Perpetual Smile

How can you not wake up in a good mood when, the night before, your team made a comeback in merely seconds to beat their biggest rival? Even though I woke up exhausted from staying up late watching said game and then celebrating afterward, I bounced into work with an energy that no one else had. (Literally; my boss is a Patriots fan and my co-worker is recovering from the flu.)

After work, I dragged Mike with meMike came with me to the rheumatologist, which sucked a little because I ended up being late and I couldn’t pay my copay because I am so horribly broke. I made a promise to bring them a check on Friday (AKA Pay Day; biweekly pay SUCKS), and then sat down to wait. While we waited, he flipped through an old issue of Sports Illustrated with Tom Brady on the cover and I edited some of my novel. We laughed at Tom Brady, especially because the cover said something about how awesome the Patriots are (but really, they lost to the Colts Sunday night, mwahahaha). I kept editing, he occasionally found himself accidentally watching General Hospital (it was on TV in the waiting room), I confessed my childhood crush on both Maurice Bernard (Sonny on GH) and Steve Burton (Jason on GH), traumatizing Michael forever.

Miraculously, even though I was late, I actually got in pretty quickly. Usually I have to wait forever to get in to see Dr. Greco. He did the same routine as always: asked me where the pain is, checked the fibromyalgia points and got nothing, talked about my symptoms, and then we moved on to the different doctors I’ve seen and he also asked me how the Cymbalta worked for me.

“It kept me up. For four days in a row. And I was all jittery and hyper. So I stopped taking it, ’cause I needed some sleep,” I said, afraid that he might tell me I needed to keep taking it. I prepared myself to argue.

Instead, he just said, “okay” and we talked about the other medications I’ve tried. The only one that hasn’t made me crazy and does slightly work is Tramadol — but it makes me HIGH. Like, so totally stoned. I cannot stress enough how HIGH it makes me. (It’s kind of awesome because it’s relaxing, but kinda not awesome because I’m only good for sitting around and watching DVDs or TV, or sleeping. I feel like I’ve said this before.)

Anyway, he asked me to call all of my doctors to get all of my records transferred to him. Then he wrote fibromyalgia on my paperwork for yesterday. “I’m gonna write fibromyalgia here, even though that’s not what you’ve got,” he said. I didn’t argue it, even though I so desperately want a real diagnosis, not a stand in. He said that I’m harder than an episode of House, and that this is going to take some detective work. I said that every doctor I’ve seen has dropped me or handed me off to someone else, and he said that he’s not going to do that, that he’s going to do the detective work.

Mike and I left the office and medical building shortly after. I asked him if he minded going to Southern with me so that I could sell my textbooks, and we went. I ended up getting $198 for them, which is good considering I paid about $300, maybe $400 altogether. I even sold the Praxis workbook I’d bought at Barnes and Noble; their return policy is fourteen days, and it’d been well past two weeks when I dropped out of school. I got $2 back for it, which is better than nothing.

As we got closer to his house on the way back, I asked him what he wanted to do next. Even though we’d spent the afternoon running around, I liked being with him. My novel called, but I also didn’t want to leave his side just yet. It’s rare that we get any kind of alone time together, since we both have big families and live in crowded little houses. We decided to go to Olive Garden, because we both craved pasta and I had the extra cash. We had a funny waiter and got the chance to just relax and hang out. We talked about our grandparents and our favorite childhood memories, and our waiter made fun of me because I couldn’t finish my dinner after soup and bread.

After eating, we were both exhausted so I dropped him off and went home to take a shower and do some writing. I didn’t do a lot of writing. (I forgot to post the daily toll last night, too, so I’ll try to remember to post it later.)

I had a good day, though, and hope today will be another good day (and more productive with my writing)!

I’m not sure.

I love Southern. I loved being a part of it. The campus is beautiful, and the Student Lounge (complete with Starbucks coffee) is my favorite place. I loved sitting at a table or on a couch in there, reading, doing homework, writing, or just relaxing for a few minutes before moving on. I loved walking around the campus and enjoyed its beauty during each season: warm and open in the summer, colorful and vibrant in the fall. (I haven’t seen it during the winter or spring yet, though I did see it at the end of winter.)

I loved having a major, and used that major as my sole purpose. “I’m an Elementary Education and English major,” I would proudly tell people. I had never even been sure exactly what that meant. Really, it was more of a challenge for me. Yes, I love kids, and I loved working with them during my field placement, but I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to be a teacher. The doubt just kept creeping in.

Not only that, but I also couldn’t seem to fit in. I have always had a hard time making and keeping friends. I like to think that I’m a great friend, that I am a fun person to be around. Still, I can’t seem to fit in. The closest I have ever gotten to fitting in was my Creative Writing class in my last semester of community college. Those people understood me, and we meshed perfectly together. I also fit in perfectly with Mike, and usually fit in with both of our families (though there are some times when I doubt even that). It’s a hard thing for me to admit, but there it is.

