Where is the information?
Writing by Sheridan on Tuesday, 5 of May , 2009 at 12:47 am
As I sit at uni with the sinking feeling of guilt that I should be studying or at least reading something, I have decided that writing something (albeit not uni-related) is almost as good. And I have a good excuse for the recent lack of writing posts. I have been writing many other things lately, few of them as interesting and fun to write as this. In a week or so we’ll have a basic idea of just how good (or totally crap) I am at writing things in general.
So uni is going well (as far as I can tell). Turning up here is sometimes likely to induce a spontaneous depressive episode. Such times I speak of are the occasions when I find myself surrounded by what can only be described as children (many of whom are just over half of my age) dressed in clothes too small for your average 7 year old. And that’s just the boys. Almost everyone here has smooth, wrinkle-free skin and weighs about half of my body weight. They swan around in their Supre clothes and ugg boots (youth does not account for taste), sipping full-fat lattes and carrying handbags into which you could easily fit a small Hyundai. They look cool in tracksuit pants. I remember the days fondly. Back then, there were those bloody mature-age students with their questions and their confidence and their personal relationships with all of the tutors and lecturers and probably all of the faculty staff, and their enviable marks and their absence of P plates and their ability to get the good tutorial hours because of their work/kids/importance and their ability to carry a brief case and not look like a loser…now I am one of them.
So I met my tutor for coffee before class, and we discussed the finer points of the current financial crisis and its impact upon the availability of tertiary study to indigenous Australians whilst sharing a platter of French cheeses with dry crackers and fresh tropical fruits plucked from endangered rainforests. I was tired from the previous evening’s dinner party I threw for the Dean and the members of the board, so my tutor agreed that I could skip class and have a brief nap if I would pay for the coffees. It’s just so hard being a mature-age student.
Anyways, as I assert my authority in class by asking questions or making suggestions using words with more than four letters, I am drawn back to earth during our twice-monthly prac class, where everyone has to show up in ‘sportswear’ (‘street’ clothing in not allowed), and perform gym-style activities. Although I an on an even keel with most of the girls (in the activities, not the looking good in trackies), its the young boys who out-do us all. No amount of five-letter words can save me here, so I endure it with the grace and class that only age can bring (I will it to be over and miraculously, every time, it eventually ends…)
I think back fondly to the occasion when, four days before our assignment was due, I heard several classmates comment that they had no idea where to get the information for the topic from if we were not allowed to use textbooks or the internet! Ahahhaha, I sniggered to myself. I might be a lot older but I’m also a good measure wiser, my pets.
Now I will actually do some work, lest I lose my advantage over the littlies.
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