Well, it’s over. The class in Educational Psychology is done.
There is a 3-ring binder with its full depth of 2” to prove it.
I used up much of Tuesday writing a final Philosophy of Education. I gather I should be showing marked improvement from the one I wrote on the second day of class, 8 weeks ago.
I even went so far as to find an example online, print it out, and ask the Instructor if this is what I should aim for. The answer was an enthusiastic YES! It was not at all hoity-toity, as I remarked, but Scholarly.
The other day, I read a blog post of a guy who has 3 Bachelor’s Degrees, one Master’s and is working on another. All the while earning enough to provide for his family. I didn’t leave a comment, but I wanted to ask where does he get the energy to write so many erudite compositions, and does he ever tinker with a jalopy in the garage or build bookshelves for his wife?
My writing falls far short, is what I am thinking. I’m not a great Philosopher. Even Bob Wetzel back at Milligan College would look at me with indulgence in his smile, and mark a generous C on my papers. I’d rather work a dozen Algebra problems to their final answer than have to respond eloquently to a parent’s note about homework.
The years of low-end jobs havn’t been obliging for my people interaction skills, either. Way too often, I would like to tell some doofus where to go and how fast he would get there if I helped by giving a hard kick.
There was one kind of work I really liked, when I was a baker in a cafeteria. I would be in my little corner of the huge kitchen, with the mixer and the work table and the ovens, a little $10 radio playing an oldies station, just doing my thing. Once in awhile, answer the phone, or check in an order from a delivery truck, but for the most part, I was what is called a self-starter.
By lunch time, trays of goodies were ready to be laid out in the customer area, I did the dishes, clocked out and came home. Unfortunately, the leaning over the sink and heavy lifting caused an outcome of surgery for carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands. Apparently, my mind might like solitary tasks, but my body goes into rebellion.
The hardest payment from that job came with losing my crochet hobby for 19 months.
There’s not much I’d rather do than have some pretty music or a good movie going, and sitting with a crochet hook and thread in my hands, and have people just let me be.
So, with an Associate of Arts degree on the wall, and absolutely sick of paying tuition and writing papers double spaced with 1” margins, I am perched on the edge of my next job adventure.
I checked the Classifieds. There’s an opening for a Teacher’s Assistant about 25 hours a week, at a school within bicycle distance. There is the matter of getting Certified. I have to look into the testing schedule. I guess my days at the community college aren’t over quite yet.
However, my husband cautions me about jumping in too soon, don’t take the first thing that looks alright.
My employment history is spotty.
And he would like to see the top of the table in the study.
If I am done with college, I should clear away the evidence. At the very least, organize the items on shelves for easy reference in the future.
Meanwhile, I am here and telling you all about it.
The view from the window is very busy, with trucks going in and out, and down to the turnaround.
I believe the house across the street is getting a new ventilation system.
Outside, the air is still as an attic, and the humidity causes the skin of my arms to tickle. Current temperature 85oF.
Dark clouds hovering. Raindrops falling soon.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
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