back to school
i signed up for classes this coming semester. (yes, i am still in school. and yes, i am three hundred and forty seven years old.) two of them. i am bracing myself for an all consuming 15 weeks.
i took two classes. a seminar in autobiography, and a recent U.S. history course.
the seminar in autobiography is the one class that galvanized my decision to switch to this school, a small liberal arts extension of new york's city university. it counts as "life experience", meaning you can get up to 28 credits by the end of the course, which is one year long or two semesters. the regular classes offers only 4 credits. but still, thats not the reason i took it. i took it because before i can write about life, i have to write about MY life. i have to explore every facet of my history. i have to accept the finality of who i am. what makes my creature. all the stories and secrets that create me. i have to commit to them. embrace them. and move forward.
to get into the class i had to jump through hoops. sending the professor a personal request, attaching samples of my writing, creative and academic. explaining to her why i should be allowed into the class. providing teacher references, proving i had a high grade point average, offering authentication that certified my intelligence in the form of test scores and charm. eventually she sent a letter of acceptance. and that was the easy part.
the hard part was picking a second class, which i needed in order to be a part time student and thus, eligible for student loan. i chose recent U.S. history because i am american and america fascinates me. its large and complex and drunk on its own youthful ego. it is flawed and ultimately honest. and deep down it is an insecure, almost modest country, inspired by its own intelligence, ashamed of its upbringing, dumb and proud at times, with relatively good intentions. ive been trying to find my place in america, and i think this class will help me do that, while complementing the telling of my story. i am an american child. this much i know. what this means i have yet to figure out.
im afraid that if i am completely honest in my autobiography, there will be hellish consequences. i fear my girlfriend will leave me. im pretty sure of that. i fear my professor will shrink away when i hand in my later chapters, cringing at the prospect of coming in contact with such a foul, perverted, weak willed student. one with unhealthy addictions, cravings beyond moral reason. a man that is fueled by cowardice, loneliness, and fetish. im frightened she will see me and be scared, with all my insecurities exposed, translated into a stilted prose on her desk. but i can not enter this with abandon. i have to carry on, so i can move forward.
ive been thinking about about turning my comments off. but i wont. im afraid. it would be so lonely. how lame am i?