I’ve made the last of the edits, and have sent far away, my 3rd semester project, which was an essay on writing about the mundane in a compelling way. (Goodbye, 3rd semester project!) Frankly, I read it so many times it didn’t make sense anymore, the same as if you said “goggles” over and over again until you fall on the floor in a fit of laughter because you can’t believe “goggles” is actually a word.
Yes, I’ll wait while you go try that.
Couple my third semester project work with teaching and parenting and wifing and daughtering and Christmasing and you’ve got yourself not only far more than a couple, but also a whole lot of rolling around on the floor in a fit. And by “yourself” I mean me.
Finishing my 3rd semester project means I’m 3/4 done with my degree. And earning a degree in the midst of a full and busy life ain’t for the weak, Ima tell you something. But I’m almost there. And if I finish on time I’ve promised myself a party. (A party of one on a beach downtown in a lounge chair in the sun with a beer.) I look forward to that.
Somehow still, through all this excessive craziness, it has never stopped feeling like the thing I should be doing, so I’m just going to finish it up. In six months that is. I’m staring down a clear and present six months of danger of not only struggling to balance the insanity that is life right now, but also the fact that Luke has decided to be on the swim team this year. And guess what he just walked into this very room and asked for?