As of Tuesday I will have completed my first semester in the funeral services program at ARC and I have to say that I have LOVED it. I love the course material, love the instructors, love my classmates.

In fact, the head in which I dwell is home to a big fat love-in and if there was a soldier holding a rifle around I’d put a flower in the end of it.

Whoa, hippie image overload. Forget I typed that. Shake. Erase. Start over.

Anyway. During the last little while I’ve discovered that I have the intellectual ability to absorb copious amounts of chemical equations and anatomical concepts without my brain liquefying in protest and leaking out my ears to stain my shirt.

What’s more is that I am finding I actually enjoy the science coursework. As in I really get a kick out of it. Like, I’m getting A’s and everything. Who’da thunk it? 

I could not be more confounded right now if the skies had opened up and the great forefinger of God himself were to point down as he boomed, “You, with the bad haircut! You’re not nearly as dim as you thought you were.”

…and caused the great ball of deathly black discouragement that has been “the sciences” all my life to morph into a subject area that I can grasp with some ease and holy crap! The notion that I might have be capable of succeeding in an area more technical than Play-Doh would undoubtedly cause all of my ex-boyfriends and most of my extended family to have a collective aneurysm. But I digress.

To this end, my husband – the ever patient patron saint of Encouraging One’s Wife to Pursue Whatever Schizophrenic Path She Pleases – has suggested that upon completion of the funeral services program I leisurely pursue a BS at UC Davis.

So I think I’m going to do that. Maybe I’ll even pursue a masters. Why not? I may be 50 before I graduate but I figure I’m going to turn 50 someday anyway and I might as well do it with a degree in microbiology.