Today marks one week since my return to hitting the books, and hit them hard I have. Like as hard as I hit a block of chocolate after a week of eating clean (which I still can't master, but continue eating the chocolate anyway). Except the former is wayyy more stressful and not as endorphine inducing as the latter.
There's no fanfare or streamers or titty flashing celebrations (maybe flashed out after Mardi Gras?) when you go, or return to uni. None. The lecturers do not care about your struggles, your lack of sleep, or the fact that you are having social media withdraws after sitting through a two hour lecture. Instead, they sharply remind you that it is not their responsibility to baby you and you need put your head out of A and get to it. As awful as that may sound, it's refreshing - and beneficial for someone like me, who would routinely use excuses such as "The dog ate my homework" if I thought it would be get out of watching a snoretastic powerpoint presentation on the biological motherfucking processes of the plasma membrabe. Did I say snore? Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
It's not all twenty letter words and periodic tables though. It can kinda be fun too. For example, I got to have a conversation with Mrs Springer today.
Mrs Springer sounds an awful lot like my middle aged male lecturer but hey, whatevs. I resisted the urge to ask her if she was related to Jerry, and after making her confirm her name and DOB, informed her that I would be back later to check her daily obs. I gave her a reassuring pat on the hand afterwards and the bitch didn't acknowledge my presence. People these days ...
My lecturer promises me that by third year, I will be ridiculously comfortable with conversing with mannequins. I informed him that I have a kindy kid and a preschooler, and conversing with both is exactly like conversing with a mannequin. You know, because you all have their ears painted on and don't acknowledge a damn thing you say. Am I right, or am I right?
Apart from having to heavily rely on Ryan and my Mum on juggling school drop off/pick ups and the ensuing mundane that follows, I am really enjoying being back. I'm going the part time load I was doing prior to Abi's surprise (and therefore immaculate) conception, and even though it's going to take me 72904783 years until I'm finito, I'm ok with knowing I am one step closer to catching dem babies.
... And that's a big thing for me because Abi is 8 months old now, and I need some newborn goodness in my arms, STAT!