November 11, 1999 Thursday
Being a junior, it has become increasingly obvious that college will not last forever. I spoke to my advisor today and she set up a preliminary timetable for graduation. I met with her last Thursday as well, and we spoke about my major, English. It seems that I won’t reach the 3.0 GPA I need for the teaching certificate. I have yet to tell Mom.
I shouldn’t have a problem with being a third-generation teacher, but I am holding back some. Teaching might have the possibility for fulfillment show how, but it negates everything I’ve wanted. My idea that teaching could lack satisfaction comes from seeing Mom unsatisfied even though she became what she wanted. Perhaps that’s why I tried to hold out for a direction for as long as I did. I recognize joy does not come from a career, which in itself has hindered my college career some.
So if I do decide to follow the path of teaching I would be here an extra year and then begin my student teaching. I still have to discuss this more with my advisor, but it could also come to be that I will have a complete change of major, perhaps to History. If any career could make me happy outside of actually writing, it would be devoting my life to history.
As history might soon become my new direction, history of a personal kind is coming back into my life. Nearly two and a half years to the time Sidney and I went our separate ways, our worlds are coming back together again. Sometimes, like this morning, I wake up and for a moment literally believe it is still all a dream. This might not completely become reality for me until she is in front of me. And if you want to talk about nervous… Right now I’m just fine, but I can’t imagine what my state will be the night it does happen. I’ll be surprised if I don’t puke. But in a good way.
Tom has said that the perfect meeting would be as follows: We’re walking towards each other, and then I stop, letting her the rest of the way to me. After a hug I would say, “It’s been a while.” Good, not great, but still good.
Yet it is like I’m meeting her for the first time. Collinsville and Tom are like trainers, getting me ready for the title fight, telling me to get a haircut, tan, some new clothes.
I prefer to like about what we’ll do. We’ll probably go to Peoria and eat or something. Talking will definitely abound, the two of us trading stories for hours. Could be quite a gabfest.
At least I hope. I have not really thought of this, but what if we get together and stumble through the night, the both of us knowing that the other time apart has been too long? Of course I also do not think that a feeling of captivation by her very presence will engulf me either. Reality will be, as I have said, somewhere in between. My best guess would be that the two of us will have fun and will enjoy each others’ company. And that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
No One Will Believe You 