Yesterday, after my last MFA class ever, I came home to Pullman to see my husband and cat. I could have stayed in Spokane, gone to the bar, had a beer with everyone--but I didn't. I was in a funk, you see. It's the end of the school year--the end of my graduate program--and I'm having the wish-I-had-the-do-overs blues. Not that I regret everything about my grad school experience--far from it--I just wish I'd been able to connect more with the people, move past the getting-to-know-you phase with more of them. That's part of why I didn't want to go out--even at the end of the program, I still feel like I'm getting to know most of these people, it's still on small talk terms, and it's difficult to start saying goodbye when you never finished introductions.
Now, I realize that for many people, the small talk phase lasts forever. Not everyone will be your kindred spirit... blah blah blah. I get it. But isn't it lonely? Don't jokes and surface-level conversations get old?
Anyway. This is a food blog. Sorry. The point of all that was to get to the fact that I went home rather than out for a beer, but that when I got home, I got to taste my husband's first batch ever of home brewed beer. It was sweet. Not just that he had a beer waiting for me when I got home, but literally--the beer was sweet. The yeast had yet to eat some of the sugar that is supposed to help them carbonate it, I think. Not that sweet was bad. It was actually quite drinkable. But I like girly beers. Either way, not bad for a first batch.
Okay, back to that mushy stuff. I am so grateful to have my husband and cat. I am really lucky, really blessed. When I whine about not making deeper connections with my school chums, I have to admit that I have one bone-deep connection, and that is a miraculous thing. I mean, my husband and I love each other to our very marrow. On top of that, I have a cat who, if she had her way, would burrow under my skin. And I have wonderful parents, who I just got to see this weekend, the fresh lack of whom definitely contributed to yesterday's melancholia. Every time I see them I'm so happy, and when I come home I go through a sad phase, which is augmented when I've also gotten to see my oldest, dearest friend, which I did last weekend. I saw all these people who make my heart burst with happiness, and I came home to Spokane--not even to Pullman--and had to let my husband go home and back to work while I stayed in an empty apartment (my roommate, my one real connection from grad school, has gone back to Hawaii and I miss her). So I was sad. I still am, a little. But I was very happy, last night, to have a beer at home with my husband.