College Bound?

I applied to college a week or so ago. This being the second time in my life to do so.

The first time, when I was in high school, there was no internet and CDs were still way too expensive. The best personal computer you could get was a TRS-80 with a whopping 250K memory. Shazam!

I applied back then to Abilene Christian University, a large college in west Texas affiliated with a dyed-in-the-wool, non-denominational, fundamentalist christian church.

I should never have gone.

I was an average high school student, and did enough to graduate. Talk about lazy. College was high school without my parents telling me to get out of bed every morning.

So I didn't. And I left after one year with a 1.2 GPA.

So, 22 years later, I'm applying again. This time to the University of Maine.

I've sent them everything I need to: transcripts, fees, writing samples, essays, and of course the application itself. Now I must wait for a response.

So why try it again? Well, honestly, I wouldn't if they didn't have the degree in Creative Writing.

I happened to do a random search one day for creative writing classes and discovered that UMaine's Farmington college has an actual degree. Classes in creative writing are common at most liberal arts schools. A degree is not, so I jumped at the chance.

I've always been a student of writing. I've purchased so many books on the craft that the bulk of my six-level, wall-to-wall library is nearly filled.

I love reading what other writers have to say about the business of writing. Now, this gives a chance to get a degree in it. If for nothing more than to deepen my understanding and to be among fellow (miserable, anxious, depressed, desperate) writers.

Of course, college means taking all the classes that gave me high anxiety back in the day. Primarily the maths and sciences. My older kids are in high school and they bring home math homework that I can't even stomach to look at.

This is going to be a real challenge. A difficulty that I need to get through. I have something to prove to myself, at the age of 41. When I was 18, I had no motive for doing well at all. There was no incentive. I was there on my parent's dime. I was 18. I didn't even want to be there.

This is different.