The Start of the End

I started my last semester of college this past Monday.  God-willing, I will finish in May.  Graduation is May 17, 2015 at 9:00a.m.  I am eager to finish, and have begun to think of life in terms of before and after college.  As in next Christmas should be less stressful because I won't have finals two days before Christmas Eve and I can get my baking, shopping, and decorating done  like other normal people.  I won't have to be in summer school this year and maybe, just maybe, I can work in  my yard more and make it look much better.  And, maybe, just maybe, I can get the garage cleaned out, too.  Yeah, we'll see about that.

I'm taking two classes this semester, Eng 444 Technical Editing and Eng 415 Fiction Writing Workshop.  I need Eng 444 for my last credits for my major and Eng 415 is my last elective.  I decided in a fit of fancy to take a fiction writing class because it was so different from tech writing and because I thought it was going to be fun.  I really should have thought about that because there are few classes in college that are fun.  We meet once a week, on Thursdays, so this last Thursday was our first class.

I don't know anyone in this grouping because I'm not in that track for the English major.  A few kids knew each other, just the same as I know quite a few in my technical/professional writing (TPW) circle.  We travel in packs at this point.  I am the only TPW in this class, and I should have realized that.  Anyway...  Most of the kids, and yes, they are kids, are about half-way through to thier varying degrees in fiction writing, poetry, and literature studies.  They are clearly of a different mind-set than I am, but that can be fine.  I've had these types before.  What I didn't expect, was the level of snobbery and narcissism from a few of them.

As I mentioned, Thursday was our first class.  After all the perfunctory stuff, the teacher had us read a sample of a student's writing and he wanted our feedback.  He chose me first to give that feedback.  I've been taught from day one of TPW to give good feedback before constructive criticism.  So I did.  I explained what I liked about the piece, and I did like the piece, and then a few suggestions for improvement.  I wanted to know more in-depth details about the characters, a more detailed plot line, and less "bogginess" in some of the more adjective heavy descriptions.  Nothing that I felt was horrible or mean-spirited.  After I had finished, the hipster-doofus emo kid told me I was completely wrong, he didn't agree with me at all, and that I was "lacking in understanding of what good fiction is."  Oooookaaaayyyyy.  I didn't reply to him because I didn't trust what would have come out of my mouth.  Despite his youth and rudness, he is entitled to his opinion.  I felt he was extremely rude and uncivil, but he had the right to state what he did.  But then, some of the other younglings started to trash the piece (thankfully, not me) and just like sharks who smell blood, they pounced on this poor story and ripped it to shreds.

I was bothered by how vehemently they tore the piece apart.  As I sat there thinking I had made a huge mistake, I got the thought that the teacher had written this story.  He kept saying that they were being a little too harsh, that the writer wanted nothing more than to entertain them, and that he was a human being with feelings, too.  It was at that point I fully realized what he was doing.  This is a workshop class meaning all of us will submit work for class discussion.  There is a right way and a wrong way to give criticism, and he was teaching us a lesson.  Half the class didn't even say anything.  After the blood-bath abated, he turned to me and asked if I wanted to change my opinion.  I said no, I stand by what I said, and that I didn't feel it was as bad as what the others were saying it was.  With some small revisions, it would be a good story.  That's all fiction should ever really be.

He took a deep breath and told them that what had happened would never happen again.  This was an early piece he had written when he was in college (he's probably in his late 50's or early 60's) and that everyone should take notice of how I gave my criticism in that it was the correct way to give feedback.  You could have heard a pin drop from several floors below.  All these kids who were flaming on the piece were in shock.  I'm not sure why they didn't think of him as the author to begin with, but I blame the internet for what they did.  Let me explain.

