School

School’s back in session here in Texas, which I don’t have to worry about since all the kids are grown. I have this recurring dream, a variety of which invaded my sleep last night, where I’m back in college again. The highlights tend to be that I’m in a class, that I’ve got one or more that I need to go to that day, and I don’t know what time and where they are. This is usually because it’s the end of the semester and I haven’t been attending classes, plus I have no idea of where my schedule is so I can’t find it to know where I need to go.

Anyway, this post isn’t about my dreams. As the wise sage Rhett Miller says, “Nobody wants to hear about your stupid dreams. We don’t even want to hear half the shit that happens in reality. Go back to sleep.” No, what I wanted to mention regards the Creative Writing class I took my very last semester when I needed three credits to maintain full-time status. I was an accounting major, seated in long rows in large lecture rooms where none of the students talked with other or interacted beyond assigned group projects, and sometimes not even then. Creative Writing provided a whole different experience, beginning with the fifteen or so of us around a large table where we had to look at each other and talk. I provided the fish-out-of-water participant since nobody believed a business school geek could write. I have fond memories of that particular time in school and always say it’s the best course I took in college. More next time…