Girls who I thought liked me at Southern turned out to just be using me as a stepping stone. I fell so far in love with the idea of having a friend there that I tried to overlook the bullshit, but in the end it came down to the brutal realization that I was two months in and still hadn’t formed any kind of real friendships. I admitted to myself that I did not fit in with any of the other people in my program. Some of them were nice, but quite a few of them were smug and treated me like I was stupid. (I suspect this is because I don’t have a background in child education; I got my A.S. in Multimedia/Web Authoring, while they got their Associate’s in Early Childhood Education.) I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. I tried to just ignore it and do what I had to do, but it got awfully exhausting floating from one class to the next, passing by everyone else like a ghost.

In my English class, however, I fit in much better. There were a few English majors and a few other people pretty similar to my personality type. I had fun.

So last night, while talking to a friend I hadn’t seen since high school, I said that I thought I might start over again in the spring. I said that I thought I might just go for Creative Writing, like I had originally planned. As I lay in bed last night, I thought about it a little more. I would have to take ENG-112 once again. I would have to go through the whole registration process all over again. And will I still be dealing with the same health problems in spring? Will I have them under control through diagnosis and medication, or will they be worse, still undiagnosed?

If I were to not go back this spring, I would have to call my student loans bank and arrange to start paying off my loans. If I did go back, I wouldn’t have to pay them off until after I graduate.

What it all comes down to is, I’m not sure. Usually if I’m not sure about something, I just don’t do it (or buy it, or eat it). I don’t like to agonize over making the decision, and yet I do.

In the meantime, I’m really enjoying writing this book right now and I can see myself getting that B.A. in English for Creative Writing. I would enjoy it. It would be hard, but it wouldn’t be agonizing like Elementary Education was. (I didn’t want it bad enough to put up with the stress.)

Mike urges me to find out what’s wrong with me first, but of course my spontaneous ass wants to jump right back into it. I guess right now I just need to RELAX and focus on what is in front of me: appointments with the rheumatologist, writing a book, building websites, and figuring out how to afford presents for everyone this season.

I’m back to square one. I’ve come full circle. Tonight I’ve realized that I need to change some of the things I’ve been doing. I just don’t know what, or how. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to make the wrong decision. I can’t think without it feeling like there’s a hole in my chest.

Girls’ night was canceled tonight. Sandy had to take Kay to the ER. I guess the kids were playing and Tamra accidentally poked her in the eye. Apparently it didn’t look so good. Poor Kay.

So instead I went out and ran errands with my mom and Lauren. We stopped at Blockbuster and I rented Knocked Up and The Other Boleyn Girl. Knocked Up was great. It made me realize I don’t want to have kids for another hundred years. My dad even watched it with us. We had KFC for dinner and it felt like we were a family. Tonight was really nice. Tomorrow we’re going to Lake Compounce. I’m going to have to wear contacts. Blegh. I guess you can’t wear glasses on a coaster.

I’m feeling really good about my decision to go to Southern in the spring. I’m not even worried about the financial aspect of it, because I’m positive I’ll still be able to get the FAFSA and go to school for free. Plus I’ll still get my mom’s health insurance, so if I go utterly crazy anytime soon I won’t have to pay too much for the psychiatric care.

I’m on the third Twilight Saga book, Eclipse. You know, the one I bought by mistake ’cause I thought it was the second one.

I’ve been thinking since I talked to Nikki on Monday. We talked about school, and how she goes to Southern. She’s an English major there, and highly recommended the department. So it got me thinking.

I went online and looked at their programs, and they have a concentration in Creative Writing. It would probably be easy to transfer, too, since some of the requirements look the same as some of the classes I’ve taken at NVCC. New Haven is only thirty minutes away (I’d have to leave early, knowing my habits of perpetual lateness) and I could still live at home. I could probably get financial aid–see if FAFSA will still hook me up–and I could keep my job and still work part time.

Of course, that kills the plans of moving into my own place. And I’d have to have a reliable car if I’m going to be driving that far every day.

I was going to use the leftovers from this year’s FAFSA grant and buy that reliable car. If I want to go to Southern, I should get started as soon as possible–like, the spring semester. There goes that car. I could still save up for said car, but there goes any trips or the possibility of an apartment. Poof. Gone.

But Creative Writing. I would be going to school to read and write. What in the world could be better than that? (An apartment.) Besides, this gives me something to focus on after I have my Associate’s. I still have something to do. It won’t actually be like school, because I’ll be taking classes on how to write novels, short stories, plays and poetry. (Unless they make me take more math or some kind of science. BLEGH.)

Did I mention they have a literary magazine? NVCC has the once-a-year Fresh Ink. (I’m not too modest to admit that I won this year’s writing contest. “Moon Prayer” was published and won first place.) I could be on the staff for Folio and work at getting stuff published.

I love web design, but the more I think about it I want my full-time career to be in writing. Sure, web design will make a great side business. I can do both. I can do anything I want.

For the first time, I’m actually sure about something. I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me! I was really stressed out about this. Now I’m going to call Southern when I get home from work and talk with them about their Creative Writing program and transferring in the spring. I can save up for a better car between now and then, and the rest of this year’s FAFSA can go to the spring semester.

I think I’m going to cry, I’m so relieved.