Fly Away, Kentucky Bluebird

Something about sitting across from my husband trying to get work done in a coffee shop that prompts me to go into mind wandering mode.

We're spending the first part of our Spring Break ("break." Ha.  More like week to work without teaching and going to class, which for me, is just a regular old week to work since I'm currently not teaching or taking classes) in our future temporary home base.  I suppose I can say what state it's in without any weirdos who may read my blog that I don't know showing up at our front door.  Kentucky.  (No, we haven't had any fried chicken yet, either.)

We're looking at houses/apartments/townhomes, checking out churches, meeting with colleagues, doing all of these things that are somehow making me feel melancholy, because they are all signs of the one constant in all of our lives, the inevitable, change.  Transition.  Getting used to another way, another place, another social landscape, another mode, another set of responsibilities.

I'm happy.  I am.  We are blessed to have this opportunity.  That I was offered a job.  That P is finishing coursework so that we can stay together.  Things have worked out for us so far, so what makes me think they won't continue to work out?

But I can't seem to get over these feelings of uncertainty and instability.

I was determined to finish my dissertation in time for a May graduation, but I think I'm going to push it back to the summer.  I don't plan to spend the entire rest of my summer writing the blasted thing, but it'll give me time to wrap it up without feeling rushed.  Here's the rub: My institution got rid of summer graduation ceremonies about a year or two ago, so that means that I won't walk.  They allow summer graduates to walk in December, but by that time...nah.  I'm honestly not bummed about it, but I'm afraid other people might be.  Seriously, though, just finishing is going to be my celebration, on everything.  If people want to get together with me to have a party or something, let's do it.  But I'm not going to spend beaucoup money on robes and regalia and go through the whole pomp and circumstance of a graduation.  Again.  Lord, this would be graduation number 4.

And then there's ye olde baby on the brain.  I wouldn't mind waiting.  I really wouldn't.  But I'm turning 34 this month.  Even though I've thankfully inherited those amazing negroid genes that keep me from cracking (you know what they say...), they don't necessarily apply to the baby making apparatus.  We're talking about going full utero starting in the fall.  Which, fingers crossed, would translate into a little curly-haired bundle of joy next summer.  Which would mean that I'd spend the better part of my new job as a knocked up bundle of raging hormones.  Sigh.

My husband is a patient, loving man.  Homeboy must love me forreal for real.  I would have gotten tired of myself a long time ago and been like girl, if you start crying over inexplicable stuff one mo' gin... I'm trying to picture myself as a reasonable, sensible, kind man trying to figure out what to do while his high-strung wife is sitting there weeping as if someone just told her Nutella was a carcinogen.  Ugh.  Get it together, now.  Put on your big girl panties.  You can do it.