I am standing in my room typing this on my laptop, which is resting upon my emergency desk/ironing board. Miss Elsa is cleaning my house, God bless her, so there's no other available surface for me to set up shop. I'm hiding in here, really, trying to stop my heart from fluttering up into my throat as I gnaw on too many slices of Italian bread toast and sip at my coffee that I have yet to actually taste.
I am nervous.
One and I drive to his community college today for Disability Services orientation. Presumably, he will learn how to approach his professors and explain the accomodations he is allowed, based on his physical disability. I am not allowed to attend with him, because part of the process is getting him to advocate for himself. (Bite toast, wipe buttery fingers, sip coffee.)
I am nauseous.
Due to a snafu at the high school, the college didn't receive his transcripts until about two weeks ago. We don't even register him for classes until next Monday, and school starts Thursday. We are behind in our preparations, he doesn't know the campus lay-out, and until he has a schedule I don't even know how I'm getting him there and back. (Bite toast, wipe buttery fingers, sip coffee.)
I am trying not to drown in self-recrimination for failing to prepare him for life. I know you will be supportive and try and talk me off the ledge. The Captain has already reminded me to be proud of all One has accomplished, and how we've gotten him this far. Even I am sure that in a few weeks I'll feel better after we have a plan. But right now there is only fear. And cold coffee.