Because yes, I have changed my major again. Or whatever such a deed might be called at this point. No more physical therapy-- and I certainly feel no regrets about that (though it was nice to think I would in the future be surrounded by people who knew how to help with my various aches and pains). If what I love is the study of languages-- any language, all languages, anything to do with languages-- and if [maybe this deserves an eiper (Romanization pending getting that into a Greek font)] I could actually make some sort of a living by engaging that love full-time, why wouldn't I do that?
Note that I did say "the study of languages", not "the study of language". So I'm leaning more in an anthropological rather than a pure linguistic direction, so that I can indulge in all things glorious about many different languages and dialects and cultural and environmental influences and effects on culture and environment and perception and the interplay and transmission of interacting languages and cultures and.... I know, I know-- perhaps at some point I'll have to narrow that down a little bit. But I hope not.
So, with my parents' blessing, as soon as this semester ends I'm moving to Houston to save some money and figure out what the next step might be-- and to immerse myself ever more in whatever about languages I can find. And Houston, whatever its other faults, will provide many opportunities for diverse language exposure. It's all in how motivated I am to find those opportunities.
So that's my current craziness. I need to be writing about sympathetic and parasympathetic innervation of the heart and about antiobiotic abuse (two different assignments)-- because, whatever my excitement about my new direction, the semester is not yet finished, and there are papers to be written and exams to be taken and textbooks to be read and pigs to be dissected. So now I'm going to try to finish some of that.
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