On any forum, discussion group, or other sites, people feel they can trash-talk, flame, yell, saying incredibly mean things and other bad behavior because they are not face-to-face with the person they are criticizing.  They are so used to just saying, "it sucks" with no reasoning, that is how they give feedback.  Now they are in a class setting and just like any forum, one right after another, ganged up and fed off of hipster doofus' rant against me.  No civility, no recognition of the writer as a human being with human feelings, and no realization that they too will be under the microscope in the context of this class.  No golden rule here.  They just trashed with the arrogance that their writing is going to be prefect.  It never occurred to them that some one will be doing the exact same thing to them.  I'm not sure why they haven't learned to give appropriate feedback at this point in college, but I'm guessing it's because they haven't finished their upper level classes yet where they will be judged on their work.

I'm not so sure I want to take this class now.  I thought it would be a good compliment to my technical editing, but I think I prefer the world of grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure.  We are at least a little more civil to each other.  Maybe this is why writers are so very often loners.

Marathon baking and other Christmas miracles

I am a marathon baker.  Other people run or walk marathons, I stand in a hot kitchen the day before Christmas Eve and bake like a maniac.  I'm not sure when this started, but I can remember from little kid to now, I've always baked or helped bake at Christmas.  The past several years, I've had some real motivational issues with getting my baking done, and thus, the marathon baking session was born.

Before I went back to college, I'd have plenty of time to get the house decorated, do my baking, wrap presents, and all the other stuff that goes with Christmas.  As a kid, I'd decorate my room in addition to helping with the house decorations and I'd help my mother bake all the good stuff, and even the fruitcake.  (I had to stir the concoction because it was too thick for my mom to stir it.)  Then, when I got married, I suddenly had two households to help.  My family and extended family was really shrinking by then, so we didn't have many presents to buy for my side...  but Scott's side was really extended.  At one point, we had over 30 people to buy for on his side.  No names pulled, no gift cards, nothing but an actual present.  Those were hard years for shopping, and this was before the internet.  No Amazon back then...

However, time passes and slowly his family has diminished, just like mine.  We now have a small group of people to buy for, around five or six, and I buy gift cards for my sister's family.  The biggest consideration I have now are my four very closest friends.  But I digress...  The past seven Christmases have been plagued with finals from school.  I feel this has led me to a lower motivational baking and cooking drive.  Once I'm done with school for the semester, then the guilt of not doing anything for Christmas hits me full force and the next thing I know I'm spending 12 to 14 hours in the kitchen making cookies, bars, and other goodies for Christmas.  In recent years, I've also had to deal with cleaning and clearing the dining room and kitchen from a semester's worth of neglect and Black Friday shopping carnage.  Usually Black Friday yields Christmas presents, so it's not a total loss of time.

2014 was no different other than I really had a problem getting motivated.  I just couldn't even get the slightest energy for baking going, and my poor husband was searching for the easiest recipes he could find for me.  He usually makes fudge, toffee, and some other candy items, and it's a good mix between us.  Cookies and bars from me, candy from him.  So, on the 23rd, my Christmas miracle of getting my baking done, I pushed myself hard and baked.  For 12 hours straight, I baked.  Maybe this is why I don't like to do it anymore, but once on a roll, I didn't want to stop.  I got what I wanted to bake done, and that was it.  Scott made his stuff after I did so it was around 2 in the morning when we were finally done.  A big sigh of relief and hopefully next year, a year without school in December, I won't be baking for 12 hours straight.  I also won't have a 15 page paper due for my seminar class, and two other 7 page papers due for the other class.  I had some motivational issues there, too, but I got A's in both classes, so apparently I did ok.  2015 brings one semester left for school, and then I graduate.  Finally. And what a long, long trip it's been.

Merry Christmas to anyone reading this yet.  I hope you have a wonderful, miracle-filled Christmas day, and a very, very happy New Year.  You've earned it if you are still reading these blogs....

