I have been in college for eons. The Grand Canyon was just a ditch in Arizona when I started school. Like I said, eons. After years of drifting somewhat aimlessly through the land of Academia I finally have a plan in place. I have an adviser and a checklist and everything. I also have - much to my dismay - over 100 credits still to go.
I am currently slogging my way through accounting and statistics - two classes I had hoped never to have to take, but for some reason they are needed, apparently, when you major in animal science. I will, of course, use them constantly in my career as a chicken wrangler (or whatever it is I decide to do.) That was sarcasm, in case you missed it.
There is one good thing that will come out of my three month foray into statistics: I have produced pages and pages of notes that I plan to roast vegan marshmallows over after finals. (If I wasn't going to try to recoup my losses on the cost of my ridiculously expensive statistics textbook by selling it back, I would probably roast that too - and enjoy it.)
My frustration with the current curriculum is exacerbated by the fact that I am not happy with anything less than a perfect score, and let me assure you that I am scoring well below perfect. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself that it doesn't really matter what grade I get in statistics as long as I pass it, I have yet to convince myself that that is indeed the truth.
But while I continue to learn about standard deviations and bank reconciliations life continues as usual on the Unfarm. Minna's mobility has vastly improved and she even hobbles around the yard a bit now, with Maggie as her guard, keeping the chickens away. Kita's weight loss progress has stalled - partly because his arthritis is slowing him down, and partly because I caught him buried up to his shoulders in a bag of dog food the other day, munching away. The chickens have decided once again, for reasons they don't feel the need to share with us, that they will not go into their coop in the evening on their own. This means that if we cannot bribe them to come in with squirrel food, we will have to play yet another round of night time chicken wrangling, chasing the chickens all over the yard until we finally catch them. And finally, I woke up in the middle of the night last night to discover Buddy was throwing up on my bed. How pleasant. But then again, it was just another day on the Unfarm.