The Real World
The winter semester has been swiftly kick-started into action and, as always, I'm wondering how I've managed to amass copious amounts of homework in mere days. The next four months will be about Beckett, Joyce, and the Upanisads --but for the first time they will also be about graduation. The last four years of full-time, mostly useless essay writing is culminating this April, so I take great pleasure in announcing that this is The Last Semester Ever*.
I have become a veritable essay writing machine, a reading maniac, an anxiety attack waiting to happen. I have learned that this degree will probably not help me get a job or make more money, though hopefully when I frame the piece of paper with gold writing (sweet jesus there better be some gold tint on that page after all the money that's gone into it) and mount it on my wall it will look downright majestic.
Initially, at the beginning of this year I was excited about graduation. For so long I have envisioned April 2009 as the grand and monumental end point in a very stressful journey. I realize now that it may be an end point, but also the very beginning of being thrown back into that ominous place I call The Real World. And no, I don't mean MTV.
So now what? I don't really know and I'm certainly terrified. At night I have restless dreams of being sent back to old minimum wage jobs with fat italian bosses who tell me to wash out the stained interiors of microwaves from the 1980's. I suppose I should take comfort in the four month buffer that still remains between me and harrowing soul searching and enjoy my last moments of student freedom.
Either that or finish off this bag of yogourt covered raisins and keep on worrying about my future AND getting fat.
*Okay, maybe not ever, because there will most likely be grad school but just let me relish in the moment God damnit.