Expectations and Extensions

As I sat down this morning to finish three papers for school, I was a bit shocked to see the my Eng 621 deadline has been moved to Thursday instead of Monday.  Now, I understand why people need extensions, but we knew about this project from Day 1 of class.  The professor gave us the assignment and specifications the Monday before Thanksgiving.  Mostly because I asked him if I could work on it over the holiday because I had off of work and I wasn't making a meal.  Perfect time to do research, refine ideas for a thesis, and generally get the ball rolling on a senior capstone project of 12 to 15 pages on The Global Early Modern.  When I checked my school email this morning, my professor wrote that he's given so many extensions out that he just decided to move the deadline.  There are only 11 people in this class.  I know that three of them for sure asked for later deadlines and when I met with him on Wednesday he said that one of my classmates had met with him earlier to DISCUSS topics.  Really?  Really!?  I looked at him and said, college is sometimes wasted on the younglings.  I work a full-time job, run the household, all the errands, and still fit six credits of upper level classes into my life.  The difference is, I know how to plan and parcel my time.  My youngling classmates, however, think they can just produce a paper, and not just any paper, but a senior capstone thesis paper, in a day.  Write it the  night before.  I hope that at some point, they learn a lesson here, but I'm not sure that they do.  I'm a bit angry because I dedicated three full weekends to just WRITING this paper.

I only need to write 3 more pages, expand some sections, clarify a few points, and proof and polish.  I worked my butt off to get to this point and yet my youngling classmates were screwing around doing whatever they felt like and then come begging for more time because the professor is nice enough to give them that time.  They are taking advantage of him because he's a nice guy.  I'm a bit angry because that's not respectful to do that, and they should know better at this point how that is not a decent thing to be doing.  Our future will be run buy these kids that know more about working the system than actually working with the system.

I will hand my paper in at the first deadline.  Then, I will concentrate on getting my house in order because it was a busy semester and there's a lot that needs to be done.  I'd actually like to put a Christmas tree up this year because I miss it.  We haven't had one for the past few years, and it's a bit depressing to not have one, I think.  I also just want to be done.  I'm tired, a bit run-down, and need to recharge a bit.  I want to work on my chain maille projects that are building up in my room begging me to work on them.  I want to clean my room so I can move around in it without playing out Godzilla and knocking stuff over when I try to walk around in here.  So, with that said and vented, I'm off to finish my THREE papers by tomorrow evening.  I even want to email them a day before the deadline in case they don't get them so I can email again, or (Heaven forbid) take paper copies to them on Monday.  I bet those younglings don't even consider what would happen if they couldn't email their papers...  

Mood

To quote Gurney Halleck from "Dune", "Mood's a thing for cattle and love-play."  Gurney then goes on to teach Paul a lesson in hand-to-hand combat.  I'm in a "mood" this morning, one that could be described as irritated and annoyed.  It was a long week, I had a few instances where people just want to argue with me, and I'm tired of doing homework.  I'm a bit fed-up with my Composing Process class, and I feel that I'm not only learning nothing really new, but the view into what the youngling teachers learn is doing nothing for my perception of the profession.

This past week we had to read about how teachers teach to "children of color" (their words, not mine) and poor children.  The point was that white people are privileged and have a culture of power because English is the common language.  The papers and class argued that for COC and the poor, apparently they don't speak English in the same way and therefore are disadvantaged because of not being able to communicate on that same level.  We were instructed to pair up with a classmate and then we were put into larger groups after that and then we discussed as a class.  Nowhere in the entire night's class did we discuss writing other than these kids need to be handled differently because they don't speak English.

The person I paired up with wouldn't let me speak.  My sentence was this..." If they speak street jargon..." and then she would interrupt and say, "but it isn't street jargon to them."  To which I would reply, "yes, but to the interviewer it is.  If they speak street jargon..." and she'd cut me off and say, "you keep saying that, but it isn't jargon to them."  and I'd reply my see above answer and would then try to make my point.  She kept cutting me off instead of listening to what I was going to say.  The majority of the class decided that these kids are disadvantaged because need to learn two languages.  Their own and standard English.  And then they also decided that standard English speakers need to learn "their" language.  I was done talking at this point because I had just spent a half-hour with my classmate and the group and listening to their kumbyeya moment of how we should just all speak everyone's language with no regard to the rules of language.  Young, idealistic, and idiotic.

