Ahh.

Confirmation. Absolution. And - a gigantic sigh of relief.

Today is the day!

When I was little and had been anticipating something for a long time, I can remember waking up thinking, "Today is the day!" (Yes, the exclamation point was included - I always think with punctuation. Always.)

All momentous events of my childhood-tween-teen-semi-adult life were marked with this phrase. It awakened me on Christmas, birthdays, the day I was set to be un-grounded (I didn't spend all that much time grounded, but when you're nine, it's a big deal), cheerleading tryouts, prom, church ensemble performances, the first day of camp, high school graduation, the first day of college, sorority rush result day (just kidding), college graduation, mornings of job interviews, etc. It's usually unbidden - I just wake up with overwhelming feelings of excitement, apprehension, and, if it's something that's really big, slightly sweaty palms.

"Today is the day!" was my first thought this morning. And yes, if you're wondering, my palms were slightly sweaty. ("Were" - who am I kidding? Let's make that "are.") You see, dear reader, today is the day of my much-anticipated appointment with Julie Walker, medical intuitive. She comes highly recommended. I have no idea what to expect. I'm also having a hard time not viewing her as a psychic.

While I have every intention of eventually getting to the one slightly annoying physical malady that I've been wanting to discuss, I have no doubt she'll be able to ferret out my mental anguish almost immediately. (This may be due to the fact that I tend to burst into tears without provocation lately. An actual ferret would probably realize that I'm not quite myself.) And while I am bothered occasionally by bouts of hypoglycemia, I'm more concerned with the future - should I go to nursing school? Am I supposed to move to California? Should I go to nursing school in California? Was I supposed to be a famous classical ballerina, hindered only by the fact that I did not take ballet until college? Am I destined to be Crazy Aunt Erin, wearer of puff-painted sweatshirts emblazoned with dachshunds, giver of hand-knitted sweaters with arms that aren't quite the same length, owner of large herds of cats?

Two hours, more or less, until The Phone Call. Updates forthcoming.

Random Facts

It always takes me a while to wind down after work, mainly because I'm usually so awake that I'm thinking about 87 different things. Here's a sampling:

*I am so looking forward to the day when I can go to work and not be dressed like a man. Also, after I am done at the Cheese, I am never going to wear white pants again.

*Even though I am a Grown-Up, weird noises outside still freak me out. There was just a weird noise outside.

*I tend to get life lessons in strange places - when I was volunteering at the hospital, a woman came in to see her husband after he'd had heart surgery. They'd been married for 60 years. As I was taking her in to see him, she told me to make sure I married someone I liked, because we wouldn't always love each other, but it was nice to have a friend there for the times you weren't in love. (Note: I did not take that as a negative comment. I really don't think that you can fill 60 years of marriage with "romantic" love, but it's nice to think that you can hang out with your best friend in the in-between times.)

*Musical fact: despite duple meter being nice, friendly time signatures (2/4, 4/4, etc.), triple meter (3/4, 9/8) is actually referred to as "perfect time." This is because the Catholic church was the primary patron of the musical arts in medieval and Renaissance times. The Holy Trinity, and thus the number 3, was considered perfect. Therefore, sacred music was always in triple meter, while secular music was in duple meter. Perfect time was noted with a full circle. Imperfect time (duple meter) was noted with a circle that was open on the right side - which is why we use a symbol that looks like the letter "C" to denote common time.

*A friend recently asked me what my purpose in life was. Professionally, it's a work in progress. And while I do think that everyone has smaller, specific purposes that tend to change as they're realized, overarching purpose stays the same. Personally, my purpose in life is to be a positive influence for the people around me, to love and be loved, and to have a comfortable house with great chairs for reading where all the neighborhood kids know they can come for cookies. That may seem insignificant to someone who has bigger plans to change the world, but my changes have to be effected in smaller ways.

*The world has really been making me feel loved lately, and I'm so very thankful for that.

*After three days of piano lessons, I am pleased to say that I can now play scales. My left hand, which has always served as a paperweight or a place to put my other mitten, is even in on the game.

And now...I must sleep.

Illusion of control

OK, I admit it.

This morning I actually turned to Google for advice. Some background: the last few weeks have presented the possibility of some pretty intense (but ultimately necessary) change in my life. Deep down, I know it's necessary, and I also know what I'm going to do. That knowledge still does not make it any easier to shut up my tendency to be extremely overly analytical.

Overly-analytical side: "What if it doesn't work?"
Me: "What if WHAT doesn't work?"
OAS: "Well, what if you don't find a real job?"
Me: "I don't have a "real job" now and I'm doing fine."
OAS: "Well, yeah, but what if you hate it?"
Me: "Um. Hate WHAT?"
OAS: "Well, what if you change? What if EVERYTHING changes?"
Me: "That's why I had to be sure of my motivation for doing this."
OAS: "But what are you going to DO with the rest of your life?"

Ahh. Thank you, Overly-Analytical Side. You always do come through, don't you? Well, to be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I was talking about this with my best roomie, Sharon, last week - what if the things we're passionate about aren't things that we can use to earn a living? Do we strap ourselves in to some corporate job and just decide to deal with the fact that we're going to be stuck doing something we may not love from 8-5 in order to support a lifestyle we DO love the rest of the time? Or do we somehow manipulate the things we're passionate about into something that will earn us a living? (I do not like this term. It sounds like we should have to justify our right to a life that we love. But I digress.)

