Back to School

Holy shit. On Monday morning, 8 a.m., I am going to be slinking in to the back of a classroom, with a cup of coffee in my hand. I am going to be reading (expensive) textbooks, and reminding myself that ADDers take lousy fucking notes. It’s back-to-school time for little Indy Clause.

I was nervous when I went back to grad school, but at least then I knew that I was going to writing and literature classes, and if there were anything I was good enough (did I get that right, Cougar?) it was writing and literature. Not so on cold Monday morning. I’m taking biology for blithering idiots.

On the bright side, I’m not going to have to do labs, take tests, or do homework, because I am auditing this class. Thank god. There is nothing at stake but staying awake. I’ve got biology textbook in front of me as I write this. I flipped through it; the colors were bright and some of  the words looked familiar.

By May, I will know what upstream and downstream is in terms of biology. I’ll begin to understand genes, mutants, alleles, and proteins, and thus whether to set them italicized or Roman (which is copyeditor-ese for just regular font). I will consider BEL certification. I will rule the world. Or something.

What are you learning these days?

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10 responses to “Back to School

  1. Indy, surely you remember when Dr Cougar was simply Ms Cougar? Curiously, at just about your age, she said “suppose I just took a class. I’ll start with an introductory one. Nothing too demanding.” Now look at her! But, she still remembers, with trepidation, one particular mid-term examination–introduction to statistics–where her panic overwhelmed her good sense.

    Nothing like getting outside of your comfort zone, Indy. If you were a bicycle, you’d pedal circles around this class!

    (If you were a bicycle, you might buck someone off, or puncture their chest wall, or break their nose, or inflict some other ghastly injury when they were just trying to unwind after submitting a manuscript).

      • My kids are too short to look over the pot, even on a chair, they complain about stirring more than I do, and they wouldn’t touch pilaf with someone else’s taste buds.

        Easier to do it myself. Develops the wrists and biceps, too.

      • I believe, after four children (and I’m the fourth), my mother’s favorite words were “easier to do it myself.” That and “Well, good,” as a response to my attempts to shock/horrify/annoy her.

  2. All those kids, working hard to make the grade, oh, how they’re going to envy you!

    I’m learning (always learning!) how to remain calm. I’ve got a birthday party to host tomorrow. 8 little first grade boys running around my house. But, seriously, I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.

    • That does make forks in the eye a bit more appealing.

      Eh, I worry the class is going to be full of disdainful jocks and I’m going to have to stick a pen in my eye for voluntarily spending time in their presence when I’m not being paid for it. (Non-disdainful jocks are OK.)

  3. You would NOT rather stick a fork in your eye. Really MBSB! And Indy, this is why you wear glasses – to prevent involuntary, unco, jerky, hand-induced damage to eyes.

    One does survive birthday parties. Even those of eight year old boys. And the good news is: many of those eight year old boys eventually have to endure their own children’s birthday parties. What goes around comes around.

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