There is nothing - simply NOTHING - like the feeling of walking across campus after finishing your last final exam of the semester. Birds sing, the sunlight streams down upon you, and you are surrounded by people who are either grimacing in exhausted anxiety (not done) or grinning involuntarily (done!).
I, dear friends, am DONE! Done-ity-done-done! Finis! I am also pretty sure I ended up with an A in the class. I mean, I only got one grade all sememster that wasn't an A, and it was a B+, so...right? I mean, I know it's the English department, and averages aren't our strong suit, but...right? That's an A?
It's an A. Totally. Probably. If you're wondering why I'm fretting over this, well. It's like we don't even know each other AT ALL.
So anyhow, here we are, one more semester under my belt. I know I'm making too big of a deal about this, three measly credit hours, but I swear, I thought it was going to sink me. Remember how I was just fussing over whether or not I was going to take another class in the fall? Well, I still don't know for sure.
I mean, it really is hard. And it really is a strain on everyone, except possibly the dog, who lives her life in faintly guilty fog. And it seems unfair to upend everyone like that, just for my silly degree.
But. I also am impressed by my family and grateful for their willingness to step up. I'm proud of my silly self and my (probably) A. It feels good.
Details might conspire to make the next semester impossible (fall, not summer. I'm not even CONSIDERING the summer semester. The pace of those classes combined with the camp/vacation/summer plan madness around here...aaaahhhh...the thought of it...I have to put my head between my knees now...deep breaths....). And that's just life, if those details do stop me.
But here I am, having survived one semester, and I hope I can go back. I want to.
I think that's progress.