the bee sting of life

[Dramatic title, eh?  I assure you, it's completely appropriate.]

I know, I took a few days off from the blogging world.

In that few days, there might have been a few breakdowns, some major studying, and some major questioning.

And most of all...there might have been no time.  To do anything.

Today, I feel a little better.  I'm adjusting.

I'm not used to never having any breaks from studying or work.  I'm not used to having to actually having to read the textbooks [especially when it's 100+ pages per night].  And, most importantly, I'm not used to not always liking class.  Because, my friends, I enjoyed every single psychology class during my undergraduate career.  And I liked every single psychology teacher.  [Yep, I was one of those kids.]

And now, I'm just not sure what to do with myself.  It's been an adjustment, to say the least.

But I think I'm making progress.  [And that's the important part, right?]

Anyway.  Yesterday, I was having one of those days and was on my way to talk to my Counseling advisor about my doubts on whether being a counselor is actually what I want with my life.  I walked through the double doors at the outside of the building.  Then I walked down the hallway and came to another set of double doors into the Counseling Headquarters [I'm pretty sure it's not actually called that, but it's called that in my head.  But if I wanted to be Rogerian, I'd probably call it the Counseling Fortress of Solitude.]

As I was walking through the second set of double doors, my left arm started stinging like crazy.  Seriously kids.  Without even thinking, I started swatting at my left arm furiously.  Then I looked up, saw the receptionist staring at me, turned around, and said [still in a considerable amount of pain, I might add], "Is there a bee on the back of my arm??"

He laughed at me nervously with raised eyebrows.  I could sense him thinking, The Counseling Training Center is right down the hall, lady.  You're obviously one of their clients.

He shook his head tentatively.

I saw the bee flying around the ceiling.  "See?" I said with certainty.  "I'm pretty sure that's the one that stung me."

He looked up at it and looked back at me.

I could see I was getting nowhere.

"You can go ahead and go into his office now," he said, obviously in a hurry to get me out of his reception area.

Later that night, I made Tim look at the bee sting and tell me how much it must have hurt and how brave I was to withstand all of that pain.

It made me feel better.

[It also made me feel better that we ate an entire container of Funfetti Frosting in one night during one of my breakdowns.  But that is a story for another day.]

[Happy Place]