Today I finally got my bag of nice but old bras and vs free panty offers that don't fit out of my car and to the women's shelter. They were ecstatic. Felt good.

So most people take a break from knitting to run, and then go back to knitting, right? RIGHT?

What comes before a MILFO?

My 10 year reunion is quickly approaching.
I have not worked full time in over a month.
The holidays are quickly coming.
My mother-in-law moved back from out of state.
And many of my friends are having similar, compounding issues.

But instead, I'll ruminate on this:
How important is intelligence?

It's odd really.  Over the last week, several people (including my mother) has made comments sounding a lot like this: "Wow, you're so smart, R."

I know these comments are meant to be loving.  I know their intended to be complimentary.  The thing is, I don't think being smart is really that so laudable.

Intelligence, on it's own, is really a genetic trait, passed down from parents and grandparents.  It's completely out of your control.  And yet, we glorify it.  We don't glorify the ability to roll one's tongue or attached earlobes, but smarts, you bet.

Ok, yes, I am smarter than average.  How much smarter, I couldn't tell you.  Probably not much.  I also almost didn't graduate high school, possibly the most basic form of education achievement besides a driver's licence.  I'm staring my high-school-reunion in the face and I have exactly three semesters at a community college under my belt in addition to a shit-ton of consumer debt.

I find it particularly amusing that my mother frequently comments on how smart I am.  SHe also took great pains to point out to me that although I promised that if I got into my choice highschool, that I would complete their advanced program.  But, . . . I didn't.  She cried, she reminds me, she cried in the administrator's office because I only wanted to go to this school and I wouldn't look anywhere else.  I was a mediocre student at best, but I wanted to go to the best school and she didn't know what to do.  The administrator had seen my type before, and knew I wouldn't amount to much, and was hesitant to let me in.  It was unlikely that I would want to work that hard.  But he acquiesed, and I got in.  And I didn't complete the fancy-pants program.  Like I said I would.

Why she felt that now was the best time to have this discussion, I'm not really sure.  I guess it's been rolling around in the back of her mind for the past ten years, but hey.  I'm smart.

I'm also scared.

I'm scared that I'll never amount to anything, the smart, only child of my parents who had every advantage except extreme wealth and still doens't have a college degree or the ability to hold down a job.

I'm scared that we'll never have kids, even though I don't particularly want them at this moment, and that it will be more painful than I can bare.

I'm scared that we will have kids and I'll be a terrible mother.

I'm scared that I'll never get ahead, never get it "figured out", that I'll just always be mediocre, but nice and, well, smart.

I'm scared that I'm more like Natysin than I realize; the guy I thought was smart and sexy so many years ago who was really just a drunk with no direction, who happily settled for menial jobs and a 1.5 of karkov.

I'm scared of how much I want to drink sometimes.

I'm scared that I have no direction.

I know that you don't have to see the top of the staircase to take the first step.  But it sure would make it a lot easier.  And that assumes there's only one step to take.  I mostly feel like I'm in Escher drawing with steps everywhere.  I'm blindfolded, and can step anywhere, in any direction.  But is it where I'm going, or where I was, or someplace completely different?

Thank you, Fantastic Sam's employee.  I suppose I could've just hired a dominatrix to be belittled, mocked and humiliated.  But I have you, and your frozen face, saving me that step.  So thank you.  Really.

What I'm reading currently: Some fluff (Revenge of the Spellmans), some pop history (I Want My MTV), a classic (Faulkner's As I Lay Dying) and a point of contention (Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged): apparently I read the way others change channels.

Ooh!  And I forgot to mention that I also have two books I started that are currently "on-hiatus."  I'm not sure if I should be impressed with myself or shaking my head.