You Will Do Impulsive Things--and that is OK!

When I reflect on the last month of deciding to leave graduate school, I realize I did some impulsive things.  I recognized it at the time.  In fact, I encouraged myself.  I had stayed in part out of a sense of inertia, so it seemed logical that if I was going to leave, I needed to shake up my life and do things differently.

Sometimes this has meant staying up late to watch a movie with my husband.  I also signed up on impulse for a five day online writing course that starts tonight, which while it cost some money got me excited.  This weekend, it involved putting off the grading of over 50 papers until Sunday night. Being impulsive has even been as simple as blogging (like right now) when I should be writing a paper that is past its due date. And recently, it has involved buying a sex toy.

See, I had a dream a few weeks ago in which a good friend casually gave me a carefully wrapped present that she told me "was just what you need:"  inside was a collection of sex toys.  It wasn't a sexual dream so much as a sort of to do list.  When I woke up, I puzzled over the symbolic meaning, then told my essential self, "Ok, I hear you."  I needed to get out of my comfort zone and do something different. I needed to let loose, and not be so uptight.  And apparently my brain was worried I wouldn't get an abstract message, so it  needed to hit me over the head in a literal way.  I decided that if I did what my dreams told me to do, I might have more dreams with equally practical instructions, on hopefully more helpful things like getting a job, or figuring out what I wanted out of life.  It seemed like a win win situation.

So I marched down to town and into my local lingerie shop.  I told her I needed a stocking stuffer, and examined the mini toys at the front check out.  When I didn't see anything I wanted I went up stairs.  The lady who worked there, all prim and proper,  realized “Oh, you meant a naughty stocking stuffer.”  Yes I did, I replied.  “Let me know if you want any advice,” she offered.  There were rows of huge vibrators and anal beads, and things I couldn't even figure out where they went, but I decided I would not be that bold.   I tried to see if I recognized any of them from my dream, and read the backs of the packages.  Phaltate free! They exclaimed.  I grabbed two contenders and marched back downstairs.  “Which one do you recommend?” I asked, “Well, that one has five settings, and that one is just the one.”  Great, ever practical I took the value pack. 

While this may seem weird, there's no one path to leaving graduate school. If it's by way of the sex shop, so be it.