Screaming Temporal Doom!

And the frantic, irrational crying has begun.

As I sit here, avoiding for yet another day, choosing a simple topic for a research poster, I am now fully and completely aware that this is a full frontal attempt at sabotage.

I
DO
NOT
WANT
TO
GRADUATE.


And I know that that's counter intuitive.
And I know that I sound like a nutter.
But that's also my truth.

I do not want to do this project because it is the lynch pin holding this whole graduation thing together. If I just decided not to turn it in, I could just avoid this entire paradigm shift.

I am somehow much more comfortable with the Little Foot that needs to stay another semester, or possibly even the Little Foot who intentionally failed out of college in her final semester with only one class remaining than I am with having to redefine my life as Little Foot the college graduate.

I
HATE
CHANGE.

HATE.

Even minor change. My day is dramatically damaged by having to park more than two spots away from 'my' (usual) space. I don't even like changes that don't really change anything at all, like when people call a food item by a different name, for example. Like 'pepper bellies' instead of 'frito pie'. (It's been 2 months and I'm STILL hung up on that one). I might not SAY anything, but things like that, they leave me really rattled. And I stay rattled. For extended periods of time.

And I know that it's the ASD talking.
And no, knowing does not make it better.
It makes it much less confusing.
But infinitely more frustrating.

Especially when I'm on the phone in hysterics with my saint of a Father blubbering my eyes out like a big, slippery walrus about how not fair it is that I have to graduate from college, and he, like the sweet, sweet Dad he is, somehow manages not to scream back that I sound like a crazy person and nothing I'm saying is making any sense, and that I need to put on the big kid panties and get on with it.

Even though I know he really, really wants to.

He manages not to give me any advice, since even the slightest suggestion is likely to push me over the deep edge. He somehow manages not to mention the list I know he's writing, (even as he listens to me wailing) of what a huge accomplishment this is, and all the things I should be proud of, and all the things that will remain the same, and how nothing is really changing at all because it will only make the whole mess worse.

Instead he reminds me that none of this is fair.
That most of my life is like backwards day.
That good is bad.
That bad is good.
That I like the work, but fear the reward.
And that he doesn't get it, but he gets that he doesn't get it.
And that he gets that I don't get it either.

And that somehow makes me feel better.

Instead he talks to me about engine parts. All the tiny little things that make them run. The pieces that fit together, why they're important, and why they're special. He talks to me about the weather, or how the weather used to be, and I forget about the terrifying unknowns looming in front of me. That black inky mess of screaming temporal doom that's lingering out there just days ahead of me.

Because while rationally I understand that everything will be as it is, and nothing at all will change, there's not one teeny-tiny piece of me that really believes that.





I wish we worked toward graduation blindly. Unaware of how close it was looming above our heads. I wish the whole thing was done in secret. That the powers that be would just call you in the middle of the night and demand your presence before bestowing a degree upon you.

Because I would be okay if I couldn't see it coming.
It's the knowing it's out there that's awful.



Will I do this poster? Probably.
Will I show up in class tomorrow crying? Also, probably.
Will I be able to articulate what the heck is wrong with me? Probably not.
And that's okay.

As long as I keep moving forward it's all going to be okay.
(Or so I tell myself)