Change of Plans...

Ok, you can all pull your heads out of the oven now, and don't forget to turn off the gas. I think I am ready to rejoin the world of smiley faces and rainbows and kitten tongues. Well, maybe just the world of getting out of bed and showering, and THAT my friends is a damn good start.


I have decided, with almost no thought or consideration (which is how I tend to make all life-changing decisions), that I do not want to be an accountant after all. I also learned that possibly I enjoy putting myself through things that make me miserable but I feel I should do. Like going to work sober. Yes, apparently I am a masochist (and yes, I used the spell check for that one).
As Gray so lovingly pointed out AGAIN last night, life is short. Why spend it doing something you don't enjoy in the name of practicality? Why indeed.

I was in my Your Academic Journey class last night and we had a guest speaker from the languages department. I think he's the dean or something, it really doesn't matter. What does matter is that while listening to his lecture on the English language, it's roots and evolution, how words are made and recorded and evolve over time, I realized two things: 1) that this man had a woody the entire time he was talking about the dictionary and its many uses, and 2) I was actually enjoying the class for the first time all semester. This stale smelling man with his horrible pants up to his nipples was not only getting my attention, but also keeping it. With a lecture about verbs. Do you see what I'm saying here???

I was not bred to factor or graph the functions of lines! I was not born to amortize or depreciate or accrue! That would be like asking a chihuahua to herd cattle (and yes, I realize I am comparing myself to a dog). Telling myself to grow up and be an accountant is like telling a bird to crawl on its belly! An airplane to paddle through the water!

I was born to make sweet, sweet academic love to the English language.


And so, with my trembling, calculator-weary hands I hold the key to my future. A future that involves (ooooh) reading and (aaaah) writing and joyous, happy learning time. I read over the program requirements for an English B.A. and a Writing B.A. this morning and nearly wept with the realization that I would actually (gasp) enjoy these classes. Plus, I can also incorporate my love of drinking heavily and build on my reputation of being eccentric. Yes, I will be joining the ranks of all those who have gone before me to graduate with an English degree and go on to never use their degree. Which is really ok with me. It's not like I have any corporate aspirations. I like the job that I have now, which I got without a bachelor's degree, and would be perfectly happy doing jobs like this for the entirety of my career if necessary. My drive to finish a 4-year degree has nothing to do with my career goals and everything to do with proving to myself that I can finish.

But why in god's name do I torture myself with some convoluted picture of how I think my life should be, even when I know that the should be life will make me miserable? What happened to make me ignore my childhood dream of being a writer because it was impractical? I graduated with people who majored in music theory and choral performance for christ's sake. Compared to those folks, I am so totally grounded in reality.

I have decided that since I am spending my semi-precious time and ultra-precious money on going to college...again...that I had damned well better study something that doesn't bore me to tears or make me want to pull out my eyelashes.


I am going to get it on with the pronouns, ya'll.