Over the last week, the reality of end of the semester has begun to truly sink in for me. With the end of this semester for me comes the end of college. Even when I took a year off about four years ago, I never felt that college was over. I made the decision to take some time off in the middle of the summer, so that finals week didn’t feel any different from any others.
This year, however, marks the end of my undergraduate career. It’s taken seven years to get through this. After taking classes for eight different majors, seven years, six (officially) declared majors, four straight years of class, and two different universities, I’ve finally reached the end, and panic is setting in.
In another three weeks, I’m moving to Memphis, TN, further than I’ve ever moved in my life. I’m moving in with Kerry (my girlfriend, co-writer, co-editor, soon to be co-habitator), which marks the biggest commitment I’ve ever made in my life.
In the midst of all the big stuff going on, I’m in severe panic mode; most of each day is filled with working on the next big project that’s due, and though I’ve sent out my resumé, I have yet to pursue anything seriously. I’m an English major - worse, a creative writing major - and have no idea what I’ll be doing in four weeks.
So imagine my incredible delight when I woke up yesterday to hear a story on “Morning Edition” about how difficult it’s going to be for my graduating class to find jobs. Fantastic.
Granted, I’m typically fatalistic when I know things are going to be tough. I never quite believe that I can pull things off; however, it’s never kept me from trying, so I guess we’ll see.
Speaking of other things that are going to be difficult, as I enter the last week of classes and finals week, I may have to step back quite a bit. Kerry has promised to pick up some of my slack (and she’s already done a great job picking up after me this week), but even so, posting may be somewhat light over the next two weeks.
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