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Today at 3pm I went to the appropriate page as my registration slot finally opened, and tried to register for intensive Greek this summer.
At about 3:15, I had the spouse call the nice people over at the department because I was getting "you must have dean approval" error messages and was hyperventilating too much to talk coherently to anyone. They promised to call back.
At 3:40, the marvelous woman I spoke to a month or two back about all this called back, having worked out that I was using the wrong number for the course, based on an outdated webpage. She got me registered for both sections of the class.
I've just made out a very large check to the university for summer tuition. Thursday morning, I show up with notebooks, pencils, and preparation for a list of materials to buy, which will no doubt be pricy as well. The class meets at 8:30am, which will be interesting, at the one building on campus that I already reliably know how to find. (It has all the Loeb books in there. Of course I know where to find that one.)
Tomorrow, I go talk to the nice people at the bank about the student loan. And then someone or other on campus--I'm not sure who--about getting a student ID and useful things like that. Possibly I need to cancel my summer orientation slot, since it runs over two of the class sessions, and I don't think I need a lot of advising beyond "Here are the Greek and Latin classes you can take fall semester." I'll wander over to the info desk and ask meekly who I should talk to. That usually works well.
So. That's what I'm doing this summer. Greek. Lots of Greek. A whole lot of Greek. Greek from 8:30 in the morning until 2:30 in the afternoon (with a lunch break, granted), five days a week, for the full summer session. Plus lots of homework. A full-time job's worth (and maybe more) of Greek, Greek, Greek.
I am terrified.
At about 3:15, I had the spouse call the nice people over at the department because I was getting "you must have dean approval" error messages and was hyperventilating too much to talk coherently to anyone. They promised to call back.
At 3:40, the marvelous woman I spoke to a month or two back about all this called back, having worked out that I was using the wrong number for the course, based on an outdated webpage. She got me registered for both sections of the class.
I've just made out a very large check to the university for summer tuition. Thursday morning, I show up with notebooks, pencils, and preparation for a list of materials to buy, which will no doubt be pricy as well. The class meets at 8:30am, which will be interesting, at the one building on campus that I already reliably know how to find. (It has all the Loeb books in there. Of course I know where to find that one.)
Tomorrow, I go talk to the nice people at the bank about the student loan. And then someone or other on campus--I'm not sure who--about getting a student ID and useful things like that. Possibly I need to cancel my summer orientation slot, since it runs over two of the class sessions, and I don't think I need a lot of advising beyond "Here are the Greek and Latin classes you can take fall semester." I'll wander over to the info desk and ask meekly who I should talk to. That usually works well.
So. That's what I'm doing this summer. Greek. Lots of Greek. A whole lot of Greek. Greek from 8:30 in the morning until 2:30 in the afternoon (with a lunch break, granted), five days a week, for the full summer session. Plus lots of homework. A full-time job's worth (and maybe more) of Greek, Greek, Greek.
I am terrified.
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