She drilled into us the process of writing an academic essay.
Introduction
[transition]
Body
[transition]
Body
[transition]
Body
[transition]
Opposite viewpoint
[transition]
Conclusion
Her tutelage made the process for writing in my Composition 2 class much simpler and less trama- I mean, dramatic.
But, transitions. She harped on transitions. I finally got it, and then the semester was over. Last semester I took Composition 2. I struggled with my professor's presence, and his style of teaching was like that of a doting boy you don't want to date. I also learned in his class in spite of my resistance. I learned from him about proper punctuation, and over a hundred vocabulary words that I was stretched to use in a sentence.
(segway vs. segue)
All of these things were my "take-aways" from those college experiences. After each progressive experience, someone usually asks me, "what are you doing now?" My fall back answer is, "I'm in transition." This is a vague, noncommittal answer that answers the question without admitting that I don't really know what to say. I am in that position again.
Yesterday I thought I would start classes at college for my sixth semester. Instead, I find out I've maxed out the number of hours for which I can receive financial aid. I was in shock after my would be professor said my name wasn't on the list, probably due to a non-payment issue. This was a new situation for me as I just followed the same steps that I had the past five semesters to register and prepare for classes. There was no notification that I was aware of that there was a limit to the number of hours for which I could receive financial aid. The only way I had a hint of what was going on was from the excruciatingly long conversation with John (see previous post). He mentioned in passing a 90 hour limit at Chatt State that I had not heard of until then. His comment made me wonder how many hours I had accumulated and whether I was at the limit or not. I didn't find out I was until I was sitting in the mythology class I thought I was registered for but was not.
(on their website labyrinth)
My class schedule was deleted because I had not paid, and I would not be registered for classes until I paid for them. That abrupt realization put me in a minor state of shock. For the last month I've been thinking one thing, then all at once I am doing something else. I'm not discouraged about this. I feel inspired actually.
This is the first time in two and a half years I haven't been in college. I'm not in the acting program. I'm not preparing for AMTC, or my next Avatar course. I am a free agent. It is an equally thrilling and terrifying place to be in. I'm not in a relationship with a man heading toward the forever kind of commitment that leads to settling down and having children. I'm excited. My email inbox is full of photoshoot, writing, and acting opportunities. They aren't just maybe's and what-if's; they are happening. I'm creating art. All I need now is to translate that into a source of income. I'm transitioning into a position where I can support myself with myself.
[tweet]
I'm not saying I don't have or don't need friends and family to be there with me, but I feel more independent than I have since I graduated high school. It's been two years and ten months since Micah died. I'm still processing his absence, but I'm not in a constant state of depression like I was for a long time (that I'm sure you noticed from my stream of shadowy post material). I'm not out of the woods yet, but I'm not afraid to be there so much anymore. I feel free to admit that is where I am, and it's not where I will stay.
[the woods behind my house 15.1.17]
