Back To School

10 tips for my fellow back-to-schoolers:

1. School is, once again, a total madhouse the first two weeks.  Be prepared to park far away and walk, which is entirely preferable to slowly tailing someone to their car in the student lot like a predatory shark, only to find yourself battling for their space with a slick-haired dude in a muscle car blasting rap at 8am.

2. There is nothing within a 3 mile radius that you will want to eat. Bring your own snacks unless you can subsist on lattes and a yogurt parfait for 12 hours.

3. Teachers, even the good ones, are totally weird people. Aren't they? Your organic chemistry teacher has a strange accent (truly, impossible to place. North African? Sub-Himalayan?) and even stranger speech patterning ("The electron is not cerTAINly at any location, it is only proBABly there."). You are oddly grateful, as class is in the evening, and straining to understand him helps keep you awake. You can pretend for those three hours that you're going to school in India.

4. Psychology classes always, always feel like you are in fact a participant in a psych experiment without your prior consent or knowledge.

5. Generally, the large groups of male students that congregate over by the science buildings are less intimidating than those that congregate on the main part of campus. If you need somewhere to sit outside and eat your parfait, aim yourself in that direction.

6. Do not wait on that 1/2 mile long line to get into the bookstore. Come back in a few days when it's diminished. You don't need your books the first week anyway.

7. With that said: Highlighters. Pens. #2 Pencils. Erasers. Scantrons. Get them all. They will sell out.

8. "Mature" students: when you walk in on the first day of class, several students will assume you are the teacher until you sit down. I will also assume you are the teacher, even though it has happened to me mere moments before. It's an innocent mistake on all our parts.

9. It's a little overwhelming. Don't worry about that. You'll get back in the swing of things.

10. Snacks. I cannot stress this enough.

Down(ward Facing) Time

It's been several weeks since school ended, and I've been swimming in free time (but before you get jealous, this doesn't feel like swimming in the ocean; this feels like trying to swim in marshmallows). I kind of don't know what to do with myself, and it also begs the question, what the hell was I doing with myself before I went back to school?

A large part of me can't wait for school to start again (although I am still teaching, just not that much), while a second large part wishes I was better at enjoying marshmallows, and another, also quite large part feels like I proved whatever it was that I needed to prove by going back to school for a semester, like I was on a reality show about moms and kids and swapping, and now it's time to return to our regularly scheduled programming.

The problem with that third large part is that I am nowhere near done. The other problem, having just registered for the spring, is that I can't realistically take more than 2 classes per semester while still having a job and trying not to go crazy. So, the five year plan may actually be six. Did I mention somewhere in there I have to fit in a hip replacement? Ha. Yes.

The good part: I've been fortunate enough to be observing a double amputee learning to walk with his prostheses the past few weeks, which is humbling, and fascinating, and emotional, and helps my brain to stop swimming in marshmallows and focus. It's as if the universe knew that I was feeling weary, and threw me a little view of my future to keep me on track. "You'll get to this place, working with clients like these," says the universe. "Slow down. Don't worry about how long the pre-recs are going to take. You'll get here."

Finals. Finally.

Semester has been rattling along at a nice clip, with a steady rhythm of tests every few weeks, and I've grown accustomed to my new, hermetically sealed/hermitic life. [As an aside, when I say hermitic, I am referring to my mostly shut-in status, not the spiced cookie of the same name that I did not know existed until I googled hermitic to check my spelling. The learning train stops for no one.]

However, the best.thing.ever is about to happen. Finals. A week from Tuesday and I am a free woman until February 2012, whereupon the wild rumpus starts anew.

However, part 2: as with all highly anticipated things, in lieu of my looming date with freedom, time has slowed to a crawl, and with it has gone all my motivation. I have become an apathetic, whiny (mostly in my own head, hopefully) college student who has exerted for 12 weeks and who frankly is more than a little out of steam. Hopefully there is some tiny reserve of steam left in me somewhere, though I've yet to locate it. I'm sure my driving need to get perfect scores will push me across the finish line in something like style, and I am extremely appreciative of September, October and November Sarah who worked really hard so that December Sarah can get a few things wrong and still get a good grade.

