Still Not a Player. . .(Day 54, Year 3)

I was reviewing my undergrad transcript the other day. Most of the time, I kept wondering why I was such a disaster as a college student. 

The whole thing is a bit disconcerting because I really want to get into Johns Hopkins. I Googled what to do if you had super sketchy grades as an undergrad. Google suggested I explain the extenuating circumstances for my bad grades. I tried to think if there was any major traumas that occurred in college. There was one (the softball girls jumping me, this is a story for another day!); but otherwise I was just immature, a bit directionless and still trying to figure out how to be a responsible adult. There was one other situation:

Thursday night frat parties; which were followed by early Friday morning writing classes. 

I did love those Friday morning writing classes, despite the 7:50 am start. I loved them so much that I repeated them several times. I loved reading the writing of my classmates and sharing mine. I just could not pull myself together. Luckily I had a wonderful professor, Dr. Marra, who loved and believed in me in spite of my many flaws. He did not pass me when I failed; but he did not discount me either. He was just there and ready when I was ready to stand up and write. 

Anyway,  I also loved Thursday nights. While I got dressed (sorority hot pants plus a black crop top and my Gap lavender cardigan and my $10 in my bra, my pager on my waistband), I'd watch ER. Once ER was over, it was time to roll. 

The rest is NOT TO BE SHARED EVER. I will not even share a photo from those parties. 

I will however share this very GRADUATE looking photo of me and my Dad. He was so relieved when I finally graduated that he had his own sort of Thursday night graduation party with a lot of sangria and discussions of what he would do with the extra money now that he stopped having to pay my tuition, as well as constant reminders that I needed to get a job. 

And I did get a job in Vermont (and then he financed my move and talked to me on the phone every night when I insisted my apartment was haunted and when I discovered my upstairs neighbor had a large pet snake and when I realized I did not know how to drive in snow. I imagine he chased those calls with prayer and vodka.) 

I've certainly matured and will be able to excel at graduate school! I am the one paying and my Thursday nights are not as late now. I do stay up until midnight; but that is only because it takes until 11pm to finish all my duties, which include writing, reading and of course, 1 hour of doctor talk with Nicholas at bedtime. 

Then I need one hour of not doing and pretending like I am an adult in control of my own time (instead of a mother of three and a writer with deadlines) before I fall asleep, dreaming of words and science and getting into Johns Hopkins. 

But, still, the Thursday night vibe and that sense of the end of the week coming feels so delicious on a Thursday, you know?  Just one day of juggling work-school-chaos-catastrophe and then it's the weekend and I can ditch work-school, just to focus on the chaos-catastrophe. 

It's like there are whispers of the weekend in the air on Thursday.  And if I close my eyes, I can hear the sweet siren call of Still Not a Player (I just crush a lot).