Every last entry to this blog I could think of was always too much of something. Too sentimental, too formal, too final, too cliché. So I decided to take a cue from my favorite magazine Esquire (I guess somewhere within me there is a graying, sophisticated and knowledgeable man whose salary places in the upper middle to upper income bracket, according to what Esquire’s media kit says is their target demographic).
I went through several “What I’ve Learned” articles, took the bolded phrases and asked Jon Fortenbury, a coworker, to interview me using the bolded phrases as prompts. What follows is some advice, some thoughts, and some personal stories. I hope it says what I intended it to: Thank you and goodbye for now. I’ll see you again.
I am ill prepared for this. While many decried the arrival of finals, I took comfort in it as a familiarity. I’m familiar with being over-the-top busy and having my nose buried in books, papers and portfolios. I may be swallowing my words soon enough, when I realize how great it will be to finally have the burden of college off my shoulders and when the lack of sleep and the flood of work finally get to me.
But there’s a certain sentimentality that’s holding me back from just saying, “I’m so glad to be rid of this place!”
I recently bought my cap and gown, afraid that the bookstore would run out of my size and height. Then I realized I am 5’3” and that I am not so much the average height as I am just short.
It was underwhelming, to say the least, in comparison to the other purchases I’ve chronicled here, like buying the plane ticket to Dublin and paying for the application to graduate.
Still, I’ve been very excited for commencement, seeing my friends and colleagues graduate and getting to cheer for them and hearing people cheer for me (I am hungry for recognition). So when what I thought would be an interesting experience turned out to be just like buying a $30 notebook, I started getting worried. Will the four-hour commencement be as anticlimactic as I’ve once been told it will be? It might be. It might not.
But just in case, I’ve come up with a number of scenarios that will make the commencement exciting for me, and possibly dangerous for others.
The real planning began last Thursday, when Mike and I sat on the bed. With the Europe map, a supplemental map, a list of tentatively 44 cities, and two guidebooks finally before us, we started planning our route. As we traced our trajectory through Ireland, the UK, France, the Netherlands, Germany, the Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, Spain and Portugal, we cut out 20 cities.
This is how it’s been. One moment, it’s fourteen weeks into the semester. The next – bam! It’s two weeks later. I didn’t notice that amount of time had passed until Brandon pointed me to the blog and said “You haven’t written in two weeks.”
To which I said, “Holy neurons! What day is it?
Between writing for Insight, editing and managing for Insight, writing for classes, writing other stories for Nevada News, the filled schedule of interviews, other homework, house sitting and dog sitting three dogs for Mike’s family last week, I haven’t found the time to orient my thoughts and put them on paper. Or even orient them and speak coherently. By last Friday, all verbal communication had been reduced to grunts and other various noises such as “blargh” and “mleh.”
Two Saturday’s ago, the weather heralded spring, or the closest thing to spring that Reno may experience before relapsing into winter again or plunging into summer.
It was a balmy 70 degrees, the breeze was invigorating, the sun shone and the wispy clouds hovered high above. It was a beautiful day. It was time to get out and make the most of the weather before it disappeared.
I’ve entered into the world of extreme senioritis. Whatever form I had of it before Spring Break, it became full blown after a week of lounging, playing videogames and every so often, working.
Today, as random as a lightning bolt in blue skies, it hit me. With fear and anticipation and restlessness, I looked up at my co-worker and said, “I’m graduating in two months.”
He didn’t hear me, or pretended not to (he does this).
The illumination of the fleeting epiphany had already dimmed as I said the words. I turned back to work, otherwise known as sighing hopelessly at $90 shoes on the Urban Outfitters website.
Seven weeks in and I’m already starting to lose what little motivation I had at the beginning of the term. With good reason: it’s midterm season. It’s that time of the semester when the workload gets bigger, the teachers get stricter and everyone is all around grumpier.
Few things change.
I was waiting at the Virginia Street Gym shuttle stop with a crowd on Friday when a trio of friends walked by. Two of them were visibly college students. One was a black Labrador puppy.
