. . . especially as a "mature" student.
I love the Cellar because it's a place I can speak my mind about weird things and believe that someone is gonna get it, somehow.

So here's what is on my mind right now, after spending the evening A.) re-designing our church's website and B.) writing a paper for British Lit.
Number one, I've learned to trust myself. When I started back to school, I didn't think I knew which end was up. I was afraid to answer questions in class, terrified that I couldn't keep up, thinking I was lost and confused when the truth was that the shit just flat-out didn't make sense to anyone.

Turned out my instincts were pretty good and I was right most of the time. So now I speak up and just try to have fun with it, and I'm not so self-conscious. Yesterday my short-story class critiqued a story I wrote, and though I like the story, I am more proud of the fact I put it out there and --here's the real biggie -- felt more confident of my work than I did about the comments. Even from the teacher.
OTOH, I'm not so proud that I don't see what other people have to offer. Some of these "kids" are really smart. Some of them just think they are, and are probably gonna get smacked down at some near future point, poor things.
I have also learned that some people are really, really stupid. And that the contrast is amazing between the Damn Hard Shit in college classes and the ridiculously easy. Which can happen in the same class, and it also amazes me that some people even pass these classes.
For example, I went to geology lab and I swear, I could literally hear my brain sizzling as it attempted math calculations trying to figure out some stuff on a topographic map. Easy for some, but not for me, the lady who thought she'd taken her last math class 20 years ago and almost threw a party to celebrate.
Then I went to take a Big Midterm Exam in my graphics communication class, which took me exactly 9 minutes and 25 seconds and I scored 95.
So I'm sitting there taking the test, and the teacher says: "Number 17 is messed up -- just put down "B", it's a freebie.
About sixty seconds later, the guy sitting next to me raises his hand. "Hey," he says, "what's up with number 17? What are we supposed to do?"
A few people laugh as the teacher repeats himself.
Two minutes after that, a girl toward the back of the room raises her hand. "I don't think this is right," she says. Yep, #17. Amazing. It's not like this is a big lecture hall, either. It's a small classroom.
So that's another thing you learn in college; how some things are really tough on even the smartest hardest workers and other things just slip by so the dim underachievers can get A's, and how arbitrary it can be. How even some girl who shows up 1/2 hour late to class or even completely flakes on the first exam can squeak by with a C and get the same degree as the worker bees.
Life isn't fair.
Still, I think you get what you give. Somehow.