gem when I die.) There were the semesters when I had to go to independent study from 8am to 10:30am, and then go to work in Customer Service from 11am to 8pm. Which sucked – a whole lot. (But strangely, not as much as going to work from 8am to 5pm, and then having class from 5:30 to 10:30pm.)

So I’m not going to come to my mom with this soul-searching. It would freak her right out, and we’ve finally come to a point where we have the kind of relationship that I rely on. She’s supportive, don’t get me wrong, but we’ve come to an understanding that there are some things I might have done at one time or another, that I don’t necessarily want to relive with her. And I feel like I might need to relive some of my memories, because I think some of them might have contributed to the choices I’ve made.

I guess this might be a midlife crisis, but I don’t feel like I’m in crisis. To me, crisis would imply some level of distress, a feeling that I’m losing my grip, that everything is spiraling out of control. And I really, truly don’t feel that way. I’m a pretty happy person. I love my husband, I adore my kids, I don’t even really hate my job. My house is messy and needing repair, but it’s my home and I love it, cracked ceilings and drafts and unfinished rooms and all.

That’s it! My house is a symbol of my life! I’m going to need to delve into this next!


But first, since I last started writing this, I've a new reason to freak right the fuck out.  Turns out we owe an obscene amount to our daycare for the two lassies... and I have no. idea. where. that's. coming. from.  Yeah.  Now I'm in full-blown crisis mode.  I cooked my lunch for tomorrow, but couldn't eat any of it because I ate pretzels dipped in sour cream (probably revolting, but I've been eating it since I was a kid) and then the kid's chewy fruit snacks.  And then cheez doodles.  Cause eating a pile of disgusting junk food is bound to make everything better, right?  Hell.  At least since I already feel like throwing up, I'll have something interesting to look at as it's rocketing out of me.