Today at work, my promotion was announced to my team. The only person in the room with whom I had worked before was my boss, making the announcement. Somewhat ironically, the person who got the job I wanted most in the company (I’m not worried; there will be another chance for me). But amid the whole-hearted clapping and congratulations from these unknown men, for I find myself yet again the only woman on my technical team, I felt the weight of the impostor syndrome that has plagued me (not to mention many whom I love) for a long time. I don’t understand why the people that know me best are the people whose opinions feel unfairly weighted to the positive towards me. I know, intellectually, that my parents, my husband, my boss, and all my previous bosses are right when they say that I deserve this promotion. And yet I am terrified that I will prove everyone wrong with a single mistake. I am not afraid to make a mistake. I am scared to make the mistake. As I try to define It with my anxious, insomniac mind, I discover that there is no single mistake I could make that would prove to the world that I Am Not Worthy. And yet the emotion persists. I took a logic class when I was 14(?) and I recognize that this emotion is totally fallacious. Oi, is that an argument to pity?

Well, whatever it is, it’s keeping me from sleeping tonight. More accurately, it’s keeping me awake enough to think about school, which is causing me more anxiety than I’m entirely comfortable admitting to. And more than enough to keep me from sleeping. When I last left school, I failed (pardon the pun) to withdraw from my classes. Which means I have a jam-packed semester of failed hours. Which has put me on academic probation, because let’s face it, I didn’t really figure out how to be a grown-up until my late 20s and my GPA couldn’t really take a hit of 16 hours of F. So I am on academic probation. World, I’ve learned my lesson. I spend a minimum two hours a day, six days out of seven (I give myself either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday off) on homework after a full 9 hour day in the office. I’m really truly an adult now. If I were a regular student, taking a regular courseload, I could recover within the two semesters provided to me by the university. But I’m not. I’m juggling this slippery-seeming career with a single class that stresses my [shoulda-already-graduated] schedule, and a GPA that all too painfully delineates my lifelong struggle with depression. With a philosophy class and a gym class left to go, I could flunk out of college permanently. And so I sit here writing, wrought with anxiety. That is the mistake of which I am most scared. There is the mistake. The one from which I have been running for so many years. The imminent failure that kept me from going back to school for so long. There might end up being proof that I wasn’t good enough to make it.

And so this house of anxiety and sleeplessness is built. Brick after unyielding emotional brick.

I’m just about to walk out the door to a pickup rehearsal (a last-minute rehearsal during the run of a play to refresh it in everyone’s mind). The last few weeks working as stage manager and running tech for Tortuga has been fantastic. Exhausting, time-consuming, but ultimately exhilarating. It’s kept me from the temptations of working late night after night to help ease my transition away from my current role at work.

I miss my husband, though. My days are packed solid with work, and my nights with the play, and I’ve been squeezing sleep in where I can. Now that the show is up and running, we’ve got more time together, but sometimes I just want to spend every waking moment with him.

Today I signed up for my next class in Operation Graduate. Next week I am meeting with my advisor to figure out a graduation date so I can order (and start paying off) my class ring.

Life is as I like it most: busy with friends, love, and intellectual expansion. And tonight after rehearsal, I plan to come home, have a beer, and curl up under our nice warm covers with my beloved.

I am feeling very overwhelmed by schoolwork. I’m averaging about two hours a day on it, which I think is about appropriate, but those two hours can get pretty gruelling after a day of work.

Plus, so far nothing’s happening in the land of trying to get pregnant, so I don’t have a lot to talk about yet.

I tried to go back to work today. It didn’t work out very well; by the end of the day I was unable to concentrate on anything but the pain. So I talked to my bawessome, and will be working from home for the rest of the week. Since I have Monday (the 4th) off, It will work out to another full week of being housebound. I hope that one more week’s worth of recuperation will be enough to set me back on track and able to work with peers instead of cats for company. Since my hydrocodone will run out tomorrow, I’ll be very much on my own for pain management. That will be much easier without the stress of going to work. I have no idea how people dealt with this before the internet and VPN’s. I’m guessing short term disability, which so far I’ve been able to avoid.

My thoughts are very unfocused with the hydrocodone. Good thing I’ve given myself a week to put together a rough draft for each assignment and room to look at it a few days later with a fresh eye. I’m going to go ahead and continue to work on my homework tonight but I don’t want to turn anything without going over it free of this haze.

Speaking of homework I have some poetry to read.

Unless you’re interested in my plans for the class I’m taking, this post won’t be of much interest to you. This is intended as something I can print out for each lesson for an easy reference sheet, as well as having it available when I don’t have my textbook with me.

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My return to college to finish my degree has begun. I have 16 hours of freshman and sophomore courses to complete, of which half can be taken via correspondence. Correspondence courses require an amount of discipline that I didn’t have the last time I attempted one. That was years ago, and due to my work schedule, something I had better be over. Read the rest of this entry