However, part 3: it appears that unless I give up teaching altogether (not happening), due to the hours-heavy nature of science classes, I may not be able to take more than 2 classes per semester, which puts me squarely in the crosshairs of summer school, and potentially in a land where the next five years will actually turn into 6. Although the difference isn't that great, the length of the sentence (and the length of that last sentence) starts to make my head spin.

Pade, pade, as my teacher Manorama would say. One step at a time. If only I could get time to speed up for the next week and then slow to molasses for winter break.

In Which I Am A Little, And Then A Lot, Bothered By Your Posture

This bothers me, a little:

But I get it. I took this picture at an area coffee shop that I frequent during my lunch break from classes - and I do mean frequent, because they now know me by name. That's a little scary.

My point is, the 'stand on one leg and stick out the other one with both legs turned out' look that's so popular for line-waiting, as demonstrated so beautifully for us by these three anonymous models (although the dude in the middle I know as 'the other guy they know by name in this area coffee shop') is not an isolated incident. Next time you're standing in line at the store, or your own area coffee shop, after you finish reading about this year's sexiest person, check out the way you're standing. Odds are it will look something like the above.

We've become somehow allergic to a) standing on both legs evenly and b) pointing said legs straight forward. We think we look like robots when we do that. No really, we do. People tell me that when I make them do it. But I do it myself, on purpose, all the time, because it helps with my scoliosis/crazy hip, and it's cleared a lot of one sided lower back pain. You know what I hear, constantly? (I'll give you a clue - it's not "Are you a robot?")

I hear: "Your posture is amazing!" "Are you a dancer?" "I've been admiring the way you walk for the past hour!" (That last one was a little creepy, but still a compliment). I can talk about it until I'm blue in the face (and if you've ever taken class with me, odds are I've mentioned it at least once that you can remember) but until you start doing it, you won't believe me that it can make such a big difference in your mood, your 'tude, and your dude (I needed a third thing. If you are a dude or know a dude, either way it will make a difference).

This bothers me, a lot:

This is from the latest Urban Outfitters catalog. I'm not sure how well you can see what is going on for this poor deformed lady, but she's basically making a huge kyphotic (backwards) C curve with her spine, while throwing her shoulders anteriorly (forward), jamming her pelvis anteriorly (forward), and borderline overextending her neck (backward). Apparently, if you close your eyes and do that, the bubbles come.

Monkey see, monkey do - I'm no longer in the demographic that UO is aiming for (and yet they haven't dumped me from their mailing list, which I sort of appreciate in a "what are those crazy kids up to these days?" way), but it makes me so very, very annoyed to see this, because back in MY day, when I WAS being aggressively marketed to, at least the women got to stand like this:

I mean, bananas outfit notwithstanding, and setting aside whatever you may know or think about this particular person, this is the stance of a strong woman inhabiting her body. [Side note: she also gets to have muscles.]

This is not supposed to be a post about the vagaries of modeling, although I could so very easily go there - but that's another story.

This is me, pleading with you to stand up straight, and point both feet forward, and stand on both of them. That's it. It's really, really simple, and I would bet you money that it will make your lower back happier. Plus, you'll get compliments. Oh, one last thing: you have to do it for the rest of your life. But honestly, it's not as hard as having to go to rehab for your screwed up L4/L5 or knee issues. I promise.

The Proof Is In The Reading

The biggest difference, work-wise, between the arty classes I used to take in college and the all-science, all-the-time roller coaster I ride lately is the method of testing. Back then, I would sit in lectures and take long, rambling notes, debate topics in long, rambling arguments, write papers in long, rambling run-on sentences, without ever having to answer a single yes-or-no question.

Not so for science classes. I have at least one, if not more, quiz or test or exam every other week. It's kind of like having someone's thumb permanently pressed into the side of my head, reminding me not to relax too much because I need to memorize some terms, or answer sample questions, or write out balanced equations.

I've discovered, however, that proofreading is not only a useful tool for writing, but invaluable for these kinds of tests. My science class test-taking method is to answer all the questions with at least something first, and then to pause, breathe, and read through all of them again. Every single time, I find I've marked 'A' when I meant to mark 'D,' or left out an important detail in a description that would have cost me a few points or more.

Your body does the same thing. Did you know that? During DNA replication, the enzymes doing the replicating make an error roughly one in every ten thousand nucleotides (like DNA building blocks). So your body has repair enzymes that pause, breathe, and read through all of the replicated nucleotides again, catching and fixing so many mistakes that the error rate drops to one in a billion. Not bad.

