december 15, 2001. Well, the worst thing that could've happened has happened. Now that it's here, it's actually not that bad. I mean, once you get used to it, lots of things start to seem worse, and this just shrinks to a painful Very Bad Thing, rather than The Worst Thing. It is this: I was supervised on Friday, and he told me that I was looking at an Incomplete for this Practicum because one of the classes is out of my control. I was given the impression that he was doing me a favour; that in his opinion, most people would've flunked me outright. Now I get to choose - I can take an Incomplete and through extra work during the university semester I might be able to work it up to a Pass, or I can take a Pass with the understanding that if I don't pull it together next semester, I will flunk. I took this news with predictable Amoret control - I threw a crying, raging tantrum; threatened to sue everyone in sight & make verbal plans to firebomb the school. Well, actually I just nodded seriously and calmly - I saved all that other stuff inside for later. I didn't even cry during the meeting, although I couldn't help shedding a single tear on the way out of the building. And I cried all the way home, as I was alone and not likely to have to answer humiliating questions from anyone. In the past 36 hours I've been bouncing through the Classic Seven Stages of Grief - I've never flunked anything before, and it's a pretty big deal to have this hanging over my head right before Christmas. I've been really angry and full of detailed defences and plans of attack against this fundamentally unjust situation. I have sorrowed unreservedly, wallowing in self-pity & apprehended failure like a hippopotamus. I have schemed out fantastic bargains that would take this off my plate once and for all. I have been afraid, afraid of both actually failing and what people will think of a girl who dragged her husband to the middle of nowhere for 2 years, only to tank at the end. And so on. Talking to my parents about it was surprisingly helpful. I thought that I should let them know right away, just in case I wasn't graduating in May after all (I could just imagine the scene if I kept it to myself and then didn't graduate), so I called home early this morning. My mom burst into tears right away, carrying me along with her. But once she got over the initial shock, she was incredibly supportive. I've been talking seriously about leaving the program in the wake of this development, figuring that it's better to have an incomplete degree than a failure on my permanent record...what I hadn't realized is that she went through this exact situation in Nursing School 30 years ago. They had wanted her to be some complex other person - she didn't think that she could do it - she packed her bags in the middle of the night, 2 months before the end of the program - and after she came home as a failure, her mother never said a word, because her mother never thought that my mother could do anything anyway. (There was more crying during that last part when she told me the story). We're both so alike in that we have difficulty being untrue to our essential selves, and we would rather walk away from a serious challenge than try it and fail. It took her 20 years to get back on that horse, 20 years of wondering what might've happened. Obviously I have to learn from her example. As Neil Gaiman says, "It is sometimes a mistake to climb. It is always a mistake never to have made the attempt." As long as I know that I'll still be loved & accepted by my family & husband, it's okay. (Yes, I have heard from every member of my family at this point. By the time I called my parents I'd already gone through the whole thing with Nic the night before; he told me that ambition is overrated and that I shouldn't take on the stress because it's not worth it (he also told me to eat less fatty foods, but that was slightly less comforting.)) On the other hand, I have a lot of pride & I don't really want to have this going around the department. I made up my mind that if anyone asked, I was "fine" and that practicum was "great." Nobody really wants my problems dumped on them anyway. But the plan hit a snag when we dropped by a church potluck this evening. Rev. Robyn asked if things had gotten better at the school, and in the moment before I answered I realized that I have no secrets from this woman. I gave her the very, very abridged version, and she was suitably upset on my behalf. Two things she said bear repeating. One, that the word "nice," when traced to its Latin roots means "trying not to think about it," so I should tell people that my practicum is "nice." Two, she remarked that she had been trying to figure out a way to keep us around town and this might be it. I found that endlessly amusing, and immediately wanted to know if she had gotten God to flunk me. I know, as if He hasn't enough to worry about. this time 2 years ago: "Tell us on the doll where Poet touched you."