First Day of School

So I'm back. Let me tell you, coming back to college as an adult gives you an entirely new perspective. I am here with a purpose. I have more maturity and experience and worldliness under my belt. And I just have this semester to live out this adventure to the fullest. My 9am class is taught by a professor I knew from senior year when I TA'd for her - I lucked out. She's awesome and she already loves me :). The class was full of young, sleepy-eyed, probably ignorant and clueless college kids. And there I was, in the second row, sitting with straight, eager posture, pen to notebook, with a big goofy grin on my face. My eyes swept across the black t-shirt of the punk-rock dude sitting in front me. Blazened in bold red letters, it said "take me to bed with you." Hmm. Good to be back.

After my "Race, Class & Psych" class, I strolled across campus, noticing the subtle changes. More trees, more turtle sculpures, more "M's" strewn across the greenery. Ahh, the pride set back in. Good to be back.

On my way to try to score a volunteer position at the Counseling Center, I glanced at the young faces (and bodies). Pimple-faced, dorky guys in "COLLEGE" t-shirts. The tough, pompous athletes, dragging their feet to the class their coach registered for them. Freshman cautiously walking to their next class, trying to conceal the campus map in their pockets. The girl walking in front of me had 3 inch wedges and 3 inch long shorts on. She kept swinging her arms, pseudo-confidently, letting the bangles on her wrist jingle, and flinging her long, dark hair side-to-side. Aw, so much self-assurance. So much pride in every seductive step she took, certain she has it goin' on. Girlfriend, you have no idea. Luckily, I don't stand out as the old kid back on the block. The girls here look much older than I remember from the old days...and I haven't aged a bit, so I tell myself. Good to be back.

The girl at the computer next to me just shyly asked me where the nearest mailbox is. My eyes lowered to the girly stationary envelope she held in her hand, probably addressed to a love one. Aww, how sweet. (Who writes letters anymore?). Her first day of school (too) and she's writing her boyfriend back home...her sister at another school...or her mother who is anxiously waiting to hear about her experience. I had no idea where the nearest mailbox was. (Who writes letters anymore?). But I directed her to the helpdesk at the front of the library in my sweetest voice. I understand, honey. I feel ya.

Great to be back. . .