Hi. It's a little after 10 on Tuesday night, and I'm at work. It's a lovely night in South Florida, although currently in my office it's a little hot for a reason that is unbeknownst to me, I hear the air conditioning running. I did not log on to Typepad to write about air conditioning. NEW PARAGRAPH--
I have these very odd working hours, where I come in sometimes at night and sometimes during the day, and sometimes not at all. So working at 10 is not so bad.
Today when I was walking down the halls of work, I wearily clomped down the hall taking steps flat-footed, somewhat like a duck. My shoes hurt my feet. They're new, I love them, but they fit terribly and the only way to not apply pressure to any of the sore spots on my ankles is to walk flat-footed. Flop flop flop. Everyone can hear me four doors down, clomping on the tile. But I deal with it.
Life can be like wearing an uncomfortable pair of shoes. What are you going to do, stop walking? Just keep going, it's no big deal.
I deal with the weariness of working at night because in the day I'm taking classes, so a few years from now I can land a job that will make me some money. MONEY, DO YOU HEAR ME? Being a runway model was great and stuff, but it was easy to be poor when eating wasn't allowed. Now I like to have a sandwich from time to time, with the fancy bread thanks.
I'm thinking of becoming a Physician's Assistant. Although first, I need to pass chemistry, a terrifying course that I am taking from the Cuban version of Professor Snape. If I wasn't having panic attacks for hours on end trying to figure out the molarity of a solvent, I would ask him the secret to making a good love potion.
OMG I need to buy a lab coat. Forgot.
So yes, I am approaching my 40's and I'm back in college, part-time, where I left off when I joined the media circus of MTV...and then subsequently spend years galavanting around the globe having fun, which it was. But I always presumed I would just marry rich, some guy I'd meet bouncing around, and I wouldn't have to worry about my future, because someone would pave the way for me.
Then I did start dating a string of rich men, who were good-heared people and they meant well, but dealing with their whims and wishes was more work than any job I would ever work on my own. My morals, they got in the way, and I had this idea I should live my life for love. So, that was that. Several times, "that was that," as the saying goes, even though each time my mother begged me to get back together with them, just until after Christmas so she could get a really good gift, I can break up in the New Year.
So...yeah, I'm back in those heady days of college. Thanks to having stayed out of the sun, I don't look that much older, except for the plentitude of gray hair atop my ever-widening brow. The other students just blankly look at me as they choose to talk to just each other, but that is fine. I am friends with a few single mothers who truly understand what it is like to fight your way through life. I give them homework help. In exchange they give me strength.
The great thing about going back to college? Sometimes when you're sitting at a table in the commons area, studying Anatony & Physiology (notice the scribbled notes about Adenine and Cytosine), and there aren't any open seats, a strapping student will ask if he can sit there and share your table.
I'd like to introduce you to His Bicep. Nice to meet ya, says I. Excuse me while I jump to the chapter about the muscular system.
Alright. Chemistry awaits.
Have a good day, y'all.