Mid-life crisis

I now know Miss German is actually Catherine Rullens. She has her own Wikipedia page and writes poetry reviews for The Guardian. But she still reminds me of Mr German, with his quiet, unassuming manner. Somebody that in no way wears their minor celebrity (Mr German went to Cambridge) on their sleeve but looked more like someone who had fallen asleep on a park bench and come in late to class.

In class today we read We real cool by a black poet I wasn't familiar with (no surprise, there) called Gwendolyn Brooks. We talked about this short piece in class. My partner was the (Canadian, it turns out) girl from last week who had a runny nose. It was still runny, I really should have brought tissues. She's a third year student from Nova Scotia doing her year abroad.  

One of the more confident students disagreed with me when I simply observed that I would guess it was written in the 50s because by modern standards it's not innovative, though it may have been for its time. And I only said that because Catherine had said something similar, like perhaps you can tell its age by the language.

I'd already noted that it sounds a bit like a rap (only sort of) and he said that rap is only 10 years old (ironically, perhaps) so how could I say it's not innovative? I said rap had actually been around since the 70s and Catherine took the discussion elsewhere. It's possible he thought I was saying it had never been innovative. Anyway, the unpleasantness was not him disagreeing with me, but the way he nodded his head to the side as if he was throwing a decisive blow and I was stupid idiot of the week, which is damning me with faint praise.

Later, I got a call from Laura Dryer. I'd asked if I could talk to her about getting back into the right component of the Children's Lit seminar (as opposed to the Child Lit lecture, which all child lit students attend). She does the creative side (writing) and Raisa does the analytical bit (writing about someone else's writing). I said I hoped I wasn't causing an upset if I switched back to her course, I wasn't even sure how I wound up doing the essay component. She said it was absolutely fine, it was quite normal for the first 2 weeks to be chaotic and it wasn't putting anybody out.

I told Laura I was still feeling a bit lost and also hadn't met anybody yet but I'm sure things would improve. Laura's suggestion that I get pally with the two or three random women in their fifties who are doing some of the same modules was intended to be helpful- and indeed her kindness and sympathy did cheer me up. Actually, her soothing conversation with me was the highlight of my day and I'm grateful to her.

Three cheers for Laura for cheering me up, (sounds like it could be a poem written by a 50s poet, still regarded as innovative today) though she underscored my problem as well by saying what she said. If someone is saying why not go for a drink with that other old person on the course- because, you know- you're both roughly of the same era- and she's a parent from a different background, with different tastes, hobbies, mores and mindset- but don't let that put you off: they're drawing a line around Nellie. Which is that I don't have the luxury the 18 year olds and most people do, of organising themselves into groups that have something in common.

You see I've begun to realise why I'm even on this course. Having been turned down by Kent, Nottingham and Liverpool and possibly also De Montfort, if I'd given them the chance, I was thrilled that Bangor said yes immediately. But why did they say yes? On merit? Because of my personal statement? Or because they want to make up mature student numbers? There are so very few of them, you see, and none of them belong to the category I do, whatever category that is. 'Oddball category' is the easiest label to give it but you could also say I'm somebody who sounds like they have already been to university.

The mature students I'm meeting so far are more obviously working class adults who left school as young as fifteen or sixteen and have children. Nothing wrong with that at all, but they are are probably going to be chalk to my cheese. Watch Netflix in the evening, not be lost in various personal intellectual and artistic quests. (Okay, alot of that IS just watching cat and dog videos on Facebook, but still). And I don't see any other obvious contendors for friendship. I glanced back in a lecture this afternoon to see a man with closely cropped red hair and a large tattoo on his neck. Now in the lecture we were shown that old Guardian advert where a skinhead runs towards a man with a briefcase. You are meant to assume he is about to mug him but he's really rescuing him from some bricks which the skinhead has somehow divined are about to fall on the unwitting suit's head. The lesson is, don't judge a book by its cover. (Or look where you're going). And don't assume that chap a few seats back is an ex-con (and even if he is, so what). But still, I feel there are very few viable social opportunities around me at present. Even if that is just an assumption, I can't help but lose some hope when I survey my environment.

So I had a dark night of the soul last night realising this and my predicament generally. I'm fully aware that it's of my own making but I don't really know how to get out of it. I've actually been in a rut all my life and I think I'm accepting that I will die struggling, rather than prevail and have a few years of relative happiness.

I had thought that university would be a turning point after years in the wilderness but finally I'm seeing that I though I have some rare talents, I have significant weaknesses too. Weaknesses I've never really addressed, rather I've been partially waiting for my luck to turn. Which it seldom does, unless you make your own luck.

I guess I've always thought that if I can just get into an environment that suits me- like a fussy houseplant- I can bloom. But once again I'm shriveling in the corner. This is not self-pity or exaggeration it is just a plain statement of fact. Some people lead sad, frustrated lives and it's probably more obvious to those around them that it will ever be thus then it is to the person, who clings on to the vain hope that there will be some kind of breakthrough moment. But there must surely come a time when they start to realise that this is it, This is your life, if you were famous you'd be on that awful TV show looking back at it by now, because the pith of it is over. I have reached that time. And if it is true that I have a soul and that I will one day have a life review before they hit the play button I'll already know the so many ways I let myself and others down.

If I had my own personal Alex Ferguson I know I could do great things but I have never been able to manage or motivate myself. My brain is foggy, I do everything slowly, I am constantly distracted. I probably could have done with a spell in the army.    

Okay, I will admit and perhaps earlier mentioned that in the welcome week there was a mature student peer guide was friendly with me. He's deaf in one ear and permanently on Valium because he was horrifically attacked in 2002 and was in a coma for 4 days. What with him being deaf in his right ear and me having problems with my left it could make for an interesting conversation if we go anywhere with him walking on my left side.

I will also admit that a couple of times I've run into a Polish student who is a bit of an intellectual (I hate the word but for want of a better one)- has spotted that I am- and cornered me a couple of times when I was desperately trying to get away from him. One time I was in the New Arts building trying to sort my timetable out. He just started asking me questions and I answered one and then another and then another and he wouldn't let me go. Same thing happened another time. He is very intense and in need of someone to bounce off of or simply suck dry but I don't want to be that person. I didn't actually enjoy the exchanges. 

I did actually text my fellow hearing-impaired mature student on my birthday to ask if he fancied a beer. He didn't reply but I got a text today to say he was sent home on Tuesday with a serious lung infection. If he survives I might have a drink with him sometime.