My friend Kevin coined the term "limboland" at some point during our first year of college. The word used to make us laugh uproariously - something about the combination of syllables and sounds, coupled with the absurd rightness of the concept as a descriptor of that place that is no place, sent us into spasms of laughter. Of course, such spasms were not uncommon that year.

Now that I am once again approaching that Zen-like state of heightened indolence that might very well be categorized as limboland, the concept is less uproarious. I find myself feeling grateful that there might be a word to describe this place-that-is-not-a-place where I am located. I am on the verge of doing/moving/working/changing but I am not there yet; my present inertia is charged with the knowledge of imminence. Since I have been here before, it is fitting that this spot on the map should have a name. Welcome to Limboland.

The blessings and the mixing continue apace. I suppose the real miracle is that I continue to expect things to go according to plan! Or that I expect there to be some sort of plan...If I look at the pattern of my life so far, it certainly does not contain too many orderly pathways or grids.

Today I read a poignant article by a man with Asperger's Syndrome. He was not diagnosed (indeed the syndrome hadn't entered mainstream diagnostic texts) until mid-life and he touchingly describes the relief he felt once he found out that his differences and difficulties had a name. He also benefited from the gradual sifting and sorting we all undertake as we age, finding the jobs, activities, people, and lifestyles that might suit us better than those we've been given, or led to expect. But, undeniably, the diagnosis lessened his self-criticism and the anxiety of not-knowing.

As someone who has always felt that she didn't fit in, I read the article with a curious sense of solidarity - there but for the grace of a few genes go I? A friend writes of discovering a book that tells how to raise an introverted child. Through reading the book, she came to recognize and accept her child's introversion, as well as that of her partner. I remembered the joy I felt upon completion of the Myers-Briggs test, which labeled me an INFP. Many of the broad characteristics attributed to INFPs fit me, at least the way I see myself, but the item that brought the greatest relief, and attendant joy, was the acknowledgement that modern US society doesn't welcome or understand introversion. This was the first time I'd ever considered that I was not solely to blame for my differences. It was thrilling to feel that perhaps I was not wrong, just trying to fit into a way of life that didn't suit me. It's not a blanket dismissal of personal responsibility - I still need to find ways to get along in the world and function in society - but it lessens the burden of criticism and the pain of never-quite-getting-it.

Reading about Asperger's sends a whisper of familiarity along my senses, along with a healthy dose of relief - my afflictions are not so severe, nor so puzzling. But I am reminded, as I often am when reading about mental illness, psychiatric diagnoses, diseases, and other medical evaluations, that the line separating THEM from ME is fine indeed. A diagnosis can free us - from self-criticism, denial, fear, anxiety, censure - but it can also too neatly define difference as "other". It confirms that which we have feared and suspected: there is something wrong with me. At the same time, it allows us to name our fear and move on, secure in our place in the social continuum. Sometimes that acceptance is a boon to me; other times I wonder if it lets me off the hook a little too much. For the author of the article I've mentioned, diagnosis was a minor emotional miracle, but not a cure.

Mixed blessings. I am still a beneficiary of magical thinking, but I am also victim to my own impracticality. I just found out that the internship I got, though undeniably wonderful and useful, is also UNPAID. That is one colossal wrench in the works. I feel a bit foolish, a bit humbled - did I misread the ad? Was there a typo? Or did I simply see what I wished was there? However it happened, I put lots of hope and plans into this being an internship/job, not just a learning experience. And couldn't the learning have begun along with internship, not before it?

I am thrown and a bit panicked, but mostly just full of the dread of the job search, dread of putting myself out there again, dread of figuring it all out. As K points out, my project for this weekend will be my life.

Oh, also, I am embarrassed to have to inform everyone about this new information. Yech.

Hooray for magical thinking! I have always suspected that I lead something of a charmed existence. Recent events confirm this hypothesis. I applied for an internship a few weeks ago, then went on a vacation to Martha's Vineyard. While I was gone, the director of the internship replied to my application asking for references. I sent out an APB to my referrers, then went to Northern Vermont for a week. I arrived home Saturday to find that I'd received the internship! Now that I've gotten what I wanted, plus two wonderful vacations, I have to thank the gods, the universe, my parents, my social circle, Mount Holyoke connections, my own optimism, and of course, magical thinking, for this bounty. I also need to start looking for a place to live in Boston, without knowing if I'll be making enough money to live there, but that sounds slightly less magical, and is an entry for another time.

It seemed like time to check in here. I have nothing to write, or perhaps too much to report to consider writing it well. My extended vacation has been trundling along, extending further and further until I can barely imagine an end to it. This is an unexpected blessing, but also, in the way of blessings, something of a curse. I have managed to apply for one job/internship, but that's it, so the real world is at bay through the power of denial and magical thinking.

Time to go make the rounds: Target, Barnes and Noble, Radio Shack, et al.