Divisions and Precisions

Insomniac Musings

When I was a kid, I could never sleep the night before the first day of school. Too excited. Too nervous. I'd plan what I was going to wear, double check my bookbag a million times, go over my schedule again and again, worry about whether or not I'd be able to find all my classes and if my teachers would be cool or awful.

It's nice to know some things don't change.

I haven't seriously been a college student in almost exactly ten years. Tomorrow's my first day of school, and I can't sleep. Too excited. Too nervous. I have very little idea of what I might wear, my bookbag is checked and filled with what books I have (even though I know I won't need them the first day), my notebook -- damn, I need to find some good pens. Well, that's what the office supply cabinet at work is for, right? I expect tomorrow morning at work I'll go over my schedule again and again, and study a campus map so I look like I know where I'm going tomorrow. I worry about my teachers, if I'll like them or hate them. I want to like them. Perhaps no great surprise: I want them to like me.

I am equal parts terrified and exultant. I've made two attempts to go back to school since I left Lipscomb ten years ago. Both times I went for about half a semester then fell apart. Even as much as I keep telling myself "That won't happen this time", I'm still worried. I shouldn't be. I have so much support in doing this, at home, at work, among my friends. I've had years' worth of growing, planning, recovering.

I am not the same girl who pulled out of her last semester at David Lipscomb University ten years ago: jobless, married to a husband of less than six months who'd just tried to commit suicide, desperate, depressed, alone. I am not the same girl who tried again three years later, attending the University of Tennessee at Martin: still jobless, still married, still desperate, depressed and alone. I am not even the same woman who tried for a simple child care certification five years ago, although much had changed: I was working, I was divorced, less desperate, less depressed, much less alone -- but still not ready for school.

I am twenty-eight years old. I have spent the last ten years learning who I am, learning from my mistakes, learning my weaknesses, my strengths, my loves, my hates. Now, NOW I am ready to go back and see what else there is that I can learn.

Now if I can just get to sleep...

The muse struck me. So

The muse struck me. So I said "ouch!", then I came up with the following:

*insert blues riff here: "duh-NUH-na-nuh"*
I got here this mornin' (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
'Bout a quarter to nine. (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Thought I'd get some work done (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Man, I was feelin' fine...

But I got the blues...
The Stuck At The Front Desk All Day Blues

My boss, he done tole me (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
That Kelly was sick. (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
My heart started sinkin' (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Cause I knew right then I was bound to get picked...

And I got the blues...
The Stuck At The Front Desk All Day Blues...

Can't work on no projects (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Can't surf on the web (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
I'm thinkin' this mornin' (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
I shoulda just stayed in bed...

Cause I got the blues...
The Stuck At The Front Desk All Day Blues...

Got no one to talk to, (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Workin' all by myself. (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Telephone ain't ringin' (*duh-NUH-na-nuh*)
Feel like they done put me on the shelf...

Cause I got the blues...
The Stuck At The Front Desk All Day Blues...

(Obligatory improv until fade)
Somebody help me, now. I ain't got nothin' to do! I got them low-down, bored receptionist blues. Anybody seen a nail file?

Well. That killed another fifteen minutes. Is it time to go home yet?