This past Wednesday, I officially ended my career as an undergraduate student by completing my final in a grammar class at 9:00am. However, today is the day that I partake in the formality of walking across a stage, wearing a cap, gown, tassel, and honors cord, to accept a ceremonial diploma before the eyes of my parents and a few friends. In the past, I hadn’t given much thought to whether or not this ceremony meant something to me; I’m actually still not completely convinced that it does. But all in all, I do believe that it means something to not only me, but my family as well.

It has taken me 15 years to complete my Bachelor’s Degree. What with changing schools several times, having a career in there for almost 10 years, a marriage, and subsequently, a divorce, the life path I had chosen was by far not a straight line. But I got here. And now I should be able to pursue a dream I have had for a long time, to teach. And that? I suppose that is what makes this ceremony even the more worthwhile.

Earlier today, when explaining to my favorite instructor why she saw me crying on my phone in the hall before class, I heard myself say something rather profound about myself: I handle stress rather well until it handles me.

Late last night and early-enough this morning, I began to have my version of an anxiety attack. It’s been quite a while since this has happened, the last time — that I remember — it happened was when I lived in my apartment over a year and a half ago. I had a couple during those two years alone in my snug little cave, but that was because I was alone and unsure of my life. Why would have one now, of all times, surrounded by family and pursuing a dream that I have had for years?

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Would that just not be the BOMB? I think I would market it to women, primarily.

I’m talking about a device that can be used to turn off our brains when they start thinking too much. You know, to behave more like a man’s brain. I mean, seriously, what is UP with all the analyzing that goes on in our female minds? Why do we have to go to sleep each night thinking about how all the crap we did today didn’t really get as done as we thought; or, why, when we meet someone new - say a guy, for instance - we have to create all sorts of scenarios regarding what he said in that email or voice mail?

Yeah, you guessed it… I met a guy and I’m experiencing hyper-thinking activity. Does he really like me? Why didn’t he call? Is he mad at me? Am I too clingy? Do I need to chill out and let him have his space? Why didn’t he KISS me on that third date? Are we dating now, or are we just ‘hanging out’? Is he beer-goggling me? ARRRRGGGHHH!

I want it to stop. I know it’s insane. Completely and utterly insane. But no matter what I do, I CANNOT STOP THE VOICES that question Every. Single. Last. Word.

If you find the device that can turn off my brain (barring death), please, I beg you, let me know.

In just under a month, I will graduate from The University of Texas at Arlington with my undergraduate degree from the College of Liberal Arts. I chose a degree that many people consider “light”, and although I agree that it is so, especially at UTA, it is a topic I am interested in continuing to pursue as a graduate student. I am just happy that I am finally finishing my Bachelor’s degree, and that I will be more suited to find employment outside my previous career path. No, a BA is never guarantee that a job will be hovering on the horizon, but I will feel more apt to acquire a position, somwhere.

I will be the first of my generation across my family to achieve this, which is another thing to consider in my list of accomplishments. My father is the only one in his family to have not only graduated college, but to have sought and successfully completed both a Master’s and a PhD. The only other person in our family to have completed a degree is my Uncle Russ; however, he is a relation by marriage, which makes my degree even more meaningful to my family.

And now I have a dilemma: should I legally change my name back to my maiden name so that my degree will represent who I am and where I came from, or does it even really matter? Though I have been divorced three years, I decided to keep my ex-husband’s name for two reasons: 1) It was easier, and 2) It is sort of a cool name, from which I feel I garner more attention/remain in people’s memory better. But as I approach graduation, I am not really certain just “who” I really am. I have recently decided that there is a third reason I have not changed my name back: I do not feel my maiden name fits me, and it holds some bad memories (in sixth grade a fellow unpopular student made himself a hair more popular by rhyming my last name with an animal known for its large girth; something I was also representative of).

The decision has not come as yet. And, it is a conversation that will continue to play in my mind for not only the coming weeks, but well into my new life.

I am happy to be graduating, though. It has not been a difficult ride, and UTA is certainly not a very challenging school — at least not for me — but it is a huge accomplishment, regardless.

Now, if anyone knows of a job, let me know.

I’m not very political. I probably couldn’t tell you half of what either of the major party candidates stood for this election year. For that matter, I got the feeling that no one else I ran into could either: this was an election based solely on a marketing campaign. But, that’s just my opinion.

Though I lack any political expertise, I have had one opinion I feel should be considered: that Barack Obama is not black; he is bi-racial. And it bothers me, to my core, that he waged a campaign under the banner of being black. I am not denying him his African American heritage. However, he is denying something: his white heritage; his mother’s heritage. Be who you are, and I will love you for it.

And now, we are calling him our first “black” president. No, he’s our first [known] bi-racial president, and there’s a big difference.

I just had to get that off my chest. I like things to be called what they are, not molded as someone feels a situation deems.

Though this is certainly unimpressive by most standards of people my age, I accomplished something this morning that I just had to jot down.

I stayed awake after feeding my dogs at 7:22am.

Seriously, this is a big step for me. I’ve been lazing around since the spring semester ended in May, getting up around 9am or later (lately, *later*). And I’ve been sluggish all day. And, as usual, I tell myself I need to get up and stay up. Yet, it never works. I’m not naturally a morning person, in terms of jumping out of bed and otherwise springing to life. I’ll go to bed thinking, “I will get up and do X, Y, and Z…” but then morning rolls around and though I mumble to myself that I need to get up, I wind up snuggling deep into my pillows deciding the moment is better in bed than elsewhere.

But, I absolutely LOVE being awake early! Especially during the summer in Texas - the air is at its coolest. And, things are so quiet and serene. And this morning, I did it! Let’s see if tomorrow I can repeat the event.

