The Ticking Clock

It is funny...I never noticed that a clock ticks in my bedroom. In graduate school, I hauled a desk upstairs to my bedroom to work. That came in handy last year when I was teaching, and I still use the desk now. Every night I sit at my desk. Most nights I have no idea why I am sitting here. Some nights it is to pay bills or look stuff up online. But every night I sit here as a wave of dread and nausea fill me entirely. I know that the semester is starting. I always know when the semester is starting. The rush of energy, the excitement, the nerves. The ability to start fresh. The new faces, the new opportunities, and the beauty of fall. Every day I feel more and more aware that I have slowly stepped aside, stepped off my academic ride, and I stand, silently, as the ride goes on without me. It is odd--I see everyone going forward, I imagine me going forward, but it is as though I have stepped into a different life. I keep asking myself how I get through this. Do I find an alternative academic exercise? Run until I puke every day? Eliminate social media? Run away? I remind myself over and over that I made the best choice. When the tears come, I tell myself it was the right choice. My brain knows that the choice was right, but my heart...my poor, poor heart hears the ticking clock, counting down the days, and my heart aches.