5 July, 1997

Lisa read me her class schedule for Fall Semestre. 15 units, 4 solids. She's actually going somewhere, doing something with her life. Namely, racking up the GenEd credits, holding a steady 4.0, and dealing with a four-year-old. I think I'm jealous.

I think maybe I want to go back to school. I left, you know, to play house and wear the Mommy uniform. Not like I left anything wonderful: A crappy GPA in a mishmash of classes aimed at a useless English degree. I know if I do go back, I'll have to see the guidance counselor from hell. Yes, the one that asked me, "What are you going to do? Be a teacher?" so many times, I had to sit on my hands so I wouldn't slap her. I also know that I'll have to take ENG1A, which I've managed to put off til now, and there's no more putting it off.

1A is the English class. It's the shit, the one you have to take — and pass,
natch — to get into all the groovy classes, like ENG5 ("Intro to the Novel"). ENG1A is also about the snoringest class ever created. I should know; I've had it twice already. The syllabus goes something like this: Read Hemingway; Write fabulously academic essay on Hemingway; Read Kafka; Write fabulously academic essay on Kafka; Read Fitzgerald; Write fabulously...

I think I'd rather shove rusty, acid-coated nails into my eyes, thankyouverymuch.

Lisa said I should try testing out of 1A. She seems to have this strange notion that I'm just wise-ass enough to pull it off. Right, Lisa. The English Placement Test is in three parts: Essay; Reading&Comprehension; and Vocabulary. The entire test is worth 210 points, or something like that. The Essay section, alone, is worth 144. Lisa placed into 1A with a total score of 150-something. Her Essay was 88 of that, I believe. From the scores of our respective and mutual friends, we've surmised that one must need at least a 125 Essay to have any hope of placing out of 1A. And Lisa thinks I can do this. Right, Lisa.

And, before you ask, no, I'm not particularly worried about the other two sections of the test. In fact...What other two sections?

My other hairy beef is my SAT. Why can't they just use that and leave me alone? I snaked a 720-something on the English portion of the SAT. Uhm, that's out of 800, kiddies. Ahem. Now, I'm faced with taking some insipid, academic, tres politically correct class or getting up early on a Saturday to deal with some gawd-awful test to get around said class. I hate tests. I don't test well. I need to add tests to "Things that Upset My Tum."

I wish I'd known how unimportant SATs are when I was 16. Put myself through all that stress, only to have it shot down as "negligible academic history" nine years later.

Were there some other means of dodging ENG1A, I know I'd be back in school this fall, alongside Lisa and the other over-educated twentysomething miscreants. I need to be — or become — someone. There is no choice here; it's a "have to" situation. I can't just go be a writer because I've either not yet learned or already forgotten too many things. I need to be surrounded by brilliant people who write better than I do, but don't throw it in my face. I need to go live with Diane or Ceej for a month.

I need to go take that test and get back in school.