I had orientation for UH on Friday. And I thought that it was okay, and everything was going to work out, and my head was buzzing, my heart was tight with excitement,
but my advisor didn’t give me all of the puzzle pieces that I need.
Forget the metaphors –
the advisor I spoke with told me that my plan wasn’t an option (even though everything I had read said it was), and she didn’t tell me everything I needed to know.
Like how a teaching certificate prepares you to teach high school, and that I have to pursue a Teaching and Learning BS to teach first grade. Like how I’ve taken exactly three classes that would transfer over for that degree. Like how I probably ought to go talk to an advisor from the school of education.
Instead, she threw so many suggestions of minors at me that I allowed myself to get distracted by all of the new, exciting opportunities.
And now everything is up in the air again. And now I have to reconfigure my degree plan. And now I may not be able to transfer for another semester – I may have to continue at BC or commute to Pearland,
and I am disappointed. I’m disappointed to be stuck in this little town where you have to drive an hour to get anywhere good. Where everything shuts down by 10 pm. Where everyone I’ve ever lost still lives, whether in actuality or in memory.
Where I feel like my wheels are turning and turning and turning, and I’m not getting anywhere, because, don’t get me wrong, B-County is great. I love my home. But it’s a black hole for those who aren’t motivated, and, while I’m probably too motivated, I can feel my wheels getting stuck.
I have a friend, a songbird, who was unhappy in a relationship once. She stayed, because it’s what everyone else wanted. It’s what was expected. But being with him made her unhappy, and she stopped singing.
That’s how I feel. I feel like B-County is a great guy – someone, lots of people, can be happy here. I want to be happy here, someday, later, when I get my business going.
But that’s not now. That’s my Someday. When I’ve worked some of the Adventure out of me, when I’ve settled the wanderlust.
It may sound melodramatic, but I can feel myself shrinking. I can feel my roots trying to stretch, and they keep hitting walls. I’m cramped; there’s too much of me, and not enough of everything else here, because everything is the same,