Would you like a cane with your cap and gown?

I am under-educated.  Even as I typed that, I was questioning, "Is undereducated all one word or should it be hyphenated?"

See?  It's a wonder I can even function from one day to the next being this ignorant.

Oh sure, I finished high school--graduated with honors even--though I still wonder how that happened.  I remember skipping class a lot.  One time in particular, my friend who was a year ahead of me (though maybe not much smarter than me at the time) decided to take me out in her little Chevette during math class and "teach" me to drive.  Hey, at least I was learning SOMETHING, right?

Our classroom of choice for that afternoon was a residential neighborhood.  Yeah, I know.  Smart.  So I sat behind the wheel--nervously--and had my very first driving lesson, administered by a person who had a good three months of driving wisdom and experience under her belt...and an un-airconditioned Chevette...in Arizona.   I'm sure you can see where this is going.   We started off driving in a straight line.  What could go wrong, I ask you?  Nothing.  I was doing just fine until we came to a side street and my friend abruptly yelled, "TURN HERE!"   Turn?  You mean the car?  How do I turn?  Can't we just keep doing this straight thing?  I'm good with straight.

Ok, so all of that conversation was really just going on in my head and not out loud.  I really should have put my thoughts to better use.  More like, "This pedal on the left is the brake, right?  And this thing with the handle and the window on my left is the door?  So I should just put my foot on that pedal thing and open that other thing with the window and the handle and get out right now, before something bad happens--something I'll be blogging about in 20 years.  And what the heck is a blog?"

As you can probably guess, the rational thoughts did not prevail in this instance.  I did as I was told and I turned.  Sort of.  I can't quite describe what happened in great detail.  I can only say that in my attempt to turn left, I under shot.  Or is it under-shot?  Or undershot?  Regardless, where I/we ended up was at a dead stop on the front lawn of somebody's brand new home, with the Chevette's bumper gently kissing the stucco on the walls of said home (Michelle, do you remember this, or have you chosen to block it out?).

It was not until THIS moment that I used that brilliant pedal and door exit strategy and swapped spots with my partner in crime.  She threw that baby into reverse and we high tailed it outta there quicker than we could say mandatorysummerschool.

I have no idea why I just shared that story.  I guess it popped into my head when I started pondering ways I could prove to my devoted readers that I don't always make the smartest decisions.  Are you convinced yet? If not, here's the point I had planned to make when I started this post:

I am under-educated.  I should have done the college thing years ago.  As a result of not doing that, I find myself a divorced mother of four who needs to do it NOW.  Not only do I NEED to do it, I really WANT to do it.  But the position I am in is one of having to work in order to support those little angels, then come home to my OTHER, more challenging job of raising those little angels,  *AND* take a class here and there as I can, hoping to finish in time for my great-grandchildren to be present at my graduation, assuming I still have my sanity (and my continence) by then.

So...

 If I had my way, my full-time job WOULD BE studenting.  Not a word, you say?  I know!  This is what years of not going to college has done to me.  Were it not for the fact that I love my job and am grateful beyond measure to have it (my boss reads my blog sometimes), I would quit my job and mooch off the government for a few years in order to get that book learnin' stuff out of the way.  In a heartbeat.

Oh crap.  I think that last part makes me a liberal.

Sorry I'm not sorry. This time.