No, not his shadow. His farts. Seriously, I’ve been dying to find a way to catch him in the act, sound effect and all, but it’s just not possible. So I just need to write about it.

Peanut, my little and younger dog (though still 7 years old), jumps up and runs away when he toots. I’ll be sitting somewhere, minding my own business when I hear a little air pocket… a sort of wwwfft sound… and Peanut will start and run off like, “Hey dude, I don’t know WHAT just happened, but that sure as heck wasn’t me.” It is really funny when you see/hear it happen, and I just had to share. Especially with you Maria.

(Oh, and other times, he’ll just sniff it… I swear. Disgusting.)

About five minutes ago, after many long hours filling in the application, reviewing the application, and of course writing the two essays, I finally submitted my application for the Peace Corps.

Now, I just need to sit back and wait to be contacted by a recruiter (3-4 weeks is what we’re told online, but an email I just received says two weeks). Of course, I will be an active applicant, not simply waiting for things to come to me. This is, after all, a job just like any other, if not more competitive. I am bummed that it took me so long (almost two months!) to complete the application; I expected to take merely a couple of weeks. However, I wanted to put a lot of thought into what I wrote (regardless of how the essays sound to others, I feel good about them), and often times, writing just needs to flow naturally. Forcing myself to write was making me crazy.

At the same time, the delay in submitting my application gave me opportunity to stew on the choice I was making. Just the other day, while reading “The Geography of Bliss” by Eric Weiner (a non-fiction about one man’s travels in search of what makes the world’s happiest places so happy), I enjoyed a chapter on the world’s least happy country: Moldova. I bring this up because he wrote a passage about an interview with a group of Peace Corps Volunteers that he had. It was a little scary. Moldova - a former Soviet nation - is, according to scholars, the least happy place to live, and the Peace Corps volunteers he spoke with believed it. I thought to myself, “Gee, that’s definitely one of those countries in eastern Europe that I could be sent to… and, there are other former Soviet nations that may be in similar shape… can I handle that?” The answer I eventually came to was, YES. The Peace Corps is not about having a party in another country. No where is going to be easy or a continuous blast. Whatever experience I may have, should I be accepted as a volunteer, is what I make of it. If I am chosen and am placed in the field I desire (education), then I will find something to keep me going. It is all about helping others as best I can and learning about myself.

I mean, seriously, people live through considerably worse. For example, my brother had to spend a year in South Korea alone, about a month after his daughter was born; and, another year in Turkey a few years later, again apart from his family. I think I can handle two-years being brought down to earth.

Anyone who comes across these last few postings, please keep your fingers crossed for me. I want to do this, more than anything, and as it is a competitive and lengthy process, I will need all the help and support I can get.

Just yesterday, I finally finished the second required essay, this time describing my motivation. In it, applicants are asked to describe why they want to be a Peace Corps Volunteer as well as how those reasons fit with their experience and goals.

Here is my stab:

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UPDATE: Turns out, the man driving the vehicle that hit Laura’s car may not have been intoxicated. The initial stories in the paper jumped on the fact that he had a previous DUI on record and made the assumption that he was again driving under the influence. What appears to have been the issue is an old house, owned by the city, which sits so close to the intersection that the cross traffic cannot see highway traffic clearly, if at all. Apparently this has been an issue for the city for quite some time, and, ironically, which is set to be torn down on August 25 for this reason. Unfortunately, that is about three weeks too late for Laura.

My brother’s first wife, Laura, while returning home this morning with her husband’s family, was killed in an automobile accident caused by a drunk driver. She was the only one of the four in her vehicle killed; she was a passenger in the backseat. The driver of the other vehicle, the drunk guy?, yeah, not a scratch.

(Also, about ten years ago, seven months pregnant, and my seven year old nephew in the backseat, Laura’s car was hit by a semi during a snowstorm. She lost the baby. My nephew miraculously had been sitting on the side other than his normal spot, which saved his life.)

Laura and I had never been close and had not seen or spoken to each other probably since she and my brother divorced over sixteen years ago. And, though she put my brother through a lot of heartache and pain, I have always carried a mote of respect for her because of something she taught me, unwittingly. She was great at responding to sudden stressors. I know this sounds silly, but I was maybe sixteen at the time. I and my parents were visiting my brother, Laura, and my baby nephew Christopher, in Hawaii (where my brother was stationed). One day we were waiting in line for something, I think, my mom holding the 8 month old baby. Somehow we noticed that the charm from her necklace was missing - a heart shaped piece of quartz, maybe 3/4″ or more at its widest. My mother was freaking out… my brother was freaking out… my dad and even me to an extent were freaking out… certain the baby had it in his mouth. But Laura, his mother, responded coolly by sticking her finger in his mouth and scooping the stone out. Just like a professional.

I remarked on how calm she remained. She answered by saying something along the lines of, panicking only makes the situation worse. From that day on I have used her words as I too respond to stressful moments when others may panic. Is that not strange, that something so small as a calm response can affect someone so profoundly?

It is strange, now, responding to her death. Like I said, we were never close while she and my brother were together. And seriously? She really did a number on him (and my family - a story for another time perhaps). But I never hated her. I always respected her. And in a sense I was proud of her for starting a new life and family. I think I felt a little sorry for her until then; as if with my brother she had simply fallen into a life that never should have been and then found her way back on track.

I am saddened for her and her family, and most definitely my nephew who just graduated high school in June. Laura worked hard, from what I understand, to keep him on track, ensuring that he stayed in school and worked hard. Regardless of what transpired between her and my brother, she did a good job raising my nephew. She desereved better than to be survived by the drunk driver who took her life.