There are always students that jump up 20 minutes after the test has started, hand in their paper, and walk out. I wonder if they are so brilliant they've made no errors, or if they're not following the example set by their DNA. I feel urged on by their departure to also make a quick exit (jeez, I really can't quit this need to come in top of EVERYTHING, even leaving the room) but I force myself to stay longer and make corrections.

It's not as dramatic. Proofreading isn't sexy. No-one makes a dramatic statement and then pauses to proofread it before storming out and slamming the door.

But if it's good enough for my DNA, it's good enough for me.

Week 8

aka, The Halfway Point of the semester.

Marked by a noticeable increase in general Honey Badger-ness towards being in school. I started out the semester giving my all, studying for hours and hours, overloading and overwhelming myself. Although I try to let go of needing to not only get an A, but a 100% A, the perfectionism is near-primal in me, and as such, hard to shake. In addition, I've been putting more pressure on myself as these grades will play a part in getting accepted to the grad school I want.

However, something happened Monday morning, aka First Day Of Week 8. I slid into my usual Chemistry class seat behind Girl Who Talks Too Loudly And Doesn't Know The Answer, next to Quieter Girl Who Is Really Funny But Hardly Ever Shows It, and I could feel something in the air. The class has thinned to what is, I assume, its fighting weight: after our first test, a small exodus has us down to about 45 students. We have the air of survivors, and while we spent the first half of the semester putting up with our Chem teacher's preference for replacing actual teaching with dated sexist jokes, now we're done tiptoeing around him.

(sample conversation - Me: "I'm sorry I'm a bit late on Wednesdays, I get here as fast as I can from work." Him: "Oh, I thought you were sipping cappuccinos with your sweetie and lost track of time." Me: "No. I'm a grown up with a job.")

I'm realizing that while I am halfway through this semester, I'm only 1/8th through all my post bac requirements, so the only way to survive this is to chill, a little. I had a Biology test and scored a 100 out of 104. My Bio teacher - who I adore - gently chastised me for missing 4 points (he knows my story, and has high expectations of me, which I appreciate). I, in return, laughed. Honey Badger don't care.

Front Bit

I ran into a fellow yoga teacher last Sunday at the store. We don't know each other particularly well, although I've always had a sense that I would like her a whole lot if we did, but our circles overlap enough that we're aware of what each other is up to, generally. One of the first things she said to me was "man, I'm so impressed with what you're doing."

I don't know if it was because I was feeling particularly worn out at that moment, or if I decided that the people closest to me are tired of hearing me complain so I haven't wanted to burden them with this, or if energetically she just seemed to understand, but I replied the truth in my soul to her, which is: every day I think about quitting. Every day.

It's not the school part. I like class, and as we've established, I'm a dork and I enjoy studying. It's not teaching my group classes, or teaching privately, or teaching anatomy weekends, or writing. I enjoy all of those things, individually; but at the moment, theyareallmashedupagainsteachothersoclosethatthereisbarelyamomenttobreathe.

Case in point: I forgot the word for foot yesterday. Really. I followed up by calling my client's core "your front bit."

The wave of momentum behind all this activity both holds me upright when I feel most likely to collapse, and pushes me forward to the next class, test, client, workshop, deadline. It seems out of my hands, like something happening to me, not because of me, and the vague outline of a goal I held a few months ago feels unrelated to this onslaught.

My free time has diminished to the point that people I used to see on a regular basis have become once-a-month catch-up friends. I miss them. I decided that the lion's share of my attention has to go to my growing nephews, and their even-more-worn-out parents, which means I see them once a week for a few hours. Several times a day, my dog gazes at me balefully, toy in mouth, a slow wag in her tail, hoping I might be convinced to come out from behind the computer, but more often than not she ends up discontentedly lying back down with a heavy sigh.

Am I complaining? I did this to myself, voluntarily, and I can undo it with the click of a mouse. (Quite literally - you can withdraw from classes online now. Ah, technology.) There are moments each day when I wonder what the hell I used to do with my time - if you can cram this much thisness into a day, was I just sitting around eating bon bons and watching reality tv dance competitions? But in the moments when I accept that this is just how things are for now, and that like everything else, this too shall pass, I lift my chin and pick up the next task.