I feel like I've lived a thousand lives. Change has been the only constant in my life. New homes, new cities, new schools, new jobs, new people. I've lived by the ocean, more than once; the desert, the mountains, the prairie. I've lived in houses, apartments and for a while at one time, my car. I have so many memories of so many different things...I'm a six-year-old driving cross country through the Mojave desert with her parents in a car with no seat-belts and seats that fold forward if you stop too fast, desperately scanning the landscape for the Jackalopes my father and uncle told me would be there; I'm the girl who picked ticks off of her dad, sister, and cousin after a day trip to Rocky Mountain National Park; who brought home a psychedelic red mushroom with white spots to her mom, because it was pretty, and who immediately knew what it was; I'm the one who used to beat up her little sister pretty regularly (she usually started it) but wouldn't let anyone else touch her; I've strutted my stuff on the beach in a bikini, and been too embarrassed by overweight to even go to the beach at night; I've been to rodeos and down Rodeo Drive; I've shot at cans in the desert and refused to buy my bi-polar mother a gun; I've cruised Van Nuys Boulevard on Thursday night; I've counted hookers on Hollywood Boulevard with high school friends (extra points for cross dressers); I had a husband who lied to me and went to prison because of that which he failed to tell me; I've driven cross country to Indiana to *start over*, just myself and two cats, only to arrive at a home that was dilapidated and mold-filled with no running water in the bathroom; I had a boyfriend die of a horrific disease at 31, and I would later learn that the moment he died I was in a restaurant bathroom throwing up for no apparent reason; I've worn suits to work and tennis shoes; I've had an office, a cubicle, and worked out of my car or from home; I've loved a lot of cats and more than a few guys who didn't deserve it.
I feel like the Julia Roberts character in Runaway Bride who likes eggs the same way as whichever guy she is dating at the time, that is, she doesn't know what she wants.
I feel like I've experienced so much change, so much chaos, that I am unable to thrive in an environment that is peaceful, quiet, settled, even though I crave it.
I applied for grad school on a whim. I was home, bored, Googling things to do with my life late one night, and I did a search for "Library Science", and within a geographic area--my alma mater, and first choice, did not offer a post-grad degree in library science. And the program I found is all done online. I can live...anywhere, and still take classes. It's an accredited California institution, it's a sub-specialty of library science, one that I've been interested in the last few years.
The deadline was a month away, but no GRE scores and no letters of recommendation were required. All I needed was a little time and $55- for the application fee. I figured why not? Let fate decide. If I didn't get in, fine; if I did, great, I'll deal with that when I get to it. They only accept 35 people per year, this is their fourth year with this program. I was accepted. I was surprised. And pleased, of course. Thank goodness they didn't require my community college transcripts because although I sent away for them in mid-March, they've never charged my debit card and the records were never sent out. The University only required transcripts of my last 60 units, which were all done at Chico State. And I had a 3.46gpa at the university when I left there. (The total gpa for all previous colleges, and which there are four, including Chico, is 3.0).
When I was accepted, a friend whose opinion I value texted me, "Are you going to do it!?" Yeah, yeah I am. I had a little freak out moment when I saw the syllabi for the classes (which are cohorts and enrollment is done for us automatically), and I am concerned about my memory problems, so I'm scared a little. But hell yeah, I'm going to give it my best shot. I've done a lot of different things in my life, been a lot of places, been a lot of different people, but I'm still trying to figure myself out. I guess that's the best any of us can do, just try.
Artist Frida Kahlo wrote in her diary a few days before she died, "I hope the exit is joyful — and I hope never to return — Frida." I feel just the opposite: one lifetime is not enough.
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