The Next Two Years of My Life

It's done. The letters of recommendations are in, the statement of purpose has been submitted, the GRE scores and transcript have been sent, and I've paid my stupid application fees ($70? For the privilege of being considered? GOD.). Now, all there is to do is wait for the verdict.

Northwestern.

Rush.

St. Xavier.

Northern.

God and GPA willing, at least one of these four fine instutitions of higher education admit me into their speech-language pathology progam, preferably with an assload of financial aid to go along with it, and I will be able to start looking in the appropriate neighborhood for a lovely studio/one-bedroom apartment to spend the next two years of my life.

I want to come up with an equation that will allow me to pick the right school. Ideally, I am the greatest applicant since Van Riper, and they all want me and throw tons of money at me. Even then, this presents a conundrum.

Northern is the cheapest and offers the most financial aid. They would cover full tuition and offer a stipend if I TA for them. TAing is something I've always wanted to do, and considering I want to become a professor at some point, it's probably a good idea I get some experience in front of a class if thats the route I'm mapping. However, I hate DeKalb with a fiery passion. I am lonely, bored, and completely cut off - there is not one person within an hour who loves me. That's a stark realization to make. Sure, I hang out with the postgrads between classes - they're lovely people - but they're most likely not going to be around for the rest of my life. Plus, it's a cultural vacuum. There is a community theatre which I'll be trying out for in March, but if it's ruled by politics as strongly as every other community theatre everywhere, getting into a show doesn't look likely.

The next cheapest in Rush University, but I'm having so much trouble getting them my transcript that I don't even know if they'll have a completed application from me. Considering how much I paid to have transcripts and GRE scores and everything sent over to them, everything had better fucking work out. But that's another headache for another day. On the plus side, their focus is on hospital training (although I would be certified to work in a school or hospital upon graduation), which is my primary focus. Even if I changed my mind, it's easier to go from working in a hospital to working in a school than the other way. I have no idea what their financial aid options are because their website has such vague wording, but I have a strong feeling it's paltry. But Rush is at least in the city, so I could hop on a train to go see Mark or get someone to pick me up in Naperville, Blue Island, or New Lenox to see friends and family. I'm not really familiar with the area, but I'm guessing that not having to deal with having a car around there is a good possibility.

The second most expensive school I'm applying to is St. Xavier University. When I stepped onto that campus, I got the same "good feeling" I got when I first came to North Central. I can't explain how exactly I felt, and I wouldn't really say it was home, but it felt right. They have been very attentive in terms of calling me when things are missing from my application (not to mention offering free application fees), and they have offered several open houses. The university is also unbelievably close to where my dad lives - so close, in fact, that I may be able to live in the other half of his split level house (I hope I'm using that term correctly) if a series of fortunate events fall into place. Also, it's right by 294, which means I can shoot straight north to go see Mark and head over to 55 to see my mom or visit Naperville. Dave works there, too, so I'd have a friend on campus already.

The most expensive school I'm applying to is Northwestern University. Looking at its exorbitant cost (plus the cost of living in Evanston), I can't believe I'm even considering it. If it weren't for the 10% acceptance rate at each university, I probably wouldn't have looked at it twice. But I can't afford to be too choosy. It does offer some financial aid (10%-30% of tuition covered), but it's barely a dent compared to the other ones. But there is a professor there that is doing work on language disorders in gifted children that I would give my right arm to work with. Other perks include being able to live unbelievably close to Mark (although a voice in my head is warning me that I'll just become a full-time responsibility for him and drive him insane), being able to get around without a car, and possibly living with Kristin.

I wish I could come up with some kind of equation. X amount of misery is worth Y dollars. Z% financial aid equates to X hours spent alone. From the outside, it seems easy: go where I'm happiest. But isn't a little more moping, a little extra driving on the weekends, a few more sighs worth not having to take out another $60,000 to cover graduate school? The other thing to consider is that I will be entering an extremely abundant job market that pays ridiculously well. Those student loans will be gone relatively quickly after I'm done with school. But $60,000 is also a great amount of money to put toward a car, a house, (a wedding?), or zillions of other projects.

