Monday, January 31, 2005

Going back to school.

I haven’t much to blog about. I could complain about not sleeping, or having had nightmares, but I guess it’s been done. Particularly in this blog. For years. I think I need to see a doctor about sleeping pills. No kidding. I’ve been just randomly up since 3:00AM.

A little while ago I broke down and brought my laptop into my room. This isn’t the first time I wished I didn’t type so loud. Baby Ty is trying to sleep about five feet away from me. He’s a light sleeper too, and my typing is, as usual, rattling the windows. It’s nice to be able to type well over a hundred words a minute. The trade off, of course, is that you can’t break the damn sound barrier without creating a sonic boom.

My brother used to tease me about how loud I typed. It’s hard to do his impression justice in print. He’d tell his buddies about how I always had an empty pop can or two laying on my desk (I used to drink like three Mt. Dews a day on a light day). AIMer would ding, I’d look serious for a second. Then tap – tap – tap (slowly, lightly) and then TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP (mixed with sounds of a race car speeding by, hands imitating the pop cans jumping up and down).

I love that impression. My brother is usually pretty much my favorite person ever when he’s in a good mood. And if he’s in a good mood, like most older brothers, it means that he’s teasing me.

Another time, I was blogging in the computer lab at school. There was only me and some older guy in the room. Our computer labs at school were pretty small. Much smaller than say, the size of your average high school classroom. So when there were only two people in there, sound sort of magnified. I don’t need the sound of my typing magnified.

This poor guy, who was of the hunting and pecking variety of typers, was working on a term paper. He was frustrated anyway. And then I come in, typing as if I’m lead snare in a particularly obnoxious marching band’s rendition of Wipeout in a fourth of July parade, and the poor man couldn’t think at all. Every two or three minutes he’d say. “Wow, think you can finish typing this up for me? It should only take you a few seconds. It’s only five pages. Geez, girl!”

I felt bad and left after a few minutes. I just went to the lab across the hall. It probably wasn’t far enough away, actually. Those halls at school echo. Poor guy.

Anyway, I haven’t a lot to report outside of that I’m an obnoxious typist. I’m getting very serious about going back to school for Social Work. I know I already told everybody I’d decided against it, but time changes things a bit.

For one thing, it’s nearly February and I still haven’t seen a damn job that interested me that I’m qualified to do with my history degree. All of the jobs that do interest me are in Social Work. I’m still not really particularly impressed with the Social Work program. But on second thought, if I can stick it out and get my masters, even if I don’t like it very much, two-and-a-half years of my time is actually rather brief when considered in the scope of one’s lifetime. If I can get a decent job when I graduate, and the chances of that are quite likely, considering the mandatory internships I’ll be part of, I should be able to suck up how much the program sort of sucks. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.

It’s mostly just hard thinking that I’m going to be in school until I’m 25. The idea of being broke, and most likely living with my parents, until sometime in 2008 is less than totally thrilling. I love my parents, and I’m hardly what could be described as a high maintenance sort of girl, but damn! My parents, God bless them, are actually happy about the prospect.

The bright side of going back to school is that a) it’s something to do that’s measurably positive; b) even if it means taking out loans, I’ll probably be less broke as a student than I am as just an unemployed bum; c) it’ll mark a return to having health insurance, yay!