duck-shaped pain

My mind keeps going in a hundred different directions. I wonder whether I'm doing the right thing, whether this is going to be a good investment of my time and money. I know what the answer is (yes), but that doesn't staunch the flow of doubt. I'm also worried about not being able to do well -- this is my first semester in a brand-new major (history) and although I've earned As in every single college history class I've taken to date, somehow I am concerned that I won't, now. I have this deep-down fear that I was graded on some especially lenient non-major grade scale in these previous classes, but now that I am officially One Of Them, I won't be. I worry about making it to class on time. I have an 8 a.m. class every single weekday, and although I have been successfully getting myself to work that early for years now, I figure something will go askew.

As you see, I'm just letting the nervousness go where it will. I'm not really sure of the source of such thoughts -- it's only been three and a half years since I was last in school. I'm going back to a college that I previously attended, so I know where the bathrooms are at. I always did well in school before (except for a disastrous year in the late 1990s, which led me to leave school in search of other pursuits), and I'm sure I'll do fine now. It's just a change, and I sometimes fear change. [1] Plus, my birthday is this week, and 28 is a vaguely depressing age to be.

When I first started going to this college, I was 17. Just out of high school. The demographics of this school were a bit different then. We were in the middle of a nasty recession, so a lot of the students there were unemployed older folk, going back to school to enhance their job skills or just to avoid reality for a while. The campus didn't have a lot of appeal for traditional-age students, at least ones from out of town, so the student body consisted of these older students and then a small, surly group of youngsters, who were all from local high schools and were bitter about having to attend college in their hometown, with all these old people around.

Back when I was a surly young'un, I and my people made fun of the older students, out of fear. They were all so organized, and constantly on time. They asked relevant questions in class, most of them. [2] They handed in their work on time. Essentially, they outperformed the rest of us, who were still more concerned with drinking out on BLM land and staying up late, and that meant war or some type.

The vast majority of these students were 30-ish divorced moms, going back to school for either a business or psychology degree. Something sort of useful. You could spot one from miles away -- comfortable shoes, big backpack, big thermos full of coffee, and they all smoked. There were hordes of them outside every door, cackling and puffing away. They sat in big groups in class, usually taking up the first three or four rows -- none of them retreated to the back of the room, hoping to remain anonymous like traditional-aged students.

So, here I am, eleven years later, about to start school again. Now I'm one of the older students, and it feels sort of strange. The campus demographics have changed a lot in my absence -- they started recruiting a lot of recent high school graduates from the Front Range and elsewhere, so the median age has dropped. When I was there, it was around 29. Now it's 23. I've been on the wrong side both times I've been here now. And look at me -- big coffee mug, large bag. Divorced, [3] but thankfully, no children. [4] Concerned whether I should major in something a bit more practical than history. I don't smoke anymore, except for brief relapses when I'm around my smoking friends. I wonder what people are going to think about me, but then I realize that people probably aren't going to think anything, seeing as how they have better things to think about. But still..

I hope my classes are going to go okay. I have a really tough semester ahead of me - 17 hours, which is more than I've ever taken in any previous semester. I'm taking physical geology, Spanish, [5] yoga, Western civilization, history of the American Revolution, and history of the U.S. from 1960 to 2000. Quite the assortment. I was also going to take a class in public history, but it was held one day a week from 3 to 6:30 p.m. -- the Low Blood Sugar Hours. Plus, when I looked at the texts for the class, I realized that I would have to do interviews with people out in the community, and I hate interviewing people. A bad quality in a non-fiction writer, I admit.

I think I have a lot of work ahead of me, plus my job. Hopefully, I'll be updating this just as often as before.

[1] But not enough to "leave it here." Sorry, tip-jar-reliant folks out there.

[2] Not all, as there are people out there who just don't get smarter as they get older. Some people defiantly stay the same.

[3] One of the highlights/lowlights of 2001, and something I haven't mentioned until now, for various reasons.

[4] Hopefully, no children ever.

[5] I had enough foreign language hours from other schools to make up the six-hour language requirement, but they consisted of one semester of French, one semester of Latin and two quarters of Japanese, and the idea here is to have six hours of the same language. Now, this college only offers two languages, Spanish and French. I took three years of French in high school and half a semester in college, and this school only offers first-year French, so that was out. So Spanish it was, which will be a cinch, I think (see French/Latin experience and take into account that I've heard Spanish spoken nearly every day of my life).

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