So someone give it to me. Give me the equation that will decide which school I should go to.

Or I could just wait until late March and see who admits me.

Fun with Phobias

At this moment, I am sitting at my desk at work, dizzy, finding it hard to catch my breath, and wiping tears from my eyes. I've been this way for about half an hour, since I got off the phone with my mom. She didn't give me bad news - not in the way you may be thinking, anyway - and we didn't get into a fight. I didn't injure myself, and no one close to me is in any pain or danger.

I looked up the surgery I am going to get in a few months, and I am ready to completely lose it.

I'm not going into detail about it because a) it's not life-threatening and who wants to hear about it if it's not going to be exciting? and b) I'm going to fucking lose it even more if I start typing out what they're going to do.

I don't know why I have such a deep rooted fear of anticipated pain. I mean, no one is thrilled to find out they need surgery or a shot or whatever, but they're capable of dealing with it like civilized, rational adults. They don't break down two months before the procedure. They don't Google for more information on it and then freak out when they find first hand accounts of worst case scenarios. You'd think someone as self-aware and screwed up as I am would know not to go looking for this shit, but there you have it. Phobias are, by definition, irrational fears, and I'm about as irrational as it gets when it comes to this.

That's not to say that I haven't been able to overcome it in some situations. When Abby collapsed senior year, I was in her hospital room for the majority of each her stays. I saw her bruised forearms and IV needles that had to be inserted and reinserted and adjusted. I was there every time they had to give her an injection or blood test. But I was so overwhelmed with Is she okay? Is she going to be okay? pounding in my ears over and over again that I didn't even think about the needles.

I felt downright selfish, in fact, when a nurse came in to take her blood, and Abby looked at me, vague-eyed and pale, and said, "Jana, turn around." My inability to deal with needles was so overwhelming that even if her mostly-unconscious state, Abby mustered her last bit of remaining strength to warn me.

"I'm okay," I said, still numb. I'm pretty sure I forced myself to watch, but nothing was really registering at that point other than Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?

The closest thing I'd ever been to being angry at Alec in eight years of best-friendship was when he was screwing around with a drink straw from an orange juice container, flipped my wrist over, and pretended to jam the straw into my forearm. I don't remember if I screamed at him or ran out of the room or what, but I have a very vivid memory of it happening.

It's not something that comes up often enough in my life that I really feel like I should do about it. I mean, it's not like I'm afraid of meeting new people or speaking in public or making left hand turns. I rarely have to get injections, I absolutely refuse to get a flu shot, and I've never broken a bone in my entire life.

I wish there were some traumatic experience in my life I could just talk out with a psychologist and get out of my system, so I can function again. But I don't remember anything other than my dentist being particularly mean (He made me beg him to drill my teeth so I wouldn't have to get braces later in life; I didn't know until I was much older that those two things weren't even remotely related.). The only time I was ever deathly sick was before I could remember.

The closest thing I can think of that could be a reason for my fear of needles is the lie adults tell. Not the one about Santa or the Easter Bunny and not the one about the car not starting unless you had a seatbelt on (although I think I'm the only one that's gotten that). Adults always say that it doesn't hurt. You won't feel it. It'll just be a pinch. METAL IS BEING SHOVED INTO YOUR SKIN AND MUSCLE. Sure, it's not the hysteria-inducing trauma I perceive it to be, but there's no way around the FACT that it does hurt.

As part of my Counseling in Communicative Disorders class, I have to either write an 8-10 research paper or I have to go to four counseling sessions and write my responses to those sessions. I was really looking forward to writing the paper - honestly - but I might as well kill two birds with one stone.

I just don't look forward to walking into a room with a stranger and then bursting into tears.