Plans and Designs

My first class started at 3:40 today.  Since the potential for complete failure was through the roof, I had worked myself up into quite a frenzy by ten after 2:00.  I could no longer function.  I tried to work.  I tried to watch The Glee Project.  I tried to talk to the people who love and support me.  All to no avail.  All I could do was try to anticipate what was going to happen.  What it was going to be like? Who was going to be there? Would I be able to find parking?  Would I be able to find my classroom?  If I did find my classroom, would I be asked to introduce myself? If I was asked to introduce myself, how should I go about doing that?  Should I leave out the whole kids and stretch marks thing in an effort to fit in?  Should I focus on the writing?  Should I make some jokes about my nontraditional nature?  All of this, but like magnified by 3,000.  Plus crying and shaking.

I left my house at 3:00 and called Dan as I drove down the street.  We can still do that here in Missoula.  He was walking into a meeting.
“Hey, you’re going to be great,” he started right in. “It’s going to be so much fun,” blah blah blah.  He went on for a while before he realized I was crying.
“Holy shit, are you crying?”
Sniffle, slurp, “I am so scared!”
“Oh.  Well,” he said, changing tactics, his voice taking on that quality it has when he’s trying to keep Hannah from going into total meltdown, “you’re the prettiest girl in the class.  And you’re the smartest too."  He ALWAYS knows what to say.  I started laughing through the tears.  “Yep, so you’re the prettiest and the smartest.  So there’s that.  Okay?”  He had done his duty and we got off the phone.

Bestie B called right at that moment.  Again with the crying.  We talked about God and anticipation and expectation and the difference between arrogance and confidence and why I was feeling the way I was feeling.  Still shaking.  Still a bit teary, but my body was taking me to the damn school anyway.
        “If I hadn’t outed myself on that damn blog, I would NOT be going right now,” I told her.
To which she said: “None of this has been your will.  That’s why it feels so wrong.”

I pulled into the parking lot and got off the phone with her.  I went to the little parking station and plugged it with quarters until it gave me a ticket for two hours.  I put the permit in the window of my car and started walking to class, just the way I had practiced it on Saturday.

(Side note: My mom happened to be in town last weekend for my birthday. My friend took me to campus to do a trial run and go to the bookstore and, because she was in town, my mom came with us.  As we were walking around, I started noticing all the little freshman walking around with their parents.  “Look, Mama,” I said getting a little teary, “it’s freshman orientation!  I totally stole this from you and God gave it back!” How cool is that?)
 
Yet another phone call carried me to the Native American Studies building, where my class is taking place.
        "I’m going in,” I said at 3:30 and hung up my phone.

I knew enough to know that Room 202 was probably on the second floor.  I did not look at anyone around me.  Keep your head down, Kid, I said to myself. Just make it to the bathroom.  The bathroom on the second floor of the Native American Studies building is much cooler than the second floor in general, a fact for which I was grateful.  The first stall I opened was a shower.  Great, I thought, this is what it’s going to be like.  You’re probably going to walk into the wrong room.  It’s probably not even the right day. What are you doing here!?!?!?  That’s when I got down on my knees in the actual bathroom stall to take a moment.
        “Okay, God,” I said, “if this is what you want me to do, then you’re going to have to get me into that room.  Deal?”

At which point I got up off the bathroom floor, washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom and into Room 202.

There were a handful of kids there already.  KIDS.   CHILDREN.  I pulled up a seat in the second row against the wall and watched as more tiny infants walked in.  The rate at which this room was filling up with newborns was unreal.  One of them actually said, “Wouldn’t it be so funny if our teacher was, like, sitting here, like, the whole time?”  I swear he was looking in my direction.
I had to text my husband.
They’re all babies, it said
But you’re the smartest and the prettiest, he texted back.  I smiled at my life and waited for my professor to make an appearance among the embryos.

The Man walked in at 3:40.  All grey hair and glasses and New York Times reviews.  I’ll admit it, I held my breath for a moment.  Here we go, I thought.  There was the setting down of coffee and the shuffling of papers, some talk about chair arrangement.  And then we got down to business.  The handing out of the syllabus.  I almost drooled.  Nothing this girl likes better than a list of tasks.  Yes!  My mind was still running furiously.  Were we going to move the tables and chairs into a circle? Were we going to do introductions? Would he ask me to read my short story out loud?

        Instead, he said, “I’ve got that summer cold thing.  I’m sorry I’m not more present. It’ll be different on Thursday.”  And then he got up and started making his way out of the room.
“Right on!” the fertilized eggs thought in unison.
I was totally shocked.  I wanted to stand up on my desk.  “I cried over this!  All the shaking and the freaking out!  I changed my outfit three times!  I agonized!  Do you think I look this put together all the time? Well, I don't!  I PAID FOR PARKING!”

I didn't do that.  I followed him out of the classroom and when I was out of his earshot, I called Dan and told him the whole story.
“It’s like God was watching you spin maddeningly out of control all this time, totally laughing. ‘I’ve already planned to give Kevin Canty a head cold, Gaaby. Chill the fuck out!’” Dan said, doing his best imitation of God.

Best. Anti-Anxiety Pill. Ever.

Even if you had called me up and told me that you were terrified before you jumped off this cliff and that once you got there, it turned out to be no big deal and that you'd worried over nothing, I still would have had to worry.  It's just my way.  I have to learn through my own experience. Thankfully, I do learn.  I'm really hoping I can keep this in perspective all the way to Thursday.  I want you to know that I felt every single on of you with me, that I was fully aware how loved and supported and encouraged I was the whole time. I am just going to keep counting on that.  That and God's amazing sense of humor.