Bite, Chew, Swallow

When we were kids, my brother and I loved going out to eat with my parents. Both of us would order a plate of food or combo meal, depending on where we were eating, but Sean always had trouble finishing his. He was a skinny kid up until his teen years, but his appetite was always big. No matter how many times our mother warned him not to order too much food, Sean always ordered too much food. Wrapped halves of burgers and soggy French fries were a staple of our dog’s diet in those days.

I had a big appetite as well, but as my brother never knew when he ordered too much, I never knew when I had eaten enough. I ate everything on the plate. I ate past the point of being full and would inevitably spend the rest of the evening immobilized in a food-induced stupor. Of course this failure to recognize my limits translated into a weight problem that plagues me to this day and affects other parts of my life, because somewhere along the line I evolved into a control freak.

I need to be in charge of every part of my life. I like to plan and prepare. I’m impatient and twitchy about the things I want to do and a severe procrastinator when it comes to the things I don’t. I’m a complex woman, you see, but I’m also a little lost. I haven’t quite figured out where I belong. I want to write. I love to write, but how does one make a living writing? How do I figure this out?

One of the perks of working for the university is free tuition. Free tuition to help me figure out how to make a living as a writer, work on my grammar and punctuation (because, let’s face it, Strunk & White would have a field day with me), and learn how to market myself in such a way that I continue to work as a writer. I’m allowed to take as many classes per semester as I can reasonably handle. I thought I could handle three. I had the rest of my education planned out. Finish a second major over the course of the next three semesters, take time out to have a child, then on to my master’s.

Right.

I haven’t taken more than one class per semester since I graduated. I never attempted more than two classes at a time while also working full time. I thought I could handle three. I was sure of it. They were undergrad classes for crying out loud! But I had to admit defeat after only the first week. There was no way I was going to take on that much work and still do my best. Corners would have to be cut, sacrifices made. I could already tell what part of my life was going to suffer when Nathan asked, “What about me? Where do I fit in?”

“You’re not due tomorrow,” I said.

“I’d say I’m over due,“ he replied.

Hmm….

I know there are women who can do it. I work with one. She has two kids, one just over a year-old. She’s pursuing her master’s and gave birth to her son at the same time she was taking a summer class. I think she only missed one session of that class, even though she suffered from a horrible spinal headache from the epidural.

Why can’t I be this woman?

Because I’m me. I’m the me who likes to goof around with her husband. I’m the one who likes to be lazy once in awhile and who likes to have the feeling that things are under control. So I dropped a class and won’t be finishing up that second major next year. It’s all up in the air right now. The control freak in me is a little freaked.