Kyle, this one's for you.  I then brought up the term "lingua franca" for the younglings and told them how my Spanish teacher told me that I had no reason to fear that English would ever be replaced by Spanish.  (I had told him that I'd be in trouble if English ever did get replaced by Spanish) He's right.  It won't be replaced by Spanish, it will be replaced with whatever-you-feel-like-saying lingo.  I'm convinced that these self-centered and self-righteous Millennials will no doubt educated the future generations that whatever you believe is just fine.  Who cares if there are rules because they are just meant to be broken and our way is the better way!  One girl in class came very close to saying this, everything up to the point of "our way is the better way!"

I get it.  I understand that everyone has a different level of language skills.  However, at some point there needs to be a common core of basic skills that will enable everyone to communicate on some level or things will just de-volve into chaos.  Expecting children to at least be able to follow commands and communicate back is not too much to ask.  It is probably a good thing that I won't be going into teaching.  While I think teaching is important, I don't think I'd survive the process of becoming a teacher.  If I'm irritated at this level, I can't imagine what the rest of the classes are like.  I'd be that angry teacher no one likes.  I'm still irritated at this class.  And with that, I need to go do the homework for it.  Yeah....

It's easy

I had this comment directed at me once:  "College is easy for you because you're older."  It was said by a 21 year old girl who is having a rough time in college, apparently.  Now, I won't deny that I am older, and especially older for the traditional college aged student.  However, college is college and I believe that teachers and professors teach not based on the age of their students, but on two things.  One, the curriculum and two, their specific interest in the subject.   I'm not going out on a limb here by saying that college professors teach what they like and what they are interested in.  Or they should anyway.   

But I have been thinking about her comment.  Is college really easier for an older person, and what defines "older" in such a way as to cross over into some magical knowledge based area that makes learning "easier?"  My answer back to her was not one of anger, but of old age wisdom, "Perhaps you need to stop screwing around so much and study more."  I wasn't angry when I said it, but I do feel that if the younger students who complain about college being "too hard" would apply more effort into learning, they might get something out of it.  But that is not the way of the young.  I was the same way, so I know of what I speak.

College is wasted on the young.  Or many of them anyway.  Not all young people are there to just get through it and get their degree.  Every once in a while I run across one of these youths, and it usually is enough to restore my faith in our youth.  They are usually bright, active, nice, courteous, thoughtful, intelligent, and you know they are going to go far in life.  Unfortunately, there are many that are just the opposite.  I hear them complaining in the hallways, in classes, and on the shuttle buses.  They complain that they have to work for a class, or do homework, or actually study.  Now, let me say that I have done my fair share of complaining on this blog, but having now seen the difference between teachers who are worthy of complaint and the ones who are just trying to impart some type of learning is a stark contrast to each other.  I think of the differences between document design and Spanish.

I'm not going to rehash in great detail those two classes and professors, but suffice it to say that one was unwilling to see his students through (document design) and the other pretty much did everything he could to make sure the students who wanted to succeed, did (Spanish).  Yet I got the lower grade in Spanish.  If interested in the whole story, go to the earlier blogs, but at this point, I would consider these two classes my hardest classes, but for very different reasons.  Keeping in  mind the little chippie that tells me college is easy because I'm older, I found that these two classes were anything but easy.  Both were stressful, time-consuming, and probably meant for a younger student.  Learning a foreign language in your mid-40's is  a kind of stress I never want to endure again.  I came away with an anxiety/panic disorder from it that still leaves me reeling at times.  That same anxiety came back with document design, and we all know (again, see previous blogs) how that ended.  As a side note, that professor is not teaching that class next spring.  You're welcome.

