I stink at secrets. Always have and likely always will. At least secrets about myself. From the time I was three years old and experienced the horror of having the longest-calf-needle-in-America plunged into my backside by my seven-year-old brother who was chasing me and laughing wickedly at my terror of said needle. (The needle he "borrowed" from the clinic out in the garage where Dad kept all of his veterinary supplies for the cattle he was raising on our five-acre farm.) Mom and Dad were gone, on a date, somewhere and they left me and my three brothers (ages 7, 5, and 2) under the watchful eye of their eldest son who was all of eight years old. And consequently, I was chased by the calf needle.
I must have been so frightened by that needle that I was scrambling up the stairs from the basement to get far, far away from that nasty thing and in my three-year-old hurry I tripped and fell flat on my face. On the stairs. Which left my posterior in the most unfortunate position of protruding out invitingly. The brother chasing me must have been drunk with his new-found power and was giggling wildly at my terror; giggling so wildly that I when I tripped and fell, he didn't have time to react and his calf needle met my chubby cheek in a flash.
I screamed. And he quit giggling.
What followed after, I don't remember. I've been told (repeatedly, ad naseum, forever) that I promised not to tell Mom and Dad when they returned. Promised. As in sacred oath and covenant. Don't open your mouth. Don't let the words cross your lips. Cut yourself and bleed a solemn sibling-to-sibling handshake. Never tell.
So, what did I do? Accosted Mom and Dad the moment they opened the door and spilled the story of my wounding by the bad and nasty calf needle.
I think I was worried I would die. Or at least I wanted someone to die. (Aaaaah, yes, by this time I had learned the powerful art of persuasion. Tears + long hair + only daughter status = how to get your way when your brothers are bugging you.)
What I've learned since then though is that I hate keeping things to myself. I may be the only person in my family like this, but I prefer for everyone to know exactly what I am thinking every hour of the day. In a play-by-play style. At the exact moment I come up with it. Freestyle.
What I didn't realize until I was 27.6 years old was not everyone cares. Aaaaaaahhhhh. The great conundrum of my life was solved. It seems most people prefer a little mystery when it comes to what you are thinking every second of every hour of every day.
So, now began the really hard part: my vows.
I would vow to keep something to myself. ANYTHING to myself. For a day, for an hour, for a minute. For a nanosecond, even. Only to blurt out said thing without delay. This process occurred over and over (repeatedly, ad naseum, forever) until I built up my secret-holding power to a wildly difficult six minutes.
Six entire minutes. That someone didn't have to know what I read yesterday or who I talked to this morning or what I ate for lunch or how much money was in my checking account.
Which is why despite my best attempts, I can't even keep secret what I'm studying in school, right now. What new path I'm following. Because, you, you dear, dear Internet . . . you asked. And asking denotes interest, which says you care about me, which means you love me, which obliterates my entire reasoning for keeping a secret (that no one cares).
So, drumroll, please. (And don't get too excited and ask more questions or I might have to go into even greater detail.)
Marriage and Family Therapy.
Shock and awe, shock and awe, I'm sure. And don't anyone mention that I will have to keep secrets if I become a therapist, because my issue is with keeping secrets about myself, not keeping secrets that others have entrusted to me. Those are not mine to divulge.
So, there you go. It will take me about two years to complete all the prerequisites (while I'm working full-time) and then two years to complete a degree. So, four years from now I can sit down across from you and ask you questions about your life and it will be a legimitate job and not just my hobby any more.
Thanks for asking.
And now you know.
P.S. Yesterday I read: Family Therapy, An Overview; I talked to my sister this morning; and I have $637.16 in my checking account. So, now you really, really know.