The Return

Several attempts. A lot of attempts. Maybe this means something else. Maybe not. In and out of school but now not since summer 2015 when a sci-fi lit class somehow affirmed you could be assertive and talkative in class, granted the subject matter and small class size (12-14 people?) probably helped. Someone has your back now and says you can and they're smart and supportive so it feels good. One class is all, just a quick two hours a night for two nights a week, hopefully can squeeze in the work assigned Tuesday by Thursday, probably means no more writing group but the degree is more important really, at this point, tired of beating yourself up over the lack of it. It's not that numbers are super boring; remember Math Counts, and KAMSC, and sabermetrics and all, but in a perfect world you know you'd be finishing the English degree. Then again, in a perfect world, you'd be published, and the world isn't perfect, so try to make a bit more money so you can trounce off to a few more live concerts, or foreign countries, or fancy ass dinners. Or, if nothing else, so you can buy those expensive skinny jeans you always seem to eye.