Okay, obviously a bad case of the grumpies here and a whine that touches just short of a scream. Let me explore my feelings, and take you along for the ride.
I am fifty-seven years old. Five years ago I decided to actively pursue writing, and learn how to do it. I believed that I also would not only need, but desired to obtain a degree to prove to myself (and everyone else hiring or accepting submissions from a mature woman) that I could still do it, still had the smarts that got me through the educational system in good form way back when. Maybe it was just the female quivalent of a mid-life crisis, the foreseeing of one’s tombstone carved with "Here lies Susan, she washed dishes well."
Five long years later, a lot of effort and energy and time, I’m finally about to call myself a college graduate and I’m spending these last eight weeks struggling to memorize not the material but where in the notes and textbook the material is located because there’s damned little time to absorb this much stuff while listening to lectures albeit at my leisure, that are very, very, trying to listen to.
But of course I’m smart enough not to give it all up for the matter of one week of what to me is relative torture. And, the material in this Nutrition course is something that I indeed would think an excellent choice for inclusion in a college curriculum. It’s all then, a matter of timing. It’s like the course is a flash flood that washes out the bridge just before you reach your driveway. An annoyance that shouldn’t be that, should be enlightening and uplifting but instead because of where it falls in the time and space of my life, is a giant pain in the ass instead.
So only one more week of my crybabying it, and no more shall my wails be heard. I shall be a college graduate, mature and ready to face life and take it head on.
Lord knows how I managed before that.