The DD professor did not teach.  He did not lecture, show by example, clarify the subject matter, or even make himself somewhat approachable to answer questions.  He dumped the material, gave impossible tests, and texted his way through classes.  He taught in English, but it may as well have been (pick a language you don't know) for all the good it did.  What got me an A in that class was reading the four textbooks, realizing that I needed to get through the class in order to graduate, and not wanting to ruin my GPA.  Spanish was very similar in that the same reasons applied to my motivation.  But the Spanish professor cared, or appeared to care, that his students mattered and especially their comfort level in learning Spanish.  I'm thrilled with the B's I got in the two semesters because I worked my old keister off, and know when to be grateful for working as hard as one can for a decent grade.  And, again, the Spanish teacher really did make the difference here.  Had he been like the DD teacher, I'm not exactly sure what would have happened.  But I do know that it was never easy because I was old or older.  Never.  Not once.  Neither class was easy, and I don't think I was given special treatment because of my age.  I was given the same amount of homework as the younger students and not once was I told I didn't have to work hard because I was older.  In fact, I sometimes think I'm held as an example because of my age.  Not openly, but sometimes I feel like a mother hen to some of the younger students, and that was never so true as in DD.

I realized about 1/3 into the semester with DD that I had developed a group of kids who would sit by me.  I think it was mostly because I would read the material, and I actually asked and challenged the teacher on questions.  This was confirmed when a kid came over one day before class started and he asked if he could "sit with my group."  I was a bit shocked and said sure, it's a free classroom.  But it got me to thinking that the kids sitting by me did so because I would not back down when I didn't understand something.  There were several episodes in that class where the teacher just walked away from me because I kept asking questions about the material and he finally admitted he didn't know the answers to some of the questions I was asking.  I also noticed that he got twitchy because my group had grown to about 15 people by now, and they were all listening because they too had the same questions.  At that point, the teacher should have stood up and started a lecture on the subject because if half the class is leaning in to listen (think of the old 80's TV commercial for EF Hutton), then he has a responsibility to at least go over the material once.  Not to mention the amount of tuition I paid for this class and his "expertise." 

The epitome of this experience was when the last test was given and, again, a major portion of the class failed it, a girl asked him a question about the duo tones question he had asked on the test.  She asked her question and then looked at me and said, "right, Nicki?"  I had gotten the question wrong and was wondering the same thing  myself.  Because here's the thing:  I knew the book answer and wrote it almost word for word as my answer.  I said, "yes, I'm wondering why that answer is wrong because I put down the same answer as the book."  He challenged me and said to bring the book in an he'd reconsider.  I then pulled the book out of my backpack (you HAD to have known I had it with me), went straight to the page and showed him.  He came over to my spot, leaned down and read the passage, and looked up at me with a heated, angry look in his eyes.  I was proud of myself in that I didn't flinch, move, smile, look down, or otherwise back-down.  However, what he did next shocked me.  He gave me the points for the answer, but denied the girl who had asked the question.  She had the answer right.  She should have been given the points.  But because he didn't lecture on the material, it was open for interpretation.  He felt that because she didn't write down the memorized passage from the book, she wasn't right.  But because he didn't lecture, he couldn't argue with my answer which was pretty much verbatim from the book.  I think that is one of the most evil things a teacher can do (well, besides illegal things...).

