Where did The Write Woman go Wrong in Education? (323 Days to Go)

First of all, I’m not sure what the public school system is teaching anymore, but I’m relieved my son his home schooled. Trying to figure out how to get Nikki back to home school while working, but attended her parent/teacher conference yesterday. Her teacher, Mrs. Young, is one of the sharper tools in that drawer, and last night it was a pleasure speaking with her. One thing that confused me, however, was her mention that Nikki is well beyond her colleagues in reading and because of this she will next read “TheMagic Finger.” Doesn’t this sound like the type of literature congress would write, if they could? I'm aware of several people who have received such a gift from myself, although they may not feel the same way.

Okay, here’s the bad news for this wallowing Wednesday—I’ll get it over with first, because it’s so depressing and moving on would be best. The first time I attended a university, it was to study law. In the midst of my education, the friendly doctor advised me Prozac would cure my OCD, even though I was there for a typical physical for my employer. This was the combination of anterograde and retrograde amnesia. Needless to say, I did not finish school in my twenties, and it took another twenty to make sense of life. Strike one.

In my thirties, with a four-year-old child, I began again. This time I was shooting to be a teacher. I pulled up my knickers and went to work. But apparently I pulled my britches up a bit too high because halfway through my education I got pregnant again. While I was enjoying the opinion of my other half’s sobbing because I refused to have an abortion, I continued working as a school bus driver and pushed forward to complete school. A truck running a red light changed my plans at seven months along. Unable to sit for long periods, much less anything else a man might desire, I lost my employment and was forced, after repeated attempts, to relinquish my schooling. Strike two.

In my forties, still unable to obtain work that doesn’t make me wanna throw myself under a bus because it would be less painful, I did manage to hide the pain well enough to get a job. I studied for a week to become a bus driver in another district, taking the physical, I passed! But after the long ride home, I could barely climb out of my car and shuffle inside before collapsing on my bed where I remained for the following two days. I also managed to locate an online school, permitting me to stand and move around when necessary. Not only am I able to attend school, I have an A average—all while working, home schooling my son, and taking care of my daughter and our home. I feel like Super Mom!

But then my current school’s financial adviser changed where I'm studying writing. The new one notified me the only loan I could apply for to allow me to complete my degree is at 12%, repayment begins in two months after graduation and must be repaid within five years at over $300/month. I thought it over as I read, because I have less than a year left, and I’m certain I’ll be making enough money to pay it back—the median salary is $50,000. As I continued reading, they were willing to pay less than half the money needed to graduate. My last financial adviser had told me that I would be fine and not to worry about it, so I didn’t. Now I have less than a month to poop out nearly $35,000. Strike three.

With the way everything is going, the only thing I can count on is landing on my feet. I don’t know how, but I trust that it will. The numbers counting down at the top of my entries signified my graduation date, which happens to be my birthday. I will continue the countdown, but now the big day will be my goal to become a success (I do not consider less than $50,000 a success for a household). With less than a year left, I’d better get my ass in gear. Besides, I believe I have every screenwriting book available on my bookshelf. If I plan it correctly, I should be able to read every one of them. 

In the meantime I believe I will be playing Publisher’s Clearing House and writing my children’s novel, in hopes of it creating an income. Here's crossing my fingers for comedy--guess it won't hurt to go for it!

We’ll see what happens in my future and if September 4, 2015 reveals the admiration and cheering of a successful forty-nine year old won’t we?

Meanwhile, while I applied my deodorant this morning my daughter asked where the correct

place to put it is. I explained that it deodorizes smells from perspiration and showed her where it goes. She got out her deodorant, I intended on throwing away before she confiscated it, to apply on her tummy. “No,” I stopped her, “Not on your tummy. Put it where you sweat, like your armpits.” That was when she insisted I help her apply it to her back. No matter how much I argued, she was certain her back sweats more than anywhere else. What kind of a child is this?