I’ve flip-flopped. I dropped the writing class.

Today was the last day I could do it without forfeiting my entire tuition. I get credit toward another class (minus the $25 registration fee and a prorated tuition for the one session I attended), which I have to use within a year. Hmm… nonfiction writing? Fiction writing? Sketch comedy? Who knows.

I just didn’t like it, on a gut level. I rarely trust my gut, but this time I decided to do so. I’m so bad at quitting things; I usually feel like a) I’m wimping out and b) the thing from which I quit will turn out to be wonderful. (The Party After You Left, perhaps.)

One summer at camp, I was on the age cusp between two different living arrangements. I got placed in the tent units, for the older kids. These were platform tents, with room for four beds each; except for canvas roofs and rolldown flaps, they were exposed to the elements, and it was recommended that you sleep with a mosquito net over your bed. The bathrooms were in a separate structure outdoors. I hated the idea of this, so I complained and made them switch me to the cabins, for the younger kids. These were your traditional multi-bunk cabins, each with a bathroom, et cetera.

After I switched, a couple of people in the tent units made fun of me. They called me “cabin boy.” And you know what? That July, all the boys and girls in the tent units wound up majorly bonding. At the end of the July session, when everyone gathered for a goodbye ceremony, the camp director said that she’d never seen the campers in the tent units become so much like a family.

There was a big changeover between July and August, and I decided I wanted to be cool again. So I switched back to the tent units. But most of the cool kids had left, and it wasn’t the same.

To this day, I have always feared quitting.

But today I did it anyway.

On the up side, now that I won’t have class on Monday nights after all, I can continue going to trivia, and the Jews For G-Strings won’t have to change their name.