Getting my Masters Degree Part 1

This class is going to make me dust off brain cells I haven’t used in decades. Yes, I’m pretty old in comparison to the rest of the class. But I can’t tell if the kids taking the class realize I’m old enough to have been birthed them and then purchased an alcoholic beverage immediately afterward. I’m hoping they’re puzzled by my oh-so-trendy red streaks my friend dyed into my hair. (”Maybe she’s twenty-something…but, hm, she talks like my grandmother. And has the same wrinkles in the same places as my mother. Confusing.”) I’d say there are maybe five “older” students in the class, three of us old people are graduate students, the other two undergrad. And two younger people are graduate students. In other words, the class is a mix. There are maybe thirty students in all.

The instructor is super-energetic. Obviously of Mensa intelligence. Wants us all to *gulp* participate in class. This is a critical thinking class, which appears to mean I must spend more time analyzing literature than taking care of my young. I guess we’ll be reading a different book every week. But–yay!–one will be The Hunger Games. Which, by the way, I’m 3/4 of the way through the last book and think the first one is better than books two and three.

I am scared to death of this class, but I assume that’s a good thing. I haven’t been challenged like this in a long time. Maybe it will encourage me to break out of my safe little box and start writing something of great importance.

Or maybe I’ll run screaming from the classroom in frustration.

It could go either way.

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