Let's Add Glossolalia to the Readin', 'Rriting, and 'Rithmetic

Over-freakin'-whelmed. Not just overwhelmed, but over-freakin'-whelmed. I wouldn't be surprised if I start speaking in tongues any minute now. Let me dazzle you with some Glossolalia. Or let me "Bedazzle" you, as suggested by a friend.

This is day four of this back to school adventure that I'm fondly referring to as, "She always said it would happen, but finally, she's lost her mind." The rest of my books arrived yesterday. I have a sneaking suspicion they toured greater Indiana before being dropped off at my doorstep. See? Even my books get to go farther than a one-county radius.

I had mixed emotions upon their arrival. I told the FedEx guy that he might be my hero because I really, really needed to get to work, but next semester, I couldn't promise that I might want to throw rocks at him. He thanked me for the warning. I told him he might want to run up to the steps, toss the package from a safe distance, and make a run for it. He didn't seem surprised because he lamented he's used to that kind of welcome.

Yesterday, I spent two hours in the first review section of the Basic Algebra book. This was only the review. This didn't count toward anything required for the first class session. This was for my benefit. Who knew Algebra could be so consuming and entertaining that I would suddenly look at the clock and realize it was almost time to leave for my Microcomputer class?

And, if that wasn't an experience in itself. I walked into the WorkOne building where the class is held. A woman, who seemingly worked there, looked around and asked a few of us, "What class are you here for?"

We answered Microcomputers. "Oh," she replied, "I'm not sure where they are having the computer class, but English and Math are back there."

Finally, someone with more gumption than I got up and didn't return. I looked at the guy sitting next to me and noted she must have found the class. I walked into the room, full of computers. Yes, I know. Quite a shock to me that a computer class would be held in a room full of computers. Why, the novelty of it.

I looked around, and surprisingly, I wasn't the oldest one in the class. There were a few youngins'. The next thing I noticed was the temperature of the room. It wasn't so much that I noticed as the sweat began trickling in places ladies shouldn't sweat in public. It had to have been 120 degrees. Either that, or I was in the midst of a hotflash. I haven't ruled that out.

As it turns out with this class, you're there to read the book and use the computer to do each assignment. It has been confirmed from an earlier post where I thought perhaps that I might need some reading glasses that it's a definite. Nothing like sitting in a sweaty heap with a bunch of other sweaty heaps while you're squinting and glistening.

I finished the first part of the assignment. Several women pleaded that a door or something be opened, and the professor insisted just as soon as the sun went down, we'd no longer be baking in that sunroom that doubled as a computer lab, and we'd cool off. He joked, "Who is bringing the ice next time?" I'd bypassed the point that even seeing someone fall out of their chair would not have amused me.

Just as soon as I get a copy of MSOffice 2007, I only have to return to the class long enough to hand in the assignments, as he doesn't lecture. I think he's only there to be sure nobody is surfing porn or opening a door for ventiliation, anyway.

The English Composition class I'm taking makes me scratch my head. Then when I scratch my head, I start thinking about a friend who's kids had head lice. Anytime I think about head lice, which I don't do on purpose, I scratch my head. Then I imagine I can feel something crawling in my scalp. So, really, it's best that I don't use the phrase "scratch my head" because it only distracts me.

Anyway, it's a touchy-feely textbook approach to writing. Personally, I haven't had my hands on anything so "gay" since I touched the Indian from the Village People. I know that sounds offensive, but I've never viewed writing as being all "puppies, kittens, unicorns, and rainbows." The book implies that one only needs to put words into a journal, and voila, they are a writer! It goes on to say you don't have to be published, paid, or even write a bestseller to be a writer. Whew, I'm so relieved to know that.

The government class will be the thorn in my side for the next four months. I don't know squat about politics. I memorized what I had to in order to pass high school government. Discussion of politics serves as a means for my husband to tell me that I'm tree-hugging Liberal. But, as it turns out, I lean more towards being a Libertarian.

But, on the brighter side of this mania that I'm knee-deep in, there are a few good points. One being that I'm finally getting that education and maybe one of these days, I'll amount to something. Another is that much like when I worked last fall, I feel like I have a greater purpose these days. Also, when I'm busy and the pistons are firing mentally, writing becomes easier. I actually love having things that I must do that serve as some sort of structure.

Now, so long as I don't start speaking in tongues, I'll be good to go.