I Confess Again

Once I started writing this one, I realised there were a few bonus mini-confessions in there so I hope it's not too shocking for anyone.

The first time I went to Uni, back in the early nineties, I had no choice but to do a Creative Arts degree. This was because I didn't get high enough marks to get into anything else (mini-confession number one). If we're being completely honest, I actually only got in on the second round of offers because enough people graciously declined their spot (mini-confession number two). So Mum decided she'd ignore the finer details and pretend I'd actually qualified to start a degree. She was elated and I enrolled.

Because I can't draw, paint, sculpt or anything else remotely creative (is that a mini-confession?), my major was creative writing. It was so incredibly painful. I'm not a great writer and really lack inspiration at the best of times. Also, the class was filled with mature age students who were doing it as a hobby and the classroom was miles off campus. So yeah, it wasn't really the exciting experience I had expected Uni life to be.

One morning as I got to the train station, I looked at the $10 I had for train fare and lunch and made a life-altering decision. I left the station, went to the pub, ordered a schooner of cider and watched Young and the Restless on the pub tv. This unfortunately became a bit of a habit (mini-confessions three and four - one for using Mum's money to sit in the pub when she thought I was at Uni and one for admitting I watched Young and the Restless).

I did go to classes occasionally, and eventually we got a poetry assignment. Ugh. Inevitable, but none the less, disgusting. Poetry. Don't read it, can't write it, don't get it. I was in a bit of a state. Anyway, as luck would have it, one of the barmaids at the pub was a budding poet and kindly offered to write me some poems to submit. She even typed them up for me. Given my aversion for all things poetic, I neglected to read them, turned them in and forgot all about them (mini-confession five - cheating!).

The next week, our tutor called a few people up to read their poems and I didn't expect any of mine (allegedly) to make the cut. After half a dozen poems, the tutor asked everyone what they thought and said he felt they were all shallow and dull. Great poetry, he explained, was born of great emotion. To my horror, he called me up to read one of mine. I don't remember the poem word for word but it was about a motorbike, a tree, a blood-soaked helmet, a broken heart and an unborn child. I think there were a few suicidal thoughts in there as well. Unbeknownst to me, my barmaid friend had lost her one true love in a bike accident while heavily pregnant. Maybe. I never did ask her about it.

Anyway, while this was certainly not the reason for the end of my first foray into teriary education, it was definitely the catalyst. And here comes the big confession. My mum wanted me to go to Uni sooo much. I knew she would be heartbroken if I left and I was even a little nervous that she would force me to stay even if it meant chaining me to a desk and standing guard outside the classroom. So I dropped out but I didn't tell her. For a few weeks, I left home with my backpack, went straight to the pub, drank cider and watched Young and the Restless. Then I got a job, fessed up to Mum, she yelled at me and cried. For days. Then we made up. Then I eventually went back to Uni to get a real degree (kind of - possible confession fodder right there) and we all lived happily ever after.