Musings on My Inadequacies as an English Major
About three months ago I decided to take the plunge. I decided I was going to go back to school. Let’s put this in some context. I graduated almost five years ago with a degree in Marketing. Why, you may ask, do I want to go back to school for an English degree of all things? The thing is: I really really hated my major by the time second semester of Senior year rolled around. At that point it was too late to change: I’d declared my intent to graduate, I’d rubbed it in my brother’s face that I was graduating the same time as him and he was two years older than me. So there I was. Just graduated with no idea what I really wanted to do. I started working in food service and was so good at my job that I seriously considered restaurant management as a career path; however, I get way too stressed out for that to work for me. Back to square one.
Square one just happened to be my original life plan: to be a writer. In all honesty, an English degree is not really going to make me more qualified to be an author, but I like to have some sort of plan. And I love school. (Right now, in fact, I am happily pretending that I’m an undergrad again hanging out on the top floor of the library not doing homework, just like I used to do.) So I enrolled in a 300-level lit course. No big deal, right? I’ve taken 300-level courses before, how hard can it be?
Apparently, a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. I have spent the better part of two days working on my take-home midterm which boils down to two mini-papers about two pages apiece. And I think I’ve made some really intelligent and good points. But man. I do not know how to write papers anymore. My prose has gotten extremely lazy in the last five years and I feel like I sound like an idiot. Which I’m sure I don’t. But maybe I do.
Am I really cut out for this?