Mean Seasons.
Bawl. I'm flunkin out of out school. I really am, it's scary and I realised for once I've fallen into a situation where it's too late to "buck up" now, and I'm not anticipating the flurries of C's that will pepper my grade sheet.
I love my advisor even though many people who've heard of him thinks he's a scary draconian man. But I've always liked him somehow. He's this tall giant of a man. And old-school veterinarian, perhaps then the old school ideas. James Harper III, with his amazing sunglazzies that are light sensitive, darkening in the sun and slowly becoming transparent when inside. I just have to take one look at him and all the guilt I have ignored the whole semester for my lack of enthusiasm, interest and effort in school all come rushing in. I knew it would happen and that's why I hadn't seen him all semester until I had get him to sign my registration forms.
"You know being all cute and smiley and looking nice is not going to get you into vet school!" he says with a twinkle in his eyes and voice. I sit there like that naughty child, and he chides me like an experienced grandfather, bending forward so we're face to face and giving me patronising (but in a nice way!) taps on the head with my "classified inside info" file that all advisors have.
"You can take a semester off if you need." He says. oh how I wish I could just take off for a year into Europe like Meadow plans to do in the semester. She ends up going back to Yale, and yes reality does hit in then too. If I want to be a vet I can't be all flighty and lazy. My nose has to be on the grindstone...pretty damn soon.
posted by Dilly @ 4:48 PM
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