Hey- remember that last time that I talked about starting school? Yeah, I dropped out. Or rather, I delayed for a year. I’m a little, um, what’s the word, ashamed? Maybe? Feel maybe like a little bit of a disappointment to myself, my family and others? Balancing the feeling of shame is one of deep pride that I was able to make this decision before getting in over my head. I’m also really happy that I can take care of sick me at home without having to fret about harkin’ a loogie in my facemask while I’m in class. Gross, I know. And yes, I’m still sick and so is Boychild. When I take his facemask off, it’s disgusting. Soaked through. Things I never thought I’d have to deal with: a snot-soaked facemask on my three year old. 

It took me about two years to decide to pursue an M.S.W. I loved the idea of becoming licensed to therapize folks and help them work through what was bothering them. I still love that idea, but after two weeks in the program, a few things became clear to me: I don’t possibly have enough time to do all the things I need to in order to take care of myself and my family while pursuing this degree full time. I’m also not as genuinely giving as my classmates seem to be. I do care. I care a lot. In fact, I can’t even hear a story about a child in danger without being reduced to sobs. That’s an issue in its own right. But my classmates seem to be called to being a social worker. I have to turn down the screen brightness during my Zoom meetings because their halos shine so brightly. I’m not sure that’s me. I’m, well, I’ve got a mouth like a sailor, the heart of a rebel and an overactive imagination. Not sure that’s gonna get me into heaven.  

It was a very, very difficult decision to make. I wrestled and talked and thought about five years from now. I ground Husband to a pulp with my back-and-forths. Should I stay? Go? He said do whatever. That he’ll be here for me no matter what I decide. He’s a fine fellow, my Husband is. I asked friends. Most of them said, “I never saw you as a social worker.” Cool, but could you maybe have told me, I dunno, like, six months ago? I’m relying on  you to talk me out of my poor decisions. Side note: I’ve had “Beauty School Dropout” playing in my head for the past week, but instead, I substitute the words “Social Work.” 

Another thing that bothered me is the absolutely abysmal pay that M.S.W.s earn. These highly-educated folks deal with human beings having a very bad days, and they are rewarded a tiny sum of money in return. Now, I’ve never earned very much money, what with my jobs in non-profits and adjunct professoring, but I can also stay where I am and make just enough money. I don’t actually need another degree to be barely solvent: I’m already quite accomplished at it. I wish money didn’t mean anything to me. It meant very little to the old me. Old me used to twirl around in tutus and masks and make ramen noodles and be fine. I was able to be in the arts because I didn’t think about retirement, or a college fund or insurance- ya know, grown up stuff. But now that I have a wee Boychild, I’m like GIVE ME THAT CHEDDAH. As Cardi said, “I need cheese for my egg.” 

So I’m going to take a year and do some stuff. Fart around. Make things. Enjoy life and explore some stuff, maybe start taking karate or something. Learn how to make flan. Who knows where it will take me?