This semester I'm in a class that teaches teachers on how to teach their students to compose and write papers and essays (way to many uses of the word teacher in that sentence).  I didn't know it was for teaching majors, and it didn't specify in the listings.  Again, UWM, you really need to work on those descriptions.  But I stayed in the class because it is really interesting to see the "inner workings" of how teachers teach.  In our readings from two weeks ago, this style of assigning material and not lecturing on it is an actual tactic used in making students "interact and know" the material.  By testing on the assigned readings and not lecturing on them, somehow makes students not only know the material, but be experts on it.  I was shocked this is a method of teaching.  Shocked and dismayed because I've always had the impression that teachers should lecture, show, answer questions, and generally explain the information (that's why they are called TEACHERS).  But a lazy teacher such as the DD professor would embrace this method whole-heartedly.  Four textbooks with hundreds of pages to read but never a lecture.  Not once.  450 pages alone on typography.  The entire book.  And not one comment other than "you need to interact with the material."  His words, not mine.  And how, exactly does one interact with the material when even the teacher doesn't want to teach it?

This brings me back to the college is easier for older people comment.  When I explained that the motivations may be different and that's why it APPEARS to be easier, she didn't want to hear that. I also think that A students have the perception from non-A students that it is just easy for them and everyone else struggles.  But chippie tells me it is easy for me because otherwise it makes her responsible for her own learning.  She needs to believe that somehow I have an easy time learning because of my age.  Why would that be true when studies have repeatedly shown that learning is better when started younger.  Foreign languages are the first example I think of.  It's proven that younger people learn faster and better than an older brain.  Yet I wouldn't say it is easier, but just different.

I'm not mad at her, but a little dismayed that someone who is sitting right next to me, doing the exact same work, getting the exact same experience thinks that it is easier for me because I'm twice her age.  I don't think she is any less intelligent than me, or that her learning is more difficult because of her age.  But her motivations are very different from mine, and that, that is where the difference lies.  I told her that her motivations will change and once she is older, she will see the error of her comment.  But by then, she will have a chippie telling her it's easy because she is old and I will probably be long gone....

The power of the Matrix

We are born, we grow old, and we die.  It is a simple concept made difficult by the growing old part.  From the moment we are born we begin to age and nothing can stop that until death.  This past weekend I almost met with my death and now I’ve been obsessing about not only the incident, but life, and my life, in general. 

On a divided highway I travel frequently, and through an intersection I’ve traveled probably hundreds of times, I was almost “T-Boned” by a Sheboygan County Sheriff SUV from my left.  I never saw him cross the northbound side of traffic (I was traveling southbound), go through the island divider of the north/south roads, and only until I had passed in front of him did I see him in my peripheral vision.  I had glided past him by the time I slammed on my brakes.  He glided past me just as smoothly as if we had coordinated the whole maneuver.  I remember seeing just a flash of blue and then the brown blur that is the front end of an SUV that sits higher than my Matrix.  I saw with blurry side vision his headlights, grill, hood, and the massiveness that is too close to a moving vehicle at 60mph. 

Once I came to a screeching halt, I looked back on my right and saw that he had slammed to a stop also.  I didn’t see him in the cab, just the side and back but once he determined I hadn’t rolled my vehicle stopping, he took off on his original call.  Not once through the entire episode did I hear his siren.  It wasn’t on.  I still don’t understand how I never saw him, and he never saw me.  I know they are trained to proceed through intersections slowly and cautiously, for this very reason, so I can only determine that he didn’t see me or made the assumption that I saw him. 

This is a wide open part of the highway, and I really should have seen him.  I’m still bothered and at a loss as to why I didn’t see him.  It was daylight so maybe his lights weren’t as effective, and he didn’t have a siren on so I never heard him.  I didn’t have music blasting, and was not texting, on the phone, or otherwise preoccupied.  I had just taken a drink from my soda bottle and I think I may have looked down to put it back in its holder and by the time I looked back up had traveled far enough that I didn’t scan the horizon and intersection like I should have.  If he was responding to a call, he was distracted because they have to concentrate on the details coming over the radio and writing stuff down.  That’s as bad as texting.

