I went to high school as soon as I got out of college. It was a "business school." The equivalent of a community college, but it wasn't accredited. After spending a year there, I went to the state university in my hometown and started my long, drawn out, interminable academic career. Over the span of the ten years that I spent in college I attended four different schools. The last one I attended was, by far, my favorite.

The first year I was there was horrible. School was the only spot of sanity in my life. I didn't realize how much pressure I was under until my teacher used my life to describe naturalism. This was to be expected since I was having a difficult time. I was very active in the theatre department, and I expected my theatre friends to understand the reference. However, as I looked around the room, I saw many unfamiliar faces bobbing their heads in agreement. That's when I realized that my bad luck had become legend.

To make a long story short I will list as opposed to explain.
1. I was attending school after having been out for over a year
2. I was being stalked, so I couldn’t go anywhere alone
3. My 3 year old niece died.
4. My mother had a nervous breakdown, even though she doesn’t believe it.
5. In the second semester I was already 2 weeks behind in school work when it was only 2 weeks into the semester.
6. The brakes fell off my car—twice. (Yes, fell OFF. I picked them up from the ground.)
7. Various other every day stresses and annoyances, like breaking off the key in the door lock, and having no heater in my car, having to replace the alternator, etc., etc.
And yes, that’s the short version.

I never thought I would graduate. I took a 3 year break after that year before I went back. Nervous. But as I got into the semesters, I realized that through that year of the inferno, I had learned many things. One of them was how to work through any kind of problem.

A year and a half later, I found myself walking down the aisle (not that aisle)—cap on my head with a lovely red and gray tassel, and grasping a beautiful red folder. Everyone else thought I would do it, but I was still in shock.

Now, I sit and contemplate going to an MFA program and I find myself in the same flustered state I was about 5 years ago. What makes me think I am good enough to get into a good program? What makes me special? My writing (to me) is nothing special. It is insightful in my life and applies in a few ways to others, but do I really have the universal words to express the feelings of people around the world.

I also worry about whether or not I can do it in a reasonable amount of time. It took me 10 years to accomplish the goal of my twenties. I said I wanted to graduate before I was 30. At 28 years old, I reached for the hand of the president of the college and my diploma.

These are just my concerns and hopes and expectations and worries of school, academia, and life in general.