Is that a ribcage in that there closet?

Well, I've emerged from the first session intact.
It was 90 minutes of mostly idle chitchat.Tom was, as advertised, very laid back and non-threatening. He was very much impressed with our application package, which he joked was almost complete enough to constitute his own evaluation. On some level this surprised me: I can't fathom answering the questions they asked me in three words or three sentences. I referenced just about every objection they could possibly raise in there too. I've always been of the opinion that potentially nasty surprises should be dealt with head-on. I'd rather, for instance, have them know right off the bat that my mother chose not to attend my wedding than have that come up halfway through the proceedings.
And that is one of the things he's chewing on. Another is the fact I never got my university degree--I dropped out about four or five credits shy. I think he might be afraid I'll decide about a week before the kids get placed that I've had enough of this process, too. It'll be my job, in the coming private session between him and I, to explain why I made such a monumentally dumb decision--a decision I've never written of until now.
Yeah, it was stupid. It wasn't my proudest moment, that's for sure. But, like every decision I've made in my life, I stand by it. I just wish I'd made it earlier.
University wasn't for me. I suspected this by Christmas of first year and outright knew it by the start of second. There were many reasons. The biggest was that I was paying thousands of dollars to have professors read textbooks to me. I even had to buy the textbooks, and they were by no means cheap themselves.
Class participation was almost non-existent. You weren't there to learn, and certainly not to think. Rather, you were to absorb whatever the professor told you was inalienable truth, not subject to dispute or discussion. I fared much better in high school, where my thoughts had value.
An example, one of many: I wrote an essay for an Old English class. I can't remember the thrust of my argument, but whatever it was, it was wrong. The professor freely admitted to me that he had read my opening paragraph and immediately gave me a D. He never bothered to read the rest of the ten-page essay. (Essay: from the French essayer, "to try", as in to assert a thesis and try to prove it.)
Lest you think it was one professor or one subject, another example: Geography. The essay I wrote in this introductory class (which, by the way, started with material I'd first covered in GRADE FOUR) netted me a C- grade. The TA who had marked this complained in writing that there weren't enough footnotes. She passed around an A paper. I kid you not: one page had eighteen footnotes on it. To me, that's not even an essay, and certainly didn't require any effort. How hard can it be to write down a bunch of other people's sentences? It may not be plagiarism, but it's close. By my lights, anyway.
Not every class was a write-off. One of my essays in Media Studies got me a 97% grade and the professor wrote this question on it: "Have you considered a career in journalism?" I had one literary criticism class that was different every week. The professor remained the same, but you'd never know it: each week we'd cover a different school of literary thought, and each week he argued that that week's school had it right and all other schools of thought were wrong. He even dressed in drag to discuss feminism--and he bashed men every chance he got, that week. That class was thought-provoking and downright FUN--exactly what I'd come to university for.
But such moments were few and very far between. In the meantime, I was developing an unhealthy addiction to the Internet--some days I spent upwards of ten hours online, trolling newsgroups, exchanging emails, ignoring my studies.My grades went down the crapper. I went down the crapper right along with them. Eventually, I decided to claw my way out. I won't lay my dropout at the feet of the 'Net, but I can't deny it played a part.

Anyway, the trick now will be to dress up this rattling skeleton in my closet, and a few others, in pretty skirts.

Following the one-on-one with Tom, Eva has a similar session. Then we have two sessions as a couple. Then Tom decides if we are recommended, and if so, for what sort of child(ren) exactly.

Then, we wait.

Waiting, I'm good at.