My point is this.  I never saw my life flash before my eyes, but I do know that had we collided, I would have taken a direct hit to the driver’s side door and probably would not have survived the collision.  I guess in some regard I would have never known what hit me.  As the days progress from it, I have stopped being in shock and fear, and have moved on to some kind of melancholy about the whole thing and how quickly life can end.  I’ve had close calls on the road before.  I travel so much that it would be impossible if I haven’t had some kind of incident.  I would think every driver has had close calls.  But I’ve never felt so sure that I wouldn’t have survived before and this bothers me.  Maybe it’s those awful commercials and tv programs that show the impact of a side collision that is vivid in my mind, but I think I was given a second chance on Saturday.  However, the question is, why?

As human beings we search for meaning in pretty much everything.  And I’ve never really been the one to think that it is all coincidence.  I think some is, but basically I think there is a Divine plan that we are part of, but may never know why or how we play our parts.  I guess some would say they don’t want to be manipulated in that regard, but if I am on this Earth to fulfill a reason, no matter how unclear to me, I will count myself grateful that I was a split second faster than the Sheriff.  Now, to figure out why.

Does this blog make me look boring?

I haven't had much to say in the past month that I felt anyone would really be interested in, but I feel like writing.  So be warned, this is probably going to ramble and be boring.  I am a week away from the start of another school year, my last.  Yes, my friends, I am in the last 10 credits of my college career and what a long road it has been.  This semester I will be taking Eng 445 and Eng 621.  445 is titled "The Composing Process" and 621 is a seminar class in "The Early Global Modern".  My friend Julie will be in the 445 class with me, and I've had the professor before who is teaching the 621 class.  I'm nervous about the 621 class as that seems to me it is going to be an advanced Eng Lit class.  We are reading five Shakespeare plays so I guess I'm going to really have to figure it out.  I've always had a bit of a well, not fear, of Shakespeare, but I guess an intimidation of him.  However, when I took 302, I actually kind of liked what we read of old Bill, but it was still a bit of a struggle to get through.

In looking up what the difference between a "lecture" and a "seminar" is, I read that a seminar class is one in which there is active student participation.  That a lecture class is one where the teacher just gives out the information.  I think this professor teaches in that seminar fashion because there was much class discussion from what I can remember.  He also uses lots of pictures and fun stories to keep the students interested.  I don't know how this class will work, but there are only 9 of us so far, so that is going to be interesting.  No hiding in the back row or not talking when having a bad day.  I will be attending class after a full day of work and I have to admit that I will be happy when I don't have to cram both things in one day anymore.  I'm not sure how I will get all the reading done, but I'm guessing that I will be glued to my table on the weekends.

I'm going to try having my textbooks on my  tablet this year.  After last spring's semester with four textbooks for Eng 439 and a large bound "reader" for Eng 434, my backpack was pretty heavy.  If I can get away with a notebook and my tablet for my classes this semester, I will be a happy camper.  My elbow is still giving me problems, and adjusting a lighter backpack will help with straining that tendon.  Which brings me to how technology has changed the way we go to school.  I heard on the news today that the price of educating our children (grades K-12) has risen 18% since the 1980's.  I'm guessing that it has to do with computers.  They are more expensive than textbooks, need to be replaced more often, and with advances in forms (tablets vs. desk tops), there's going to be an increase in price.  I'm not sure how I'm going to like an electronic form, but it certainly is easier to carry around.

  I'm still having a hard time believing that I will be done with college in two semesters.  I have this little fear in the back of my head that when the powers that be go through my transcript they will declare that something is terribly wrong and I will need to complete another 36 credits before I can graduate.  I guess it's just my negativity coming out, but honestly, I really have that fear.  Crazy, I know, but that's how things work out for me.  I am anxious to be done now.  I can remember thinking at one point that 2015 was so far away and that I would never get there.  Well, it's not so far away now and I'm glad I stuck with it.  I know I was really debating about continuing on, but I'm really glad I did.  I would have hated it that I didn't finish.  I apply for graduation this fall, and I think that will be a good day.  See, I told it was going to be rambling and boring.  Thanks for reading anyway...