A year-and-a-half ago, I posted about how my degree, which I had come so close to attaining, had wound up splattered across the dashboard of my '71 Mustang. I had spent so many years accepting that I would never be granted my degree, and then decided to go for it. Sure I had been thwarted, I posted a blog entry detailing my misery.
Well, I got my degree.
That's right--after scrounging about for records verifying my "story," I submitted a formal appeal and was granted my degree. My wonderful husband threw a party for me, and my degree is now hanging on the wall in a nice frame. I am degreed. I are, in fact, edumacated.
I forget that. Often. I'll be sitting in bed, being carried along on a wave of disappointment and despair over my lack of degree when, suddenly, I'll remember! Hey, I DID succeed there!
I'm in the process of losing weight. A lot of weight. My hope? That I'll lose enough that my vicious social phobia will ease and I'll maybe even get myself a part-time job. Don't call me silly for being afraid--read the news, read the research. Heavy women are routinely denied employment, and when they are hired, they're paid less and fired first. Anyone who says different has never been an overweight woman.
In a totally different direction, our months-long quest for new furniture we can't really afford is finally approaching its end. The amazing, wowser, super-chair and ottoman from the Land of Fancitude has come, and it truly is a wonder to behold (our friend Joe said, "That's no ottoman--that's the Ottoman EMPIRE!". It wasn't the chair/ottoman set we'd wanted--that chair, after months of hope and BS, never did come. So we ordered from someone else. More money, but hey, they actually GOT the furniture to us. The sofa and second chair are en route (that's on rooooot, not IN ROWT), and should be here in a week or so. Sleeper sofa, here we come!
Of course, the new furniture has us panicked--my Mother's got to come over SOME time, right? And what are we going to do when she decides she wants to sit on our nice, new furniture? Her running sores and total lack of hygiene completely destroyed her new furniture in the space of a few weeks. What do we do? There's no good way for that to turn out. I guess we drape blankets over the whole mess and hope?
Or maybe we move? That's what I'm hoping for. Tommy's got applications in for positions in DC, and gosh, wouldn't that be amazing? No, it's not Pennsylvania, but it's mighty close, and it will certainly do in a pinch. Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please!