Complications

You know those people in college who switched majors seven or eight times, graduated in five or six years, and then shuffled off to grad school because they still didn't know what to do with themselves? I was not one of those people. I liked school (how can you not like an institution that offers the opportunity to spend an entire quarter reading and analyzing Jeanette Winterson?), but I didn't want to be a student. I wanted to be a Real Grown Up with a Real Job. (I know. What a moron. But it's true! I wanted business cards. And a computer. Also, a two-week vacation to Italy every spring.)

So why, WHY UNIVERSE?, am I thinking about applying to GRAD SCHOOL?

Because (as the Universe is fully aware, as it is SMIRKING at me as I type) now I am the Grown Up with the business cards and the computer and, once I work up some tenure here, an eventual 2-week Italian vacation. I could have done it better, I could have majored in something other than the highly lucrative field of English, I could have turned on the charm a bit more at my last job interview for a real real job where I wasn't hired because I was, quote, "TOO QUIET", I could geek out a bit more and get myself going on the database developer track. But all of that means working in an Office, and I. Can't. Work. In. An Office. Anymore. I am actually thankful (waaaay after the fact, mind you) that I didn't get that real real job because that would have meant no trip to China and no resignation to the fact that the office thing just ain't workin' for me. I'd be telling myself I loved it because, oh, it was an awesome opportunity and everyone would be impressed, but I'd be wearing heels and making phone calls and managing meetings and directing programs and... so not caring about any of it.

And to all those people who, upon hearing that I was an English major, politely asked, "Oh, so you're going to teach?" and to whom I responded with utmost scorn and contempt with a biting, "NO, I am not going to be a teacher", I am heartily sorry, for I am eating all of my italicized words. Mmm, bitter.

It's not that I don't respect teachers. I am the product of the two best elementary school teachers in the world, people who were made to work with kids. I think I just didn't want to be predictable. Because I didn't always want to be a high school English teacher, it seems like a fall back for someone who can't figure out what else to do with her life. But it's sounding better and better. I'm not sentimental about it- I know teachers are poorly paid, get no respect, and have to deal with clueless administration, irate parents and surly apathetic students. I also know there's no shortage of high school English teachers. I just think it's something I could care about. I even think I might be good at it. And hello- June, July and August!

Which brings me to the actual point of this post, which is not nearly as sappy and introspective as the above reflections may seem to indicate. The point is: I might have actually Figured Out Something I Might Like To Do. This is quite a momentous event in the oft-mentioned Maggie Space-Time Continuum. Why, then, is Washington State's Higher Education System continually trying to screw me over?! WHY, UNIVERSE?

Initially I was interested in earning my certification only. A Master's degree seemed like a large investment for someone who isn't completely sure about teaching, and especially for someone whose husband is also thinking about attending grad school next year. Do we have rich nearly-dead uncles who plan to leave us big buckets of money? Nope. But you know what? There are two- TWO- certification only secondary education programs in my area. TWO! (Okay, four, but the other two are at tiny little schools I've never heard of and therefore they don't count.) Also, these programs are at private colleges which is an automatic gazillion more dollars. But did you know how much a gazillion is? $31,000. That is how much it will cost me to just get certified at Seattle Pacific University which charges post-baccalaureate students the undergraduate credit rate. The wailing may commence now. 

Do you know what this means? It is cheaper for me to get a Master's degree. (This does not in any way apply to elementary ed people because EVERYONE offers programs for elementary ed people. Whatever.) This little tidbit of information has entirely reframed my whole process. Add to that the deadlines for tests, deadlines for applications, program start dates, prerequisites, and recommendation letters and you have one very frazzled office-hating girl.

I could go on. I could bore you all with long self-affirming paragraphs about full-time versus part-time, one-year programs versus two, my whole foray into a Master's in TESOL investigation, and the fact that we will never be able to buy a house or have a baby because Higher Education has sucked away all our money. But I won't, you'll be thankful to know, because I have to save my energy to write a blistering letter to Higher Education itself (cc: The Universe), the institution that keeps telling me about the need for more teachers in my state, but which wants to charge me $31,000 just to get freaking certified. And does Higher Education know that I want to be just another English teacher and not a much more desirable math or science teacher? Noooooo! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE, HIGHER EDUCATION???