I’ve never had an autopsy done, but I assume the Y-cut would be much less painful than the drive from Wausau to La Crosse for the first day of my senior year of college. You see, I’ve been a senior for the last three years. There are enough credits under my belt to match Dr. G, but unfortunately, all I have to show for it is an associate’s degree in sign language — a field I retired from three years ago to finish my bachelor’s in Biopsychology.
Now, here I am. So close to the finish line that I should almost be able to taste the graduation cake, but instead I’m just gagging on the bitter taste of loans, poor job outlooks, and the rancid stomach acid my guts are bringing up while it turns over the idea of being vested in the wrong major.
I should be proud of myself for coming this far. Unfortunately, my arms are too short to pat my own back. With a quick flick of my leg, I can kick my own ass, though. I have found this is sufficient and keeps my ego in check. Not that I have ever had an issue with a big ego.
So, I started out for my 8AM class last Monday at 4:55 AM from Wausau. By the time I reached Marathon City, I almost had myself convinced that the first day of school was a bigger waste of time than drinking a pot of decaf coffee. Instead of turning around and going back to bed, I cracked my first diet Coke of the day and continued on with great intentions of making my first day as somber as a funeral.
And who the heck decided on August 20th as a start day for school? Do people not realize that leases often begin and end on the 1st of every month? Not only was my senioritis swelling, throbbing, and cutting off my motivation, I was also homeless for two more days. Luckily, some good friends took me in. (Thanks Melissa, Gene, Keegan, and Gabriel!)
I showed up to my first class completely caffeinated and grumpier than Lindsay Lohan on lockdown. My textbooks were still in the bookstore — unpurchased and overpriced. The classroom was full of eager students ready to learn and excited to see friends they hadn’t seen all summer.
And then there was me. Mentally rolling my eyes so far back in the sockets that I could almost see my own brainstem.
Class ended and I had time to kill and decided it would be a good idea to go buy my books. The bookstore had a line all the way to back of the store. A curse word might of slipped as I walked in, but I was about as concerned as I was about confirming enrollment with the business office. With six previous semesters of practice purchasing books, I knew exactly where I needed to go. I had all of my books in my arms within fifteen minutes and without hesitation, I put them all back on the shelves where I had found them and left. A common symptom of senioritis, or so I’ve heard.
By noon I was on the phone with my mom whining that I wanted to come home. She offered me a supportive shoulder and told me to drop out of college and live with her and my grandpa.
I made it through Monday with perfect attendance. The same goes for Tuesday, but unfortunately, Wednesday is another story. You see, I drove to school bright and early on Wednesday morning and made it as far as the parking lot. Instead of parking, I decided to go to the bank, then the store, and then the apartment. I hung up the shower curtain, unpacked my truck, and enjoyed my enormous two-bedroom apartment that had no furniture. Sleeping on hardwood floors was better than being homeless, so I sprawled out and slept right through the second class of the day.
It was late afternoon when I finally got up. I forced myself to school for bio lab, but still wasn’t entirely convinced I would be gracing Viterbo with my presence for the entire semester.
I guess I should sum up the week:
3….Total Number of Classes Missed
2….Nights on Hardwood Floors
10…Fingernails Chewed Down to Nothing
4….Number of Textbooks Purchased
3….Months Since I’ve Practiced My Guitar
4….Hours Worked This Week
102….Days Until Christmas/Winter Vacation!!!!