Voodoo

I have been called many things in my nearly 38 years. Now, remember that presently I am a Human Service Major. Names have been uttered due to my appearance, beliefs, and actions; however, the other day I heard a new one. Evidently, I am a Serial Student; specifically, I am a Serial English Student. The requirements are slightly different for each major but it is common knowledge that at my school English Composition (111) is required for most Associate Degrees, as is English Exposition and Persuasion (112) for those considering transferring to obtain anything higher. I have accepted the challenges of 111 and 112; heck, I even enjoyed them. It is also relative common knowledge that a humanities course be completed; thus, I giddily registered for American Literature After 1865 (223) because this course filled that void. This nears that tricky spot where the "Serial" aspect comes into play. After enjoying post 1865 American Lit I attempted to convince myself that I must focus on the Human Service aspect of my academic career. I failed. The serial problem is the professor. 

A professor competent to prove that a few fancy words pulled from the thesaurus does not make one a proficient writer nor does arguing controversial topics. She has taught me that the research and preparation in conjunction with diligence can (note I did not say will) create a nearly perfect paper. The sense of more is eagerly offered to learn from this professor, like a full platter. I am notoriously a grazer. This entirety put together creates the Serial Student. Do I want to jump the bow of the Human Service Ship? Yes, I so badly yearn to read and create works of my own. Will going overboard cause any harm? Possibly, it could easily send my family into four and a half more years of the Mommy Student. It has not been easy to return to school after years, children, and a mortgage later. Will I switch? Not until diligent research and preparation is put into action will I change the vessel I have sailed since spring of 2012. 

Writing with whimsy is one thing, but to make major life choices in the same manner could be positively devastating. One knowing my past with literature could see the difficulty I am having as I trudge through the necessary mud of classes can see the obvious heart 

wrenching choices I am facing. My previous blog 

shows some details of my original post college plans. I am holding true to my original ideals because I promised myself by Christmas I will know if I can 

handle the career I originally mapped out. As I am attending the American Lit Pre 1865 class; I am also taking Psychology of Aging. Registering for that course was a vengeful slap to my face. Where was this class last fall when I so desperately wanted to the Human Service department to help someone else? The terrible anguish I felt nearly put me into a darkness no one should bear. I am a creature of habit; moreover, out of the discomfort of change than any other reason. In order to change my major I would have to create a whole new process of thought because a way to make those dollars out of words is terrifying sorcery...