As the time went by I found myself in a bad place mentally but I started classes in September 2009. My first two classes were Shakespeare Survey and British Lit. My thought on this? Oh boy – HATED Shakespeare at the time and wasn’t really diggin Beowulf. I joked with my husband telling him how ducky my first semester was going to be.
It actually wasn’t too bad. I did awesome. In fact, I was one of the top 3 in the Shakespeare class and my professor, Sister Meg, made that known quite often. That class was A LOT of work. She wasn’t the last to call me out in class. Kean has this thing where the professors like to call you out good or bad in front of your classmates. What’s up with that? Stop me if this is old school, but when I was younger it was, “See me after class” or “Come to my room at the end of the day.” I was never called out at William Paterson or Manchester or Prospect Park School 1. Wait! I take that back. I remember in history class at Manchester, Mr. Reuter came up to my desk when I fell asleep and said, “Ms. so and so, your grades are not good enough in here for you to be sleeping!” Ahhhh Mr. Reuter . . . If only I could do high school all over again.
British Lit went pretty well for me too. The professor was awesome. She broke down every piece of literature we read. I can’t tell you how important that was to me. My smarts are not analyzing literature I can tell you that – especially Old English. I actually found myself enjoying some of the Canterbury Tales. I couldn’t believe it!
I enjoyed my 19th Century Women’s Voices class at William Paterson during my undergrad. Dr. Perry loved me cause I always disagreed with her interpretations and had a mind of my own. I also used to tell her how horrible I thought Emily Dickinson was.
As my first semester at Kean came to a close, my husband and I and Melissa, Frank, and Squidge started planning a trip to Canada for New Years. The plan was for the 5 of us to drive to Old Quebec, stay in a cabin for a few days in St Raymond where it is practically all French speaking, and then stay in a B&B in Quebec City. With my first Christmas without my dad approaching, and my frame of mind, I should have never agreed to go up there because it turned into a debacle.
You Try and Climb a Wall of Ice - The Jersey Chronicles 