Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Beginning of the End

My Dear Reader,

So, they're making me graduate this semester. I'm not that excited about it, but people keep telling me that I can't stay here forever, and I guess it's all a part of the circle of life or something. Last week I had was my last first day of college, after which I'm supposed to move on and do something with my life, and it's pretty scary.

People keep asking me what I want to do afterwards, which is even worse. How am I supposed to know? All I've ever done so far is be a student; I know how to do that job. I've been doing it for over fifteen years. So now I'm supposed to apply it to something so I can make money? I thought that was just something that happened in fairy tales and stories my parents told me about when they were kids.

But I've got this great alibi: I'm going into editing. People lap that one up a lot better than the one about how I'm going to publish a book. But who are we all kidding, here? Why would anyone actually want to work for a living? I probably will go into editing, and I am really writing a book, but it all sees so far away right now that it's like saying that the world's going to end on December 21, 2012. It's not really that far away, but from our perspective it could be a millennium, right? Still, the end of the world is the end if the world, and you're still a bit nervous. I think I stopped making sense about five sentences ago.

I guess the first time that reality hit me was when I had to go in and apply for graduation last semester. I actually went in a month early because I was afraid that I would forget (Madre would be proud), and they say that it's one of those things you really should get around to. Did you know, Gentle Reader, that they charge you $15 to graduate? Apparently, the thousands of dollars that I have been pumping into this educational system hasn't been enough. Not only are they going to throw me out into the cold, cold world, but they expect me to pay them a service fee? I found it kind of insulting. Of course, Freud would be saying that I secretly want to do something incredibly bizarre by this point.

The other kids around me are all going to grad school, or they're getting married and having kids. But you know how I am Gentle Reader; I don't do the mold thing. So instead of doing something that is very safe and makes sense, I'm just putting out my sail and seeing where the wind will take me. Maybe I'll take a year off and then go back to get a degree in creative writing or editing. Maybe someone will pick up my book. Maybe this blog will start to get read by the right people. It's hard to tell, but I think I like uncertainty, because I keep doing this to myself all of the time. I mean, it's either that or I'm a glutton for punishment. I'll take "Not a Masochist" for 100, Alex.

The strangest thing about all