Dogs Get Mad — People Get Angry
And yet I’ve been mad more times than I’d like to think about.
The back story includes a broken heart, an impulsive act, and a stupid move.
I moved with my boyfriend to attend the only college he could get into. Not exactly academic material, we ended up at a junior college in Florida. Tooting my own horn here, however, I had had an array of university choices with scholarship offers but hey, I was 17 and in love. Fait accompli.
One day, my beau let another coed take my seat on the back of his Kawasaki 250, so I countered by running off with a sailor that had been sniffing around. I ended up married, dropped out of school, and transplanted to Ohio. I often reflect back on my past with the comment," I did my time in the Midwest.”
Oh, did I mention I’m from New York? We acknowledged the existence of the east coast and the west coast but were never really clear about what was in the middle of the country, except maybe Chicago.
Too proud to admit my colossal mistake, having made my bed so to speak, I got stuck. I had no degree, no family support, and no employable skills and was tied to a man that espoused, among other things, that women shouldn’t be educated. Or be in the workforce for that matter. A stranger in a strange Hillbilly Elegy land.
