Victory

Three o'clock, and I'm sitting at Sugarhouse Coffee after just having finished one of my finals. The last three or so weeks have been crazy what with papers due and finals to prepare for, and I've hardly had time to do much of anything, let alone plan for Christmas. We did however put up our Christmas tree just a few days after Thanksgiving. We normally put it up the day after, but this year we both had to work and were thus unable to do so. Combined with the change in living circumstances, we've had to make a number of alterations to our shaping family traditions. But we're pretty flexible as far as all that stuff goes, so it's really no big deal.

I sit here typing this post while everyone else around me appears to be cramming for their own exams. I think it's interesting that everyone should wait until the end of the semester to utilize a local coffee shop for preparatory purposes. I've been here a number of times already this semester, usually reading some assignment for class or even just taking a break before I go into work. There was very rarely anyone else here, but now nearly every seat is filled. I just want to go around and ask, "What the hell have you been doing all semester?" Because I was here working my ass off all along, and still, that might not even be enough to get by this semester

But getting by is not enough for me. I WILL get by. I WILL pass my courses. I know this because I have put the work into it. What I struggle with is the idea that I might not get as good of grades this semester. As if it wasn't enough that I'm already working two jobs on top of full-time school status and having a family. What more could I possibly ask myself, I constantly ponder. Isn't it enough? All of this? And, even if you should struggle, it should be expected, right? It should be expected that things can't be perfect...

It's been a rough semester this semester. I'm taking all upper division courses that require a lot more work than any of the classes I've taken in the last two years (it really has been two years since I started again). I don't know how many books I've read, how many thousands of pages it's been since the beginning of the semester. I remember my papers, although I wish that I didn't. And I remember all the time that I've spent away from home, away from my own family. Wandering around on campus, listening to my music. Driving around between classes to fill up the time. Always, always feeling as if the semester could never come to an end, and even if it should, I would surely not make it.

Yes, those are the thoughts that I've had this semester. That this semester might just be the death of me. And yet, somewhere in the back of my head, there persists the thought that no, I'll make it through the semester just fine without any significant bruising. And now I'm practically there. I can still feel a pulse in this now delicate frame of a body. Depression takes its toll in the form of pounds. Pounds and pounds of happiness. You shed your happiness as you become depressed until there's little evidence of anything else. Although, it's also nice because you've lost all that weight you've been saying you wanted to.

Emaciation. I look at my face in my pictures, and this is what I see. I see the toll the semester has taken on me. I see the struggle I have put up with, and I ask myself, again and again, was it worth it? I have to ask myself this question in order to be able to justify any of it. Is an English degree worth it? And what in the hell are you going to do once you accomplish it? The only answer I have though is one of a feeling of affirmation which may only prove itself in time. As the months pass quickly by and Colette gets bigger and bigger. Time will only tell if abandoning what is, by all means, the practical path in life for the less practical.

My boss did ask me this question this semester: is that practical? Is what practical? Is anything practical? Is living practical? Is that a judgment? Do you mean to belittle me?

Frustration mounts with the world, with circumstances that are beyond my control. And I have to watch as everyone around me watches me cave under the pressure. There's no way to express my comprehension of the situation. There is only the feeling of being caught up in it. And then afterward, when once more I've regained my sanity, I perceive this other reflection of myself. And I see myself as something I never wanted to be.

It's amazing how all of this pours out of me once I begin to sense a light at the end of the tunnel, once I begin to feel again that I can breathe. Yet I understand this not as a kind of release. I've been releasing my frustration on the world all semester. Instead, I think of this merely as a kind of communication. I see what you see. You see what I see. We are of an understanding now, and I can once more progress down this ridiculous path I've designed for myself. It's my way of saying, "You see? I'm okay. No need to worry about me." And I say that both to you and to me.

There are some things to look forward to in the next three weeks. There is, of course, Christmas. I look forward to spending Christmas Eve with my family, curling up in our bed together with the smell of the tree permeating the room, with perhaps a Christmas movie playing on the TV. I look forward to Christmas morning when Eric and I wake Colette (these are still the years that we can do that) to open her Christmas presents, eager parents waiting to observe the expressions of delight on their sweet daughter's face as she tears through her presents. I look forward to the times we spend with each of our families, to the sitting around the Christmas tree feeling nothing but contentment. I look forward even to the drives in the snow should we have to take them.

I look forward as well to the long drive we will take to Washington the first week of January. It is a drive that could not come soon enough. I want to see the landscape in movement again. I want to notice a change of scenery. I want to sit in the same car for hours on end with my family. With my husband and my daughter. Singing and laughing. I imagine a smile on my face as we drive along and can already almost feel the edges of my mouth turning up at the thought of it. I long for the time that I can wholeheartedly say again, "I am happy."

Comments

[Jenny]

What an astounding accomplishment to be not only surviving, but THRIVING after such a hectic semester. Maybe it doesn't feel like you're thriving... but you still have your health, your family, and your love for your family... and lots of times those are the things people lose when life gets crazy. :)

My heart just pounds for you reading this. I am excited for you and Eric to get to escape next month to the woods. :)