My husband is much more focused than I am. He has ambitions and dreams. I don’t. Well, I dream of living in a cottage near the ocean. Not much of an ambition, but there it is. I think my dreams got dialed down about the time my children were toddlers. My locus of control was snatched from me and I have no idea how to get it back. You see, in order to raise children you must grow up in alarming ways. I was 21 when my first child was born and I had no idea what I was getting into. It didn’t matter that every older woman in my vicinity delighted in telling me that I was losing control; I didn’t believe it. Until one day the last fibers of my rope slipped from my fingers and I swam in space and time not knowing where my horizon went. I looked at my toddler, my second child, he was so angry because I had made him go to his room for punishment of a crime I no longer remembered or cared about. My intentions as a mother were simple even in the beginning–to raise my children to become perfect adults. In retrospect, it was so silly. My children are going to be the people they choose to be, not what I choose for them. But anyway, I digress. Back to me. I signed up for classes at the local Community College and loved it for about a year. I excelled in math and english; biology wasn’t for me. I learned some things about myself. I got a part time job at the local library (I love books and thought it would be a perfect fit) as a page. I didn’t mind that my only job was to put away books, I enjoyed putting them in order and placing them on the shelf back where they belong, ready to be checked out by the next customer; back where they could whisk someone out of their daily life. The other women who worked there were so unhappy in their own little lives and didn’t understand how I could only work 12 hours a week, or how I could be satisfied with placing books back on the shelf. There was one other page there; a homely young woman going to the same Community College. She did nothing. I mean nothing. She sat on a stool and browsed the internet. When I would come in the next day, everything would be just as I had left it–nobody else could put things away. But the thing that got me was that nobody noticed. Nobody said “Thank you. You do such a good job.” So I left. I quit. But I also quit school and that was a bad thing. I quit because I couldn’t see where I was going. I still can’t. My ambitions are dark, nimbus things just out of reach. I have a better job now, but I still don’t know where I am going. I work at the county courthouse in the Law Library and it’s good, but not perfect. I want to write but can’t make myself do it every day. I am still floating.