March 6, 1999

I have issues with transitions. I don't know how the hell I discovered this. I'm about the least aware person I know. I'm not introspective. I have no idea what is going on in my body. I am a gigantic space cadet most of the time. I still don't really understand what a metaphor is, despite the fact that I've been teaching it for three years. But somewhere, somehow, I've come to the high-level realization that I, Amy Lester, do not enjoy transitions. Let's start with mornings. The thoughts that go through my head when I have to pry my butt from the warm covers and move into the unforgiving bright light of the bathroom are...well...not for a child's ears. Once I'm done with my shower (and the transition is over), I am as happy and playful as a bear cub. Until that moment, I am one pissed-off cowgirl. I used to hate leaving Andy's apartment when we were dating. One of our earliest problems (ahem) was over my issues with saying goodbye. Early in our courtship, we spent most of the weekend together, but when it came time for me to leave his side on Sunday nights, I became a nattering baby. We'd say our goodbyes, then he'd walk me to the door of his apartment, and I'd suddenly shut down. I'd hem and haw and shift my weight on my feet and tears would come to my eyes. "You're sick of me," he'd say. I know. "Um, I'm sick of you," he'd say. I know. "OK, goodbye then," he'd say, giving me a kiss. "I love you. I'll call you tomorrow." I would stand in his kitchen, leaning on his counter, two feet from the door, and I would pout. Why? Who the hell knows? I wanted to go home and have some space just as much as he did. But I'd make a little mini-scene, demanding assurances from him that just because we both needed space, nothing was wrong with our relationship. Once I would finally drag myself out of his apartment, I would happily think ahead to my night alone, excited to be free. Until that moment, however...wreck city. I still hate leaving people's homes. I wish it were socially acceptable to just say "Bye! Thanks!" and run out of the house. None of that yappin' and yappin' and moving slowly towards the door. When the visit is over, poof! You're gone! At least when you're leaving, say, Target, there is a definite end to your trip. You shop until you're happy, then you go through a few different steps that will help you out the door. You get in line. You make small talk with the red-clad teenager. You pay. You leave. Aaah! Now that's nice. I used to think I was addicted to the Internet. I waste a lot of time surfing around aimlessly when I could be doing things like cleaning the bathroom or grading papers or even doing fun things like working on my picture project. But now I think it's that transition thing. Last night, for instance, I was completely wiped out and I just wanted to get in bed and read my book and go to sleep. Instead, I farted around reading this page just to read, and by the time I got to bed, I was too tired to read my book. Sometimes I look at the little clock on my computer screen and I can't believe how much time has gone by. But to pry myself away would be a lot of effort...too much, it seems, for a transition-hatin' girl like myself. Wanna be notified when I update? Send mail and thou shalt receive!