Schoolishness

Last week, I went (with my trusty boyfriend in tow) to see the disabilities coordinator at my local community college.

There was an hour-long bus ride, each way. It was rather horrible, but I actually thought it would be worse. A woman who stank of perfume sat next to us for 20 minutes, I sucked mints and breathed with my sweater over my face until she got off the bus. (I could have moved, but I figure, the devil you know...) And of course, it was noisy. There was no shortage of passengers, many of them talking, some very loudly. A professionally detached woman's voice was constantly piping up on the overhead speakers to remind us all of what stop was coming or of major intersections, and to please exit to the rear and take all refuse when you leave. (ATTN: WE ARE NOT YOUR MOTHER.) And the bus itself was so loud! It whined and groaned with every change in speed, and rocked as it pulled in and out of traffic, which left me totally disinterested in my book, because I suddenly found it imperative to focus on the breeze on my face and not puking. I've never vomited from motion sickness or a migraine, but it always feels like I will and I worry that if I ever do puke, it'll be a breaking dam of vomit, and from then on, every little nauseous migraine or bumpy car ride will result in my clocking quality cuddle time with a crapper.

But, happily, getting the disabled fare wasn't awkward at all (just showed my medicare card) and having the window open and blowing fresh(er) air into my face was a lifesaver on the way home.

When we pulled up to the school, I realized I really didn't know at all where I was going on campus and I had just willingly put myself into a recurring nightmare. There I was, at school, and I had no idea where I was supposed to be, but I was definitely supposed to be somewhere. At least I wasn't naked.** So, we walked into the closest building, which was prominently labeled Student Services, and the very first door we saw had a sign on it that read Disabilities Services. I nearly peed my pants. That was partly because I had to pee, though, so I did that first and then went in the office, checked in, sat down with some forms, filled them out and then waited for a bit until a woman walked up to me and quietly asked me if I was me and if I was ready. I answered that I was, and we followed her to her office.

The appointment itself went pretty well. I like my counselor a lot. She's informed and understanding and sensitive and direct in her concerns and suggestions. I think she can help me make it work.

I've checked out the summer schedule and found a few possible classes to take. My counselor suggested being picky, and even waiting until fall if something doesn't feel right. The summer quarter is shorter, thus more intense, and I wholeheartedly agreed with her that taking a very challenging class right off the bat might be self-defeating. I should take something that's easy or fun for me, something that I won't struggle too much with. I see the advantages in waiting until fall, a longer quarter and wider course selection, but I'm afraid that if I wait, I'll lose all of this lovely momentum I've built up.

BUT, the other problem with taking summer classes is that it's going to be, you know, summer. Which means it'll be hot. Which means that my migraines are automatically more excitable and my capacity for schoolwork may be fatally compromised. Maybe I'm being dramatic. I really don't want to fail.

I'll be thinking on it.


**Fun fact: During my naked dreams, I inevitably have a moment of self-awareness when I recognize that what is happening is likely not actually happening (Naked in a huge blonde wig frantically wandering a costume shop looking for a toga? Not too often!) and then I think to myself what a dreadful cliche naked dreams are and I start analyzing the dream while I'm still dreaming. I don't even know what that says about me.