What a week I just had. I knew that school would need to be my primary focus until all of the beginning-of-semester wrinkles had been ironed out, but I did not expect it to be as consuming as it was.
I failed my first quiz in my Effective Speaking class, only I didn’t, but the subsequent panic attack didn’t care. The professor went in and fixed my grade, but I still went home and ate peanut butter out of the jar. And then took a long nap.
The very expensive and extremely non-refundable code I had to purchase in lieu of a textbook for my Statistics class refused to work, and when the professor told me I might have been given the wrong one at the bookstore, I may have had an epic melt-down then, too. And another nap.
Evidently, my emails are hilarious when I’m freaking out. I suppose “SWEET BABY JESUS” isn’t a normal way to bring issues to a professor’s attention, but, hey. I panic in all caps.
The highlight of my academic week was the return to the LGBT student group on campus. It has been a year since I’ve been to a meeting, so I was happy to see familiar, smiling faces, even if we were all a little shell-shocked by the first week.
A theme that ran throughout this week was “There’s no way you’re that old.” I stopped counting the dropped jaws at 10. Not that being 37 3/4 is ancient, but I was continually pegged for being mid-20s. I mean, it was cool and all, but my advanced age comes with a bit of wisdom and more than a little life experience, so being treated like a n00b by people younger than me was not my idea of a good time. Get your bikes off my lawn!
I’m moving forward with confidence and a renewed sense of “Let’s DO THIS!!!” For as stressful as this week has been, I really did miss this. I love the classes, I love the bustle of campus, and I love meeting such diverse people. It took 20 years, but I’m finally at a place where I can appreciate college.