That fall I was hired to team-teach with my business communication professor, and I scored another class of English Composition when enrollment was higher than usual. Bob had graduated and was working for his dad in Pearl. I got an apartment and lived on my own the next year. Bob and I got engaged that Christmas, but his parents still did not approve of me and let him know in no uncertain terms.
Late in the spring semester, just before I was going to get married, I noticed an MSU baseball player in my class with my business professor. He was smart, goodlooking, and did a heck of a job at first base that year. My energy was riding high again, and I suddenly developed a more than scholarly interest in him. I followed his games and complimented him on his play. I dreamed about him occasionally. I only told one person—my closest cousin, who encouraged me to break off with Bob and see what might develop. I knew that wasn’t an option, though—I had already bought a dress, and she was going to be my maid of honor in the wedding.
My professor noticed and asked me about him. I admitted that there was something weird going on. She wondered about Bob, and with rare insight, I told her I didn’t think it had anything to do with Bob. I was right—it was a bipolar-fueled crush that had no basis in reality; I didn’t know why it had happened, but I knew I didn’t want to give up Bob for him. I reasoned it would end once I didn’t see him at school every other day, and I was right.