One step at a time.

My mother had surgery today. She's almost 60, so I was a little anxious about her going to get her procedure done. She woke me up at 530 this morning telling me that my father, who is home until Sunday, and her were leaving. She seemed in good spirits, and since it was almost 6am I didn't really think much of it until I heard the car pull out of the drive way.

I remember thinking all of these horrible thoughts, because that's who I am, always looking on the dark side of things, and I actually started crying. I cried myself back to sleep and woke up at 840, and I had class at 905. Of course I was late to class because I had slept through my alarm, but my professor is nice and understanding, and he patted my back and smiled at me.

Yes, she's fine. When my father called me around 1 this afternoon he sounded tired, but the surgery went picture perfect and she was in recovery. I went back to my lunch table, and I wanted to cry with joy. I know I wrote an entry about my father, but my mother, well, she's my mom...

Anyways, my father told me that he would call me when she got settled into her room, which was at the start of my 4pm philosophy class. I told my teacher I was expecting a call and how my mother had had surgery and she gave me the okay to walk out of the room when the call came in. I fucking love how understanding my professors are. So my father said she was recovering well, and my eyes began to swell up again after I hung up. I walked back into class, sat down smiling, and Christine looked over at me and gave me smile back because she knew.

At dinner, I called my sister, who picked me up from my school and myself, her, and her two-year-old all went to visit my mother. When I saw my mother I almost started to cry. I don't think I've ever been so happy before to see my mother, I gotta be honest about that. So I told her about my day and how awesome school is going this semester (which I will touch on later) and she kept smiling at me.

When I went back to school, I called Kim where she let me into her dorm where I laid on her bed while she read at her desk. I had my iPod pulled into my ears, and I started to cry silently. I don't think I've said this, but these past few weeks have been one hell of an emotional rollercoaster ride. I started dosing off, until Kim and I went to go take part of the movie English club was putting on that night. I didn't stay long, because I had one hell of a day and I really needed to relax. But tonight, on the ride home while I was speeding past cars on the expressway, I was listening to the radio and I felt relieved.

I know things aren't as great as they could be, but goddammit I can practically smell the Boston air in my nostrils. School is going amazing so far this semester. I'm becoming a very active member of the English club, cause, well, it's my major and it's about damn time I joined a club! I also am looking forward to doing the Vagina Monologues again at my school. I bought the 2008 edition of the book to get a feel of the monologues, even though I was in them last year. I was the sad side of the monologue "My Vagina Was My Village" which was amazing. All of the girls were amazing and I look forward to working with the ones that do it again. I've already got two monologues picked out I'd like to possibly perform, but it's a secret and I have no clue if I'll get one of them haha.

I say the Boston air because I think I have a top pick for graduate school. Emerson College looks very promising. Since we know I'm an English major, I know exactly what I want to do with my degree. I want to go into Publishing and Writing. Of course I like to write, I mean holy crap I write better then I talk most of the time, and I remember when I was transferring from my community college to a 4-year everyone kept asking me, "What the hell are you going to do with an English degree with a concentration in writing?" Well, there's your answer. Betch.

I look back at all the professors that have told me how my writings are different, and have praised my writings, and have encouraged me to get into writing because I have talent in that area. Not just writing, but in editing. C'mon, I'm a grammar nerd. When someone sends me an email and there are no periods, semi-colons, or commas in it at all, I don't even read it. You seriously just sent a senior English major that piece of shit? Okay, send it back to me when you learn how to type properly.

I know I could never be a teacher, or a professor. I was looking over Kim's shoulder tonight, and looking all the stuff she has to learn about different exercises and methods and this and that... ugh. I also have my father's patience level, which is very... miniscule.

OH! This brings me to another reason why my professors are awesome.

A professor I had last semester for creative writing is an amazing lady. She's a published author, but a majority of the professors at my college are published (which drives me furthur to get published in more literary magazines). I was helping out with English club last night. A group of British actors from Cambridge, UK called CAST came to our college during their tour to perform Henry V. While we were setting up, this professor approached me and started asking about my grandfather, who was not doing well at the end of last semester. I ended up missing a few of her classes to be by his side and to help my grandmother out. I told her that he was doing better, but he is wheelchair ridden now. I also told her about my sister's car accident over the summer where she totaled her car with my nephew in the car. I told her how I saw her get unloaded from the ambulance (which hit me really hard) and how I stayed with her, drove her home, helped her out until she was okay on her own. I called off work for her too, I remember that. And then I told my professor how my mother was getting surgery today, and how I was nervous and this and that. She looked at me, and started telling me how I was one of the most caring people she knows. "It's a very good quality to posess, and you have it." I didn' t know what to say, so I bowed my head and thanked her. She went on though, briefly, and I explained to her how, at first, I wanted to become a nurse, since I like helping people. She smiled and said, "you went from a nursing major to an English major?" We laughed, and I replied that, "I found my nitch." I had no clue that something I found to be therapeutic would acutally get me somewhere in life... hopefully...

I mean, I love physiology. Anatomy is what got me. Memorizing all those bones, yea, not gonna happen. In my prime, I could describe how the respiratory system works flawlessy. I could also, in my prime, tap dance like a freakin Rockett. Ah, the good ol' days.

Now I'm an English nerd, who actually is enjoying reading Robinson Crusoe for one of my classes and is reading Pride and Prejudice for another. It's like 19th century chick lit and I'm a sucker for chick lit.

Oh, and get this, my minor is philosophy. Yeah, I have no clue what I'm going to do with that either. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

I titled this entry "One Step At a Time" because, yes, of that dumb Jordin Sparks song that gets stuck in my head every time I hear it, but mostly because I agree. It all takes one step at a time. No, I'm not posting lyrics. Sorry. I'm too tired to post them.

Speaking of tired, I think I'm going to retire for the night. I think this entry is long enough, and it makes up for me not writing in a while. I'm a busy girl with school, work, babysitting, and trying to enjoy my college years before I hit the real world.

Ciao!