Thursday, July 26, 2007
SomethingAs I drive past my soon-to-be home away from home, as it were, I feel a pang of something. This "something" is a new emotion, which I tend to experience on a daily basis. I can only assume it will continue to build within me, until I feel it every second and every minute of every day. It's something between exhilaration and terror. Somewhere in between, sometimes both, never one without the other.
I wonder if I will step foot into a classroom and it will all turn out to be a huge mistake. The joke is on me. I have heard others say that they spent their first year of law school absolutely certain that they are somehow less intelligent than everyone else around them. This feeling exists today within me. I worry that I may turn out to be less academic than I have proved in the past. I worry that my undergrad degree did not in any way prepare me for what I am about to enter. I wonder if anyone's degree really does?
I worry I will fall victim to the draw of the money and sell my soul for long hours and big paychecks, helping little, other than myself. I reread "To Kill A Mockingbird" to remind myself of why I am going to law school. I read books to "prepare" me for being a 1L. I know they will not help. I read another one anyway.
I am excited. Filled with the adrenaline that is potential. Pleased that I know what I want to do, after never really being certain before. I feel pangs of uncertainty- do I have what it takes? I know I have the will to try, and I hope that will be enough.
I hear stories of marriages dissolving while law school becomes number one and the spouse somewhere else on the list. I wonder what it will be like, to be devoted to something other than my house, my dog and my husband. I feel a guilty excitement that I will have that something, as I find housework tedious and annoying. I, however, treasure my time with the latter two, and worry how my happiness will survive in the same way without it. I pray that my husband can tolerate the stressed out, cranky, don't-talk-to-me-I'm-busy me, that I know I may become. I hope I will not become too exhausting to deal with. I know I may at times. I'm certain of it. I also know he loves me enough to plough through it. I just don't want to take that for granted.
I hope to manage my competitive nature and not give into it.
I worry about fitting in. I feel a self-consciousness overtake me even now when I walk through my law school to take care of mundane business. I hate that I feel that I have to "hide" my personality with people until I feel comfortable. I have always harbored an intense jealousy for those who can completely be open and honest about who they are- craziness and all- for I always feel a bit like a church mouse until I somehow open up. I'm not sure how long this process takes, or what makes me feel comfortable morphing into the crazy, talkative, say anything Kellie that I truly am, but it takes time. More time than I would like to admit, in some cases. I also understand that I am... quirky. I think that is a good word for me. I'm outrageous at times, wild and spunky- up for anything. Another day I am content to sit in a friend's home, drinking spiced cider and talking about anything/everything/everyone. Most people who know me, save my college friends because we are so much alike it shocks people, would say I am crazy and funny. I suspect they also think me a bit weird. Different. Odd.
I am both pleased and embarrassed by these ideas of me. But it is what it is and I don't know how to change it.
I hope people find me more quirky than weird. I hate being the weird girl.
More than anything, I hope to be successful. To take classes that inspire me to change the world in which we life. I want to find my niche in our legal system and in my life.
All of this is the "Something" I'm feeling. Amazing for one person to be filled with so much, huh?
Labels: Law School
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Those Left BehindHe leaves and, try as you might, it stills feels like abandonment. You try to drown your anger in understanding and compassion, but instead it boils, until is fizzes over. It's messy and no matter how hard you try some of it is bound to end up on him, even though you want to keep it all to yourself. You try not to think about the guns, the violence and the road side bombs, taking solace in the "safe" base, where he is, all the while the television screams to your heart. The news shits on your hopes and ignorant people muddle your mind with questions. Half of them questions you never even thought to ask yourself, let alone another person. You smile, excuse yourself and catch your breath in a bathroom stall.
The waiting for the phone call that never comes. Why? Did they lose power? Did he get busy? Is something wrong? Is it just a matter of time until you get another call, from someone you really don't want to talk to now or ever. Hitting refresh in your email, praying for a message, desperate for a smile. Swallowing the perpetual lump in your throat becomes routine and going through the motions is a performance repeated daily. Benadryl in your cabinet for your "allergies" is really to knock you out and stop your mind for eight hours. Relief. Silence. Nothingness.
You call yourself a military wife, hoping the title will somehow numb the empty. People ask you what you think. You want to scream, "I think I want my husband home." You feel torn. You hate the war for so many reasons. You love the soldiers. They believe in their fight. You believe in them. You want to punch people who have more mouth than brains, those people who sit comfortably at home and bash him. They're bashing you. You are a part of this war. You are dealing just as much as the men and women sitting in their back-of-a-semi homes, just in a different way. They're thinking, in the zone, constantly busy, or at least trying to be- surrounded by people who are going through the exact same thing. You are sitting alone, trying not to watch the news/read the paper/listen to the radio, because those bases actually mean something to you. Those ticking numbers are destroying another you. You feel guilty when you hear the news, and then you get that call. Relief that it wasn't him. It was someone else's "him". You push those thoughts out of your mind, because you don't want to dwell on the worst-case scenarios anymore than you have to. But you still feel that guilt.
You go on with life, marking your calendar until he returns, like you did in school for summer. You laugh and smile and do everything else you used to do. You just hurt the whole time you do it.
Labels: Love is a Battlefield
A Jar Spoke my Words"I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week."
-The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
If I lay here... if I just lay here...I'm listening to "Chasing Cars" on repeat.
J is going back to Iraq. I hadn't blogged about it, because, well, a) I haven't been a dependable blogger and b)... you know that thing, if you don't talk about it- it doesn't exist?
Eh, it works for some people. Not me so much.
Remember in Sex in the City? When Big comes back for a "heart thing" and everytime Carrie hears or talks about it she begins to sob? I felt like that on Sunday. I sat in mass and, in between prayers for the parish and world poverty, they threw in a "For our military stationed overseas in war. For their families. We pray to the Lord." I couldn't get out the "Lord hear our prayer."
The lump in my throat grew. It grows as I type this now. I swallowed hard, trying to get the pain in my throat down to the pit of my stomach. I blinked my eyes fast, hoping to somehow flush out my over the top emotions.
We had dinner with my amazing friends on Saturday. Of course it came up. I smiled in my eggplant parm and wished I had something stronger than my diet coke. Or my Shirley Temple. The thoughts of so much air, land and sea between us, once again, makes my head hurt.
And yet, both J and I know it will be easier this time. Each of us is a different person than we were the first time- and we are different as an "us." We're all grown up, as they say. I have nothing but faith in us and in him, but I still wish that I got to keep my husband home, safe, with me, like so many do.
At least it's not for about a year.
Give or take.
Labels: Love is a Battlefield