“Do I really need this?” I used to think to myself at 3 am while trying to stuff my brain with statistical facts before a big test.
I am not into algebra. I don’t like algebra. My focus is in the arts for pity’s sake, why the heck am I doing this to myself?
And then I would scream something like “F***k you Math!” while I throw my textbook across the room knocking over a glass of something sugary, which would then tip all over my sleeping my roommate. Waking her, and her wrath.
I didn’t need to go to college to be an artist. I could have continued doing what I was already doing. Painting, sketching, experimenting, and buying up every art book I found interesting.
I think of what life would’ve been had I never signed on to let a classroom of judgmental art-novices stand over my shoulder. Watching my work with one collective eyebrow up, criticisms at the ready.
So, why am I doing this?
Because I want my bachelors. Because so many in my family didn’t get one, and I wanted to be a credit to our name and an inspiration to my children. I wanted a better income and, hopefully, a better life.
I also wanted the general college experience. Communal living, meeting up with cafeteria study groups, going on panty raids. Stuff like that.
The main reason I did college, even though I didn’t have to, was because it would never, ever, hurt to learn something new. Even if it means the casual destruction of math textbooks.