Saturday, July 28, 2012

Academic Chaos Part One...

The fact that there are multiple parts to this madness is completely ridiculous. However, it’s the reality and this whole thing has made me question “is this even worth it?” Of course it is. The pain of not pursuing school is far worse than the drama that has ensued over the past month. Harold Washington has my application and high school transcripts on file which is excellent news. I’m told that I need to go to Orientation and take the placement test. Orientation is no big deal but the placement test?! No thank you. Standardized tests have never been a strong point for me. Scary images of my SAT scores dance around my mind. I fight them off with a cookie. Registration ends Aug 20 which is when classes start. I find that the soonest I can get in to Orientation is Aug 11. This leaves no time for a placement test. I email an advisor that a co-worker recommended and in nearly all caps he says GO NOW! Do NOT wait til the 11th! Ummm.. I was under the impression that I needed to make an appointment. I go the school on Monday and talk to administration. They tell me that there is an orientation at 2pm and to just walk in. This means missing my math class at PCOM which is detrimental to my learning the material. I leave and take a walk, stopping at Starbucks for tea. I mull all this over and decide to go to the orientation. I take my homework to PCOM and drop it in my teacher’s mailbox. I later see that I forgot to include part of the assignment. “A” for effort right?” I’m scared that I may need to bring along proof of residence being I don‘t have an IL drivers license. I go back to Harold Washington and ask a man at an information desk. He tells me that I first need an appointment to go to orientation. I nearly rip is his face off. Why does everyone have a different story?! I try to keep composed as I told him what the woman said this morning. He instructs me to get back in the line at administration to be sure. When I’m back in line I’m thinking I won’t even have time to go home if I’m supposed to. Turns out I don’t need proof of residence to attend and yes I can just walk in. Orientation only takes an hour. A few days later I have to miss my cranio sacral class to take the placement exam. I go over the study material as best as I can while trying to learn this new math material from the Monday I missed. Jeff reminds me to just be where I am. I want to believe that I can do that. Part of me likes that idea but the part of me that is anxiety ridden and petrified of judgment is taking over. The night before the test, I can’t sleep. Dana is out of town and the cats are pawing at my door all night. My mind is racing and shows no sign of stopping. I’m supposed to meet up with Jeff for lunch after the test as he has to work the rest of the day. I have no idea how long it’s going to take. I get to the testing room early with about five other people. I watch as one of the proctors snaps at the girl in front of me for trying to enter the room. Apparently we all have to play a game of “20 Questions” before entering. Before coming to the school I checked to make sure the graphing calculator that Jeff is letting me borrow is ok to use on the test. The website said yes. The man standing in front of me, handing me paperwork says no and hands me a basic calculator to use. Again, with the miscommunication!! We’re given strict instructions to turn off our cell phones, use the restroom now as we won’t be able to once we start the test, and if we need anything we’re to raise our hand and wait for someone to come. I am shown to a computer and am told how to get started. The math section is first. Of course it is. The first few problems are easy. The test gets harder and harder with each correct answer, measuring the extent of your knowledge. I keep going, scribbling on my scratch paper, solving equation after equation. I notice after a while that this is taking a long time and the problems aren’t progressively getting harder. It’s all about the same and to me, it feels challenging. Decimals, word problems, basic geometry and algebra show up. I feel ridiculous for not remembering how to approach some of the problems. “Do your best. Do your best. Do your best.” I repeat to myself. Nothing is calming down the anxiety that I’m going to be stuck at an 8th grade math level forever. That being said, who cares? I don’t want to be a mathematician. English is my thing. Not soon enough am I progressing on to the English section. It’s mostly reading comprehension with a little bit of vocabulary. I feel my eyes are going to start bleeding once I’m two essays in. There are so many dull, dry, words that I have to remember so I can answer questions about them. Essay after article after essay pass and I keep hoping that the next one will be the last one as I have to write