It's weird going to a real school. Unlike community college, I'm quickly learning that the teachers in real schools actually have expectations of their students. It's both daunting and refreshing. I can recall, after an English class in Columbia, one of my teacher's pulling me aside and apologizing for the content of her course. She had to teach to the "lowest common denominator" after all.
...but I can't hate too much on the community college experience. As excited as I am to be back in the saddle and learning again, I never could have afforded Loyola if I started out as a freshman. The university will have me grabbing my ankles by graduation just the same, but thank you, Community College, for lessening the impact. You are the KY of academia...and I'm not talking about Kentucky.
With that said, it sucks to be the old lady in class. True, no one knows how old I am...because no one asks...but I feel like I'm wearing a big sign around my neck that says "Yes, I'm a former #$&@-up gone straight." Like I have a tear drop tattoo on my cheek and a skull for every person I've killed on my forearm. I'm absolutely sure it's THAT OBVIOUS.
Who cares, though? I *finally* got around to it, and I hope it lasts forever. Learning, I mean.