College ruled

Josh is graduating from his mater's program on June 1. Crazy.

This leaves many mixed emotions floating around our house, manifested mainly in his emotions and my emotions clashing to create a tornado-like vortex smack in the middle of our living room. See?

Josh = sad about graduation
Me = happy about graduation
Josh = freaking out about working again
Me = Oh. my. god. pleasegetajobalreadyHELP!!!!!
Josh = casually mentioning going for a Ph.D.
Me = aggressively announcing that Josh getting a job will lead to professionals painting our apartment, dinners in actual restaurants, payments of bills in full, purchasing of tickets to movies and other entertaining activities

Even so, I'm so unbelievably proud of him. I suppose that goes without saying — getting any number of additional degrees is a major accomplishment, and Josh and I have faced various and sundry challenges on the way to this moment. But this whole trek was not easy for him. It's heart-wrenching watching someone you love more than anything in the world struggle and work hard and succeed as they embark on a plan that, in an ideal world, will make their, and by turns your, life better in the long run.

But that run is very long. And that's where the tug comes in. Because while I've always known that there was no choice and that Josh absolutely had to go back to school to make a complete career change — he was so miserable in the music business and knew so clearly that he needs to use his substantial brain for something greater than marketing Joe Cocker records — I didn't know how hard it would be for me. I pictured myself as this stoic spouse who'd be quietly controlled at every pass, taking the financial uncertainty in stride and holding my breath until we could hang his graduation gown over our windows because we still don't have curtains. In a word, I'd be a martyr.

Yeah, that didn't happen.

I think how it feels to be married to a student was best worded on one of my very favorite Web sites, Television Without Pity. For those of you unfamiliar with its greatness, TWoP is an extensive discussion board of TV shows — viewer forums, episode recaps, media posts, blahblahfuncakes. So this morning I was reading the brilliant Al Lowe's recap of last week's episode of Gilmore Girls (I still can't talk about how tomorrow is the series finale; please don't push me, I'm still not ready). There was a scene in which a couple named Paris and Doyle were talking about their summer trip, backpacking through India, and how hyperintense Paris was packing dozens of textbooks to help her prepare for entering Harvard Medical School in the fall. Doyle wants her to relax and enjoy their adventure; she tells him she'll relax in four years when she gets a top-tier residency.

Al writes:

Doyle smiles the knowing smile of all grad-school widows. He sweetly tells her how much he loves her, but I know from experience that in his brain, he is seeing the gaping maw of his stressball future spread out before him like an endless flaming river of pain. Hmm? What's that? Why, yes, my husband is working through his PhD comps right now. Why do you ask?

And that's exactly what it feels like. There's the love, the appreciation, the amazement, the admiration, the support, the knowledge that it's the right thing to do and that you'll both come out better for it. But then there's the reality that for the time they're in school, your own life virtually stops until they're finished, that the number one priority in your house is their education, that the majority of real-world responsibilities rest on your shoulders while they do what they have to do, and that your forward momentum as a couple hangs back while your spouse is walking the hallowed halls of SomeSuch University and talking about how they wish they could stay in school forever. And let's not talk about the debt. Oy, the debt.

It sucks.

It took me a while to stop waiting around to do something for myself. I held my breath for a long time, waiting for the whole thing to be over, and feeling guilty any time I shifted the attention to my own needs. Eventually, for better or worse, I hopped to it (and now everything is about memememememe!). Started my blog. Found a therapist. Searched for some freelance work to make some extra money. Bought myself a much-needed computer (it's supposed to arrive tomorrow! I'm already having an inappropriately torrid relationship with it and I haven't even gotten it yet). And I complained a lot, but anyway. I suppose I didn't realize for a long time that my life didn't HAVE to stop, but it did slow down more than I was comfortable with. And now? In my typically graceless manner, I've been comparing Josh's impending graduation to having to pee: You know when you're on your way home, you feel like you have to pee, but you can hold it? And then when you turn the corner to your house you start doing The Dance? And then you get to your front door and you start unzipping your jeans? And then you open the door, drop your keys on the floor and hope to all that is holy that you remember to lift the lid on the toilet before you sit down? Yeah, Josh graduating feels like that. My body knows it's close, and I have to pee. Problem is, transitions run slow, urgency runs fast. I can't wait for this next phase to kick in, for us to re-start our life together, to do all the things we've been talking about doing but haven't felt we could until he graduates and gets a job. It's all so close. I'm having a hard time calming down. I think our paranoia is our own worst enemy.

But I'm so proud of him. Did I mention that?

On a related topic, this is the last time I buy someone a gift three weeks ahead of time. His graduation present is taunting me from its hiding space. It's alive, I tell you. Alive!

Also: After more than four years, we replaced our shitty backyard fence with a far less shitty fence. We had to do this partly because a section of the fence was missing and partly because we have this sitcommy nosy neighbor who accosted us with virulent lectures about how to take care of our property every time we went into the backyard. (Bear in mind, her backyard was a dirt heap for years, and she trained a puppy by basically torturing it, leaving it alone in the backyard for three weeks. Don't get me started. I called the ASPCA.) She managed to corner the contractor to tell him how he should install the fence and she probably vented about "those pesky kids next door," but now the fence is taller and more opaque than ever and WE NEVER HAVE TO DEAL WITH MYRTLE AGAIN because we've completely blocked her out.

I hope. People like that never really go away, do they?