as requested..

conversation on Friday afternoon (today):
"So... should we plan to pick you up on Monday in Boston or no?"
"Um.. no? No."




Perhaps (ok, ok... it's a fact and I'm really sorry for ignoring you all for the past month) you've all been wondering what I'm doing with myself... so here is a straight up update which hopefully will contain some of the answers to the questions that I've been avoiding like a hypochondriac confronted with the bubonic plague.

First off, on my esteemed and extensive resume which is currently being viciously clawed over by top-notch employers (hahahahahahahahaha- that's a lie), I'm officially Elizabeth Mattern, M.A. Some may say that getting your Masters in your desired field of study makes you an intellectual. My family is proud of me. I got toasted at Christmas dinner by my uncle. I'm a hell of a lot broker (I owe the government more money than what my life is worth). All signs point to the fact that I've intellectually bettered myself. I tend to disagree. I'm still an idiot who does handstands instead of discussing Nietzsche. I would rather talk about the difficulty of finding the ever elusive blue bag of tropical Skittles than discuss politics. In my case (and in the case of approximately 60% of the people in this program) I think that M.A. stands for mediocre academic... but hey... on paper I look smarter. So... go me. Pop open some fine bubbly.

So this then leads to the question, what next? This has been a fun month... if you replace 'fun' with 'the most stressful'. I think we can all agree on just how indecisive I am (I like to call it 'easy-going', but hey... to each his own, right?). It's one of my most recognizable qualities. This is all fine and good until something important comes up... cough cough... such as life decisions. The first big one which very nearly caused me my first nervous breakdown was choosing a college. I prayed that four of my five college choices to reject me just so my options would be limited to one. Needless to say, the universe uttered a 'mwa-ha-ha' as he rubbed his hands together in evil delight as all five accepted me... and I spent the next 3 weeks in an infernal college limbo. So you can only imagine how I've been for the past month... I'm talking exponentially increasing levels of anxiety with each passing day, not helped by my natural instinct to internalize everything. And not to mention the added stress caused by the onslaught of questions from well-intentioned and rightfully curious friends and family everytime I connected to instant messenger, opened my email inbox, or picked up the phone. Because in the end, having finished the one and a half year cross-puddle Masters program, I was faced with what the hell I was going to do... and where... from this point on. Do I return to the U.S, to my family, to my oldest friends, to my comfort zone... or stay on in Spain... an ocean away from all that, a place where I have far less options and far higher degree of insecurity, but where I just have this feeling that makes me want to stay.

I opted for Jack Frost's legendary road less travelled, I guess. I pretty much decided a few weeks ago that I want to at least try my luck here. So, I tried to put into motion the changing of my flight. I have always been in love with British Airways. I like their little travel packs (toothbrush, toothpaste, socks, etc) that they provide, I like their free wine, I like their ticket prices, I like their easy to navigate website, I like their seats, I like their individual TV screens and the 20 channels to pick from, I like that they bumped me to business class that time, I like that they have given me food vouchers and a seat on the next flight out all of the 20482949230 times I've missed my connections, and I even really enjoy my in-flight meals. I'm perhaps even what one would call a British Airways snob... but hey, I feel that when you make a habit of taking eight-hour flights you're entitled. For British Airways, I even let the auditory torture that is the British accent slide. This is until over the course of the past couple of weeks we were repeatedly told "This is not a changeable ticket... there's nothing you can do." Bloody Red-coats.

'Well, there goes that idea,' I thought to myself. Faced with being forced to go back and not knowing how to handle that, I started stressing out... both of my parents had to deal with phone calls with me as I went through moments of what I call 'girlie emotions.' I (and I think the rest of my family is with me on this one) usually leave this delicate area of sentiments to my sister, who is the personification of said 'girlie emotions.' I love her dearly, but the girl cries watching sappy commercials and Lifetime movies. On the other hand, I don't think my parents know how to handle me when I get like that... because these moments are few and far between. I'm known as 'even-keel Betsey' for a reason. However, they are probably simultaneously relieved to have evidence that I am capable of human emotions and that there isn't a cold, cobweb-infested, black hole where a heart should be. (I promise that I'm not evil or emotionless... just an introvert)

The only option at this point was to simply 'miss' my flight and buy another one later on... an option that I hadn't considered until I talked to my dad. He made it all sound so simple... said not to stress out about it- it wasn't the end of the world... if I have to miss the flight I miss the flight and that's that. I was not expecting that reaction of either my parents. So then, of course, I was even more confused, indecisive, and racked with guilt. If I miss the flight, the ticket money goes to waste. I felt like doing that would make me that bratty, self-centered, spoiled, 'I don't wanna' type of person that I can't stand who just does what she wants despite the consequences. On the other hand, I don't think that I would have been humanly capable of boarding a plane come early Monday. So, here is the hypothetical plan as of now. I stay here until roughly the end of July. The first week of August I go to Maryland where my step-dad's family gets together every summer and hopefully to see my favorite soft-crab-sandwich-eating Maryland-er (Nell). Then, my dad has in theory changed the date of his five year anniversary of being cancer-free party from June to the second week... which I had originally been upset about missing. Following that, I either come back to Spain to work depending on how things go between now and July, or I stay in the U.S. But this is all two months away and at least for today I'm leaving it for 'future-Betsey' to figure out.

For now, all that matters is that on Monday morning at 7am, some relieved person on stand-by will board the plane and sit in my seat. And as that person is landing in London, I'll be waking up to another day of Spanish sunshine.