“So, have you decided on a career yet?” my husband asked a few days ago.
Oh god, not the c-word. I don’t want a c-word. I don’t even want to think about a c-word. Not right now.
“What’s that?” I asked, as though I hadn’t properly heard.
I shuddered slightly. That word again. “Not really.”
“Oh, I thought you’d know by now.”
Hold up. I have a baby who isn’t quite a year old. Where’s this career stuff coming from? I should be solid for another three or four years. Did he decide that Baby Girl was just going to go to daycare or that he didn’t need me at home to take care of her or something?
“Fine. I’ll get it figured out by Monday,” I muttered, scowling.
My husband appeared taken aback. “Well…you don’t have to figure it out by Monday, but I thought you’d know something by now. You were talking about going back to school a few weeks ago.”
Oh, that. So, between talking about buying a new car, moving somewhere between a 2.5 hour drive and a several hour plane trip away, and my plans to redo the house, (likely) hypomanic-induced plans from last month, the “go back to school” thing stuck. Not the moving. Or the car.
“Yeah, I dunno,” I said. “I was thinking about doing a lot of things then.”
“Well, if you did go back, what would you do? Teaching? Psychology? Something else?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe you’d like to take a few classes here and there and figure out what you do want to do?” my husband suggested.
Had I gotten to do things my way when I went to college after high school, I would have declared pre-med, followed by psychology or sociology when “OMG so many years of school!” sunk in, followed by special ed when “OMG one extra year to get a Master’s degree!” sunk in.
But, I was a rebel and majored in English. How is that rebellious? you may be wondering. Well, a certain paternal figure who dissuaded me from accepting scholarships to any out-of-state colleges, persuaded me to major in elementary education.
“Women don’t make good doctors, you’ll never get anywhere with a psychology degree, only the teachers who aren’t smart enough to do anything else go into special education.”
The rebel in me refused to be in the position of having to be with 25 kids who have no sense of personal space day in and day out, so I fought and majored in English. Considering how well I did in high school and the various writing workshops I had taken, it made slightly more sense than majoring in math.
FUCKING NEVER I tell them. Okay, maybe I don’t use “fucking,” but I do say, “never.” For someone whose hearing sucks (despite fancy pants hearing aids that cost several grand) and who nearly has an anxiety attack when being around so many kids now for 10 minutes, it just ain’t happening. Not to mention, my heart wasn’t into it the first time. And, not to mention, I couldn’t just walk back into a classroom. I’d have to retake tests for certification and stuff. Teaching isn’t like being in a gang, “once you’re in, you’re in for life.”
But, realistically, what is it that I want to do when the (dreaded) time comes?
After racking my brain, I finally came up with a lab tech. Like, someone who tests blood and stuff, but not someone who takes it. I looked around online and found a certificate program that I think might be what I’m looking for, so I might do something like that.
“But you could get your Master’s!” my husband tells me. “You’re too smart for that. You’d be selling yourself short.”
Fuck smart. If I don’t get my writing on in a big enough way to not have to go back out in the real world in a few years, then I want to be comfortable with whatever I’m doing. Or as comfortable as someone who doesn’t like interacting with or being around people that much can be. I don’t know of a Master’s degree (that will cost a lot of money) that will lead to such a c-word off the top of my head.
I know my husband thinks he’s being motivating/supportive when he tells me things like I’m selling my self short or I could really do something important if I weren’t such an underachiever (what, I don’t know), but it’s aggravating.
So. I’ll make a effort to do some more research on the lab tech thing in the coming months as well as try to think of some other jobs that I would be good at and be comfortable with. Or I will bribe the urologist to botch the vasectomy so I can have another kid in a few years and continue the c-word procrastination.