It is a harbinger of doom. A dark cloud upon a fading horizon. Satan, Beelzebub, Evil. A bad moon on the rise. A thousand suns burning for an eternity could not attempt to pain a picture of my hate, displeasure and general distaste for this one thing. It will be the one thing standing between me and graduation. That one thing?
14 years ago I faced this predator in my second semester of college work at Fort Lewis College. I passed with a C grade despite struggling, hating and generally just wanting to toss tables and drop elbows. What can I say, Hulk Hogan was my idol as a child. He might still be. The point is that I stood victorious over the only math class I had to take. I was done with it! If there had been money, I’d have thrown a parade.
Fast forward to November 7th, 2014. I’m starting to register for classes. I try and register for the basic math class. I get an error. I try again. Error. Today I walked into the math office. And discovered my math scores and math class had both expired. I felt the rhetorical rug pulled out from under me. The kind adviser looked up my records. I will have to take a test. She showed me the study guide for said test.
I’ve had one panic attack in my life. And it was many years ago. As my eyes flew over the formulas, problems and diagrams I felt my heart skip several beats. My mind urged me to take off running and screaming in a wild panic at the sight of such unclean text. Thankfully I resisted this urge and nodded along as I was instructed on what it was going to take to get me into a math class again and then eventually pass the *one* math class that is required for my degree program.
As I walked out into the open air I felt my heart drop. I don’t know math. I don’t do well in math. It’s always been a struggle. To have the several walls thrown up in my face in the closing days of a fairly successful semester – it was disheartening. I’m staring at the sheet that shows my path through all this as I type this…and I’m just going to keep staring at it for awhile.
Eventually I’ll get off my duff o’despair, strap on some David sized sandals and march out to meet my Goliath.