I have been released.
After nine months of fulfilling commitments and obeying orders, The Program (a.k.a. graduate school) has dismissed me. I have been waiting for this time to come, aching for my freedom, and now it has arrived. For one week, I have been able to wake up when I please, eat what I want, drink and sleep whenever and however I wish. But The Program still looms like a constipated storm cloud over my right shoulder. Not my left one because that’s where my conscience resides.
I thought I would make good use of this free time by catching up with my bills, cleaning my apartment, exercising a little, and maybe even go surfing, but the truth is I do not know what to do with myself.
It’s like I’ve escaped from prison. I find myself paranoid that around any corner lies an unfinished commitment or assignment with the potential to drag me back to the Basement of Neuberger Hall and condemn me to another sentence of grueling clinical work, unsatisfied clients, and 20-page papers (single-spaced).
Maybe if The Program and I had completely severed ties, I would feel more at ease with my spare time, but the truth is I have only been excused for a few weeks. To some, I am one of the lucky ones to have gotten part of my summer off and to slip away from its clutches, but in reality, I have traded two solid weeks of changing adult diapers to get on part-time status with The Program. It will not be satisfied without something in return. It owns and consumes me. Almost like a really, really, really, bad boyfriend.
So cautiously, I will celebrate my temporary release from school and pay my humble respects changing dirty diapers with a smile on my face and a giggle in my voice. After all, it’s better than being locked in a basement.