Nothing

Well, I've had no time to write lately. So, in lieu of having no time to say something interesting, I'm going to say nothing in particular.

It's 11:30 - about an hour and a half passed my bedtime. I just got back from a friend's house where we enjoyed brie, cheap wine and rich dark chocolate while watching Ten Things I Hate About You. Needless to say, my eyes are quite tired, but I'm unable to sleep due to the caffeine. I'm thinking about heating up some milk and heading to bed.

Life is busy and it seems as if the leaves are going to change color early. I like that. Crisp mornings curl into breezy afternoons where leaves swirl on college sidewalks. I hear that by this weekend it will be in the low 60's for a high. I'm lovin' it!

The most exciting thing that has happened to me lately is that I have received my new cell phone. It's a complicated gadget that grabs my interest for an hour here or there, making me almost late to class as I punch in a cell phone number, thumb in a date on my calendar or take a picture of a squirrel munching on a nut. My husband has the same phone (Treo 700) so he's been teaching me the ropes. I'm terribly intrigued with this small but thick piece of metal and plastic.

And despite my inability to correctly sign the word Ruwanda - still not sure if I'm spelling that right - and the fact that I can not effectively hear and keep up with the African-French heavily accented professor who speaks so fast I swear it is a different language, I am still ordering my business cards that clearly spell out my profession SIGN LANGUAGE INTERPRETER. This makes me giddy.

And that is my life as of now. I'm ready to stumble to bed, but not before I get a tall glass of milk. . . and perhaps read a bit of the latest book I have happened upon - Dead Wife Walking. Don't worry - I didn't buy it. One of the professors I interpret for has written and published this thin book of angst, and I couldn't resist the urge to ask her for a signed copy which she happily gave me. Weird bit of literature.

When I grow up

I had many dreams about what I would be when I grew up. A teacher, nurse, secretary, house wife, mother. Mainly I dreamed of being a writer. Oddly enough, I didn't really consider becoming a sign language interpreter.

I began my first day of work at the college this week. As usual, I was running later than I had wanted. I flew out the back door while my kitty looked on with confusion. "Where's my breakfast, mom?" I made a call to my husband on the way asking him to feed the children.

I knew I had a 20 minute drive which would have put me there on time, but I wanted to arrive early to find the deaf education office, pick up my badge and find my first class. I pulled into the school driveway only to be met by a long line of cars that snaked it's way into the parking lot. I wasn't prepared for this. But, God knew I needed a break and I quickly found a spot in the farthest galaxies while everyone else slowly putted around to find the closest spot.

Making my way up the geese poop scattered walkway, I noticed a grand similarity to my high school. Students looked as if they had just rolled out of bed, forced to pursue an education they no longer cared to attain. They threw on their only clean clothes - camouflaged pants, wife beater and flip flops. Girls put a little more thought into their appearance wearing their shortest, tightest ripped jean skirt, shirts that boasted such sayings as, "Don't feed the models" or "Made you look" splayed aross large chests in sparkley rhinestones. They looked bored, confused and lost.

As I held my breath behind a whirl of cigarette smoke and the faint odor of pot in the distance, I had to empathize with them slightly. I too feel a little confused and lost. What do I want to be when I grow up? Do I really know?

During my first class the thought crosses my mind, "What am I doing? I could get my masters in English and then be an English professor. I mean, how hard can it be?" I looked out over the faces of the few that had decided to make it to class this first day of school. They didn't look intimidating at all. I could do this! I could be an English professor!

By the second day, I will have realized as I clumsily walk in front of a rather large class, fascinated by my Sign Language Interpreter badge and the screeching chair I pull awkwardly across the floor, that there is no way I could stand in front of a room full of gaping know-it-alls, full of themselves and ready to criticize. I abort mission on my plans to enroll in a NY university next fall.

The realization is, those who know what they want to be when they grow up are quite the lucky ones. They are rare. Or should I say, those who know what they want to do and do it are quite rare? I think that is more accurate.