When I'm ignoring my OAS, I fully realize that ultimately, doing something you love is so much more important than doing something that is easily available or that pays well. Case in point - in college, I suffered through four years of coursework in bakery science. OK, not exactly suffered - I liked my lab classes, because we always got to eat our projects at the end. My internships weren't so bad, because they made for pretty cool stories, and really, what's not to love about Hostess cupcakes fresh from the oven? However, despite the scholarship money and the promise of immediate employment after graduation, I knew that in the long run I'd hate the work. So I switched majors, eventually graduated with a communications degree, and after two-ish years of food and nutrition labeling, got a "Great Job" in an ad agency. On the surface, life looked peachy - I was making more money than anyone (OK, probably not anyone, but everyone I knew) my age, and when people asked what I did, I got to say I worked in advertising. (After spending four years in bakery science, it was nice to have a job that I didn't have to explain.) In reality, though, I was working 6 days a week, 10 - 12 hours a day. I was able to afford a great vacation - but I had to take my cellphone in case clients needed me while I was gone. I was so stressed I spent most of my time either crying (at home) or throwing up (in the bathroom at work). I debated quitting for several months, but was always afraid of what would happen if I quit and had to start over. Then I got laid off, and had to start over. And it wasn't so bad. It was actually great.

I should have learned from that experience that despite what my overly-analytical side says, there's really no reason to panic about the distant future. I am only 26. I've already been a Mature, Responsible Adult for three years. Maybe it's time to just enjoy life for a while. As far as figuring out the rest of my life - here's what I know: I adore people. I like talking with them, and the things they tell me, and being able to do things to help them. I also adore medicine. I'm fascinated by the way the body comes together, and the way so many complex systems combine to produce such a seemingly simple outcome. That said, I don't believe that the physical side of the body is the only part to be treated - there's definitely a mind-body-spirit connection that should be considered. I guess that's why I'm having a hard time with nursing school - I should have been So Excited when I heard from Research College, but something still doesn't feel quite right.

Which leads me back to my original point - after getting the same answer from friends, and family, and prayer, and even myself when I stopped worrying about it, I turned to Google for advice. Oh, Google, what should I do with my life? Here's what I got, from a book by Po Bronson, called "What Should I Do With My Life?":

"Most attempt to answer [this question] with one eye open, one eye closed. We let our fears govern our decisions; rather than challenging the validity of those fears, we accept the boundaries set by those fears, and end up confining our search to a narrow range of possibilities, like the guy looking for his car keys under the streetlight because he’s afraid of the dark. Some broad examples: we confine ourselves to a range that is acceptable to our parents or our spouse; we confine ourselves to places inhabited only by people "like us," meaning of our class and education level; we place too much emphasis on being respected by an imaginary audience; we shy away from avocations that take a long time to mature and pay off...it isn't easy, but in a way that hard journey makes the result even sweeter."

Geez, Google. That's just the answer I got everywhere else I looked.

That Darn Groundhog (Working title: Meet Mr. McGillicutty!)

Yesterday, while doing dishes and gazing out the back window admiring the wonders of nature, I saw It. A large, rodent-like creature sitting on the concrete edging, nibbling delicately at the Black-Eyed Susans. Having never seen this creature in Real Life before, I didn't know quite what to think. My initial thoughts were wolverine (too small) or badger (not striped) but after a Google search and consultation with my mom and a visiting friend, we settled on groundhog.

After identifying him* we were able to hunt down suggestions as to how to remove him from the premises. One website suggested catch-and-release, fumigation, or "just shooting it, if it's safe and legal." First, please do not refer to Mr. McGillicutty as "it." Second, I somehow doubt that a town that employs an ordinance banning clotheslines is going to be OK with shooting a groundhog in the city limits. Third, HOW COULD I SHOOT MR. MCGILLICUTTY?!? HOW, I ask you? Ahem.

I think it's been established that the household is for the "catch and release" option. We're pretty sure we're going to go with the same company that took care of a little rodent problem in the attic of my former Overland Park apartment. Anyone who can capture 27 squirrels, one of whom was extremely angry, over the course of two hours in a February snowstorm will always get my repeat business.

*By "identifying him," I mean not only figuring out what he was, but also naming him. He's now known around the house as Mr. McGillicutty, and it's my personal belief that were it up to him, he would wear a bow tie and a pair of white gloves.

Emotional purging

I answered because I thought it might be a dinner invitation or maybe just a telemarketer calling again to request money for the Policeman's Fund or that man who's always suggesting new siding! and a better roof!

But it was you, again, calling to tell me you love me, and you're miserable, and you're sad, and you wish that you'd said something sooner. If our conversation had been mapped, it would have taken place primarily in Utah. Pun, of course, intended.

I spent too much time with you apologizing - for how much you hate your job and for the stock market and for loving the ocean. And now, I refuse to apologize for the unhappiness that you brought on yourself by closing off from so many things for so long. And I wanted to ask if you knew my middle name (Anne) or that my favorite movies have subtitles, or that I cry when I visit the pound. I wondered whether you knew that my three favorite things about summer are lemonade stands, the smell of chlorine, and the sound of cicadas. I wanted to inform you that I love cleaning the bathroom, alphabetizing my bookshelf, and trying to play the guitar. I debated telling you that I don't even like books about zombies, and that I strongly believe in intuitive medicine, and that love isn't something that happens because it works with your schedule.

Instead, I just listened. And when you were finished, I told you I should probably let you go. So I could alphabetize my bookshelf, and organize my closet, and continue (unapologetically) to revel in the knowledge that sometimes true growth isn't becoming someone new - it's accepting who you were all along.

You're kidding, right?

Coming soon: discourse on the "stop fetal experimentation" bumper sticker I spotted in JoCo.