Am now officially unemployed, and as this is the last day of OPT, am also officially unemployable. Cannot believe the year is up, and in some ways am thankful that the year is up. The circumstances of this employment almost seemed to make a mockery of the job, and all the more so because it was a job I actually loved. One good thing that has come of it is that I know now what I want to do with my life.
Will now spend the next three weeks packing, babysitting and working out. Yes, working out. Have made Johns swear on his new three-piece corduroy suit of which he is extremely proud that come hell or high water, he will drag me to the gym when he goes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Am shipping about 97% of worldly belongings home, and so far have packed the shoes and sorted out the clothes.
The ICCA Mid-Atlantic Quarterfinal Round 1 (have just discovered that the Quarterfinal links can actually be clicked on) is this Saturday at Pennsylvania State University. Will be leaving Buffalo at about noon — though, knowing most of the Pitches, will probably end up leaving late again — and will come back as early as possible on Sunday morning. Am not looking forward to the four-hour drive, but fortunately this time have made a pact with Maddi, Aziza, Lila and Shaina for them to go in my car so that will not have to put up with anyone else’s backseat road rage.
“Denial. It’s not just a river in Egypt. It’s a freaking ocean.” – Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy
In the most typical method of birth control, one pill a day is taken for 21 days, and then life is dictated by Aunt Flo some time in the next 7 days; the phase of a woman’s life that has always come and gone as it pleased can now be fully controlled from every 28 days to every four months, until it can no longer be put off. The same can be said about going through a transitional phase in life; we know it’s coming, but we choose not to think or do anything about it until it’s ready to slam into our faces and we have no choice but to deal with it. But it’s how we deal with it that makes a difference: we either sedate ourselves emotionally so that we don’t end up freaking out and bawling our eyes out, or… well, we end up freaking out and bawling our eyes out. No marks for guessing which method I use.
NO, I don’t freak out or bawl my eyes out. There may be a tear here and there, but Christ, give me some credit.
The emotional sedation (more commonly thought of as ‘denial’), however, could end up being a little more difficult to deal with. At least, the side effects of it. Deep down we’re so overwhelmed by everything that needs to be done that we block out all thoughts and feelings and concentrate (perhaps a little too hard) on the task at hand, and in the end, when the transition has been made, the reality of it finally dawns on us and we realize that we never knew how to deal with it in the first place.
When we get that feeling that something doesn’t seem quite right, and we think and think about it but still can’t figure out exactly what the problem is, some might say, “It’ll hit me eventually.” Obliviousness notwithstanding, is it also possible that somewhere (extremely) deep in our subconscious, we secretly know what the problem is, but our refusal to accept it — and disinclination towards dealing with it — has us scraping the barrel for something else to pin the problem to? And if we’re denying the problem, are we denying it because we wish we didn’t feel this way, or because we wish we didn’t have to deal with it?
“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” – Hamlet, William Shakespeare
It’s like looking at a painting of a woman. It’s an exquisite painting, but in the back of your mind you know something about it just doesn’t seem quite right. You stand there until it literally hurts to look at it, and then you realize what it is: her eyes are each a different color.
I’m still looking at my painting, but I still can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. Either it just hasn’t hit me yet, or I’m imagining it.