my own essay after this Q and A extravaganza. I shift around in my seat. I stare at the clock. I’ve already been here over two hours! I take my glass off put my face in my hands trying to slowly take in deep breaths. I remind myself that this won’t last forever. I get back to it and turns out, the essay I’m on is the last one. Thank God. The computer magically lets the proctors (there are five of them) know I’m finished. A woman brings over an essay I am to analyze and paper to write on then tells me to write an essay answering one of two questions on another sheet of paper she hands me. Ok. I outline, brainstorm and do a quick rough draft before writing the actual essay. All of this reminds me of being in fifth grade and learning all of this. My teacher, Mrs. Fowler told me that I need to elaborate more when I’m answering questions and writing essays. I never forgot that. I write and write. My handwriting is big as it sometimes gets when I’m trying to write legibly. I was told that if I needed more paper, just raise my hand. I had one paragraph left to go and not enough room. I raised my hand. “Yes?” a tall skinny effeminate guy traipses over to me. “I need more paper please.” I say softly. He looks me over then glances at what I’ve written. “I hope you’re finishing up soon.” “I am.” I firmly state thinking “just get the damn paper asshole!” “Ok. Because this is an essay, not a dissertation.” “I know.” I say in my most saccharine southern tone. He delivers the paper and I finish before racing out of that Godforsaken room and out into the bright sunshine. It feels so good to move my limbs, to take big deep breaths… I don’t lose it until Jeff and I exit Intelligentsia shortly after I pop in to find him. I told him what the proctor said to me. That statement was the snapping point. The tears came despite my best effort at keeping them in. Jeff pulled me into him hugging me tightly telling me how proud he was of me for even doing it. We’re against one of the walls of the Cultural Center. I’m so angry. I’m angry at PCOM for delivering their incorrect information. Angry at my younger self for not learning how to take these stupid exams, and angry at that idiot and his comment. When I’m all cried out, we go get sushi. I feel like my brain won’t hold anything else. I see Jeff’s face and I’m trying to make myself be present, reminding myself that it’s all over but I can’t seem to. We leave lunch and he heads to work. I…have to get some math tutoring. Oh yes. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse in the sense of school work, I have no idea how to do this week’s homework being I missed class and all. Phranque, one of my teachers from last term offered to help. I met him at Argo Tea down the street from Intelligentsia. “Whatcha got?” he asks after I sit down with my tea and fill him in about my morning. I pull out my book and show him the chapter we’re working on. “I know how to solve the equations but I don’t know how to set them up.” I explain. Word problems have never been a strong point. Phranque quietly looks over the examples. I stare out the window until his voice grabs my attention. “Ok. Easy enough. Read number one out loud.” I glance at the book as he holds it up for me to read the tiny print, then back at him. I take in a deep breath and read the first sentence. Tears are threatening. I attempt the first word of the second sentence and stop. “Are you going to cry?” he asks. I nod and the tears come again. “I’m so tired.” I whisper. He’s expressionless and motionless, still holding the book. “Ok, let’s look at it this way…” he begins. Two and a half hours later, he’s late for another tutoring session he’s doing with some students on acupuncture points and I am heading to Wicker Park, still a little uneasy about this homework. I stop into Mojo Spa in Wicker Park. I want a treat for making it through this hideous day. I love this little place. The woman who owns it hand makes all of her soaps, scrubs and lotions. I pick out a coconut one and leave. I notice the clouds are getting dark. I know I should take the bus as I don’t have an umbrella and my feet are starting to hurt but it feels so good to be outside. More often than not I find that the sky only threatens to open up, rarely following through. My phone rings and it’s Dana. We chat for a few minutes before she has to go meet up with a friend. I walk down Damen and over to Augusta because it’s prettier and quieter than Chicago Ave. Thunder claps overhead and I pick up my pace. I can see Western which means I’m close as fat rain drops start to fall pelting my head and shoulders. At first it’s just a few raindrops, but as I cross Western an ocean of rain dumps onto my exposed body. By the time I make it home I soaked all the way through to my undies. I hate today.

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