THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 3, 1995 TAG: 9509030035
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: ELIZABETH SIMPSON
LENGTH: Medium: 64 lines
The dream always arrives about the time the first cool breezes are blowing away summer's heat.
Details may change from year to year, but the idea's always the same.
In the latest version, I am walking aimlessly across a campus. School's been in session for months and suddenly, a thought occurs to me: ``Hey, I haven't been to any classes yet. I haven't bought any books. I haven't done any homework. What am I doing?''
Next I'm trying to find the admissions office because I have no idea what classes I'm supposed to be attending. And though my mind is racing, I'm still just walking slowly, aimlessly, looking and looking and looking. None of the buildings have names, none of the rooms have numbers. I've lost my campus map, and everyone else seems to know where they're going.
At least I'm wearing clothes this time.
I always wake in utter relief that school is behind me. I've graduated. Taken my final exams. Framed my diploma. That was only a dream.
It doesn't matter that my year hasn't run on a September-to-May schedule since I graduated from college 14 years ago. Or that my children are still too young to climb aboard school buses.
Years of conditioning have left me with a perpetual back-to-school mind-set. I still feel my heart race a little when I see lunch boxes and backpacks show up at Wal-Mart. I still sit up with a lurch on the first day of school. Still feel like I need to wear something new come Tuesday. Or at least have a fresh notebook.
I don't feel dread - I actually enjoyed school - as much as expectation.
There's a sense in September that I need to get serious again. I need to hit the ground running, to study hard. I need to set up schedules, find a routine, make an outline.
I need to sign up. For what, I don't know, but I should.
If summer is a soothing ballad singing ``Loosen up. You did the best you could. Take it easy,'' then fall is a brassy call to arms, urging ``Get serious. Buckle down. You can do it. Get on the ball.''
I can remind myself all I want that I'm not in school any more, that nothing really changes in fall except the weather. Still, there's that feeling. That come-to-attention look of crisp blue skies. That hurry-scurry feeling in the grocery-store aisle. A sense that I ought to be practicing. What, I don't know, but something.
And come nightfall, my subconscious will take over completely. In my dreams, I will never graduate. I will never be ready. I will never have practiced enough.
It won't be long before I'm visiting Part Two of my campus slumberland.
In this dream I finally have found the right room. I slide into my seat, pull out a pencil. Then break into a sweat as the professor starts plopping down final exams on one desk after another.
Oops. I didn't study. This is the first session of this class I've been to all semester. Why didn't I come before? Why didn't I buy the books? I look around wildly, but everyone else looks prepared.
Next, I am digging through my backpack looking for those ``drop class'' forms. Why didn't I turn those in months ago? Is it too late? Can I be saved? Oh no, here comes the professor with that inch-thick exam.
Will somebody please wake me up? by CNB