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August 29, 2008 Last Day 
You keep turning pages. I just don't know what I'm going to do. There's a monster at the end of this blog and at this rate I'm going to meet up with it in a couple of days. If you visit this blog one day next week, Dear Readers, and see just a red smear on the screen, you'll know why. There's this rumour going around that today is my last day here. It's clearly ridiculous. Just because all of my photos have been taken home and my files cleaned out and my computer files saved in accessible places and (for crying out loud) even my hand lotion ran out this morning doesn't mean anyone should credit for one moment this preposterous idea that I might actually leave a stable, well-paying government job to go to school. Pah! Some goblin must have come by and rearranged my desk. Where did my tea mug go? Why are my drawers empty? Why am I being asked to relinquish my door pass? I'm going to need it next Wednesday, after labour day and my compressed day, when I get up and get ready and take the subway to sit here--at this desk--to do my job. Because otherwise I won't get paid, and then I will have to use my savings, and as any sane person knows "savings" are special accounts where you make deposits with near-religious devotion but you never, ever make withdrawals, unless someone's life depends upon it. Savings. You know. It's like a special bank account for the gods. You put money in and then it becomes their money, and you'd better not touch it or the Hand of Zeus will be upon you, and not in a friendly way. You don't spend savings, it's a contradiction in terms. So clearly next Wednesday I am coming back, and all of this ... cleaning out and packing away and signing forms and saying goodbye ... is some kind of weird, time dislocation, Star-Treky alternate-universe schtick. And at the last minute the engineer (we've got buckets of engineers around here, one of them has to be clever) will devise some kind of solution out of duct tape, twist ties, inverting some power device, and reinvention of the basic laws of physics to undo whatever happened and return the universe to the way it should be. In which I am a responsible mother and I get up and go to work every day to bring home a paycheque so I can pay for her shoes, for gods' sake, how can you buy shoes on savings? Right? [crickets] Umm, right? Oh, help. I'd better sit over here and hyperventilate quietly. Posted by Andrea at August 29, 2008 7:49 AM under The Supposedly Mature Student EMAIL this entry (comments fields are below this section) Comments This is so exciting. You're doing the right thing. Posted by: cinnamon gurl at August 29, 2008 8:16 AM
Butterflies in stomach? Check! You are going to love being a student again. Posted by: Liz at August 29, 2008 8:29 AM
It's okay, it's okay. Breathe. It's going to be okay. Posted by: LauraJ at August 29, 2008 9:12 AM
I'm proud of you, sweetie. Now just breathe into this paper bag... ;) Posted by: Greg, aka theboyfriend at August 29, 2008 9:25 AM
Uhm, isn't this exactly what savings are for? And as for the hyperventilating, just breathe into a nice paper bag from the school bookstore . . . Posted by: Morrigan at August 29, 2008 10:34 AM
Savings are to accumulate and pass down to your offspring so they can pay off their mortgage. No? Posted by: Andrea
Breathe in, 1,2,3. Breathe out 1,2,3,4,5,6. Apparently that pattern is 'clinically-proven' to calm you down. All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well. That noise is the sound of a door opening, and all sorts of good things lie beyond it. You won't be going to back to your boring job because awesome things await you. There is more to being a responsible mother than buying shoes. If this was 30 years in the future and Frances was at this crossroads, what would you say to her? Once you have found those wise words, say them to yourself. Posted by: Chris (Mombie) at August 29, 2008 11:17 AM
i love the monster at the end of this book. one of my favorites as a kid. :) I am *so* proud of you. I just want you to know that. :) It will be ok. Truly and for sure. Posted by: rachel at August 29, 2008 11:38 AM
Eeeeekkk! How exciting!! Posted by: Kia at August 29, 2008 12:15 PM
Breathe, honey, you'll be fine. You'll be better than best at the end of it all. You will make other money elsewhere eventually and you will pad that savings account again. You can buy used shoes or request hand-me-downs. You can pinch here and there and the next thing you know, you'll be in a better place for both you and Frances. BTW, my inlaws took care of a good chunk of my mortgage by being the most most, hardworking people I've ever met. I'd give the money back in a heart beat if it would've meant they'd had happier lives. Posted by: Mad at August 29, 2008 1:10 PM
Besides, who can resist a good monster scare? Flip the page! Posted by: Mad at August 29, 2008 1:11 PM
"... you never, ever make withdrawals, unless someone's life depends upon it." Doesn't someone's life depend on it? Yours, for instance? You'll do great! Posted by: Miche at August 29, 2008 3:43 PM
You're going to have fun! Plus, the end result is best for you and Frances. Posted by: ccw at August 29, 2008 8:38 PM
hopefully from Sunday's p.o.v. it feels more like opportunity and less like panic. ;) besides, i doubt Frances will need a mortgage for some time to come. congrats, Andrea. well done. Posted by: bon at August 31, 2008 8:25 AM
It'll be fantastic! I was a mature student and it was one of the best things I ever did. Good luck! Posted by: ella at August 31, 2008 9:24 AM
Good luck with school! And remember... the monster at the end of the book is never as scary as you anticipate. Turning the page is the hardest part. Posted by: Reluctant Housewife at September 1, 2008 7:01 PM
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About Me I'm a type 1 diabetic, witch, feminist, environmentalist, writer, mother, student and print addict in Toronto, Canada. The blog has seen the birth of my daughter, her many medical adventures, my divorce and return to school. The name of the game is upheaval. Subscribe
Change is God (Octavia Butler, Parable Series) "What is an anarchist? One who, choosing, accepts the responsibility of choice." Ursula le Guin Email Frances! frances AT andreamcdowell DOT com You can email her mother too (that's me):
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The title of this blog was taken from the short story "The Language of Nna Mmoy" by Ursula le Guin in her collection, Changing Planes. I won't tell you why or how, because I want you to read the story and figure it out for yourself.
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