Ending An Era: Part VIII - The School

Everyone knows I've been floundering for some time about what to do with myself, and how to change my life so I'm not so miserable and poor anymore. They've heard teaching ESL, becoming a translator, getting a Master's Degree in English.

Tuesday, in the midst of all this panicking, I managed to make it to an appointment I'd scheduled at Cleveland State University to review a Master's program they call MAGI, a Master of Arts in Global Interactions. It features economics (ugh), international business, communications, and political science courses, and a study broad program that will open the doors for me to get a well-paying job in international companies and move permanently to the UK. The application and recommendation letters have been completed, all that's left is the financial aid (people are guaranteeing me that won't be a problem) and the GRE, a test I only have to get half-right, a 50%. I've never scored as low as 50% on anything.

Because I've essentially lost my mind I've decided to hold off on the testing and starting the pre-requisites until June, but within two years I'll have studied in the UK, gotten the degree and be applying for jobs making a minimum of double the salary I bring in now.

It sucks that I had to go through all this to get here; I can't even tell you how horrific the feeling of knowing you are going to die actually is until you've been there yourself, but it does change your life.

So will my Master's Degree.

The post about the panic attacks was short because I had to get it out without bringing back the symptoms, I didn't really do the story itself any justice. The details, the hours that turned into days of being so crippled I couldn't take showers or sleep without a light on, couldn't watch a TV show, the days I finally broke down and prayed to God to help me. The days I've watched coverage of the Japan earthquake and thought of Hatsuko, and how selfish of me to worry of my own death when Mother Nature had just wiped out thousands of people who deserved to live probably more than I do.

I get to go to school. And earn a Master's Degree in Global Interactions. And complete a study-abroad program in the UK like Hatsuko did coming here to the U.S. And earn $50,000 in a year living in a place where everyone is more like me, but different. And doing a job meant for smart people; the folks you see on CNN discussing political issues and public policy, the people they call "senior fellow" and work for whatever-Institute. I won't be them, but I'll be close. I'll have money to bring my friends and what's left of my family to me for visits. I might even find a man. I'll have a nice little flat where I won't have to do any yard work, and when the window breaks I'll just call the landlord to replace it. I might get a dog. I might even break down and eventually get a car. I'll get season tickets to the city's soccer team and see U2 in their stadium. I'll buy fresh, non-processed fish and vegetables and milk at the market, just like I do here at the West Side Market. I'll know more than one language. I'll be out of the sunshine and have all the cloudy days I can stand. I'll have good teeth and pretty grey hair and fabulous clothes I didn't have to have thrift-store luck to buy.

I'll be the person my Gramma, my Grampa, my Ma and my Dad wanted me to be....

That is the end of this story. The running joke is that I've learned more about life from listening to Bob Seger records than I ever learned from that family I thought was mine. So as Bob would say after hearing my story, "There I go, turn the page..."