Grade 16

It would be an understatement to say that I am sick of school. I basically have been in school since I was a fetus and quite honestly, I'm just not sure I have another paper or midterm in me. Though my four years of college have been at times enlightening, occasionally distracting, fairly sobering (although not all spent entirely sober) and almost always hysterical, I need someone to hand me a fork. Because, dear readers, I am done in the most extreme sense of the word.

But here I sit, about to embark on yet another midterm study session, cramming half a semester's worth of information into the tired prune that is my brain. Of course, this blog is only one of many tools I have used to distract my feeble mind from getting any actual work done. In no particular order, I have: checked my myspace (twice), looked at everyone's profiles on facebook (spring break pictures are both hysterical and horrifying), checked my email, read the NY Times online, checked the weather for the weekend, written in my planner, gotten coffee, made mindless conversation with the very cute barista and her very cute girlfriend (pathetically cute couple...makes me wonder: does perfect harmony in a relationship really exist? yet another inquiry into distraction...)

You get the (very drawn out) point.

Well actually, the point is, I am 6 weeks away from finishing my senior year of college and obtaining my bachelors degree (barring a short Math class I have to take during the first summer session due to a pompous economics professor and my refusal to keep my mouth shut during his ego-boosting rants and condescending words....much longer story). More specifically, I am 6 weeks away from being able to apply for jobs that require a BA....6 weeks away from freedom from homework, from last minute stress, from resigning myself to the fact that I am in a less than rigorous academic environment and I have exhausted any excitement or passion I once had for my major.

I am worried that the fervor and thrill that I entered college with is gone forever and that I am about to enter the working world and discover that life is just a few great moments and in between a series of dullness and stability. But I am more worried that I simply do not know exactly how to get where I would like to be. I see the destination just over the horizon, but I simply have no clear path that will lead me straight there. My mother reminds me frequently that I have so much time left, more time left that I even realize, and that I need to be patient. I'm not exactly sure what she means by this - either she has concocted an immortality elixer and is planning on slipping it into my ice tea when I'm not looking...or she is attempting to bestow the wisdom that comes with age. The wisdom that almost everyone older than me has told me my whole life - Don't rush it. Life goes by fast enough.

What they fail to see is that I'm not rushing life. Life, in essence, has always rushed me. If I didn't run just slightly faster, I think it would envelop me into a chaotic universe in which I had no control, in which my life was poured out in front of me without any input whatsoever.

What the hell am I talking about?

I should get paid to rant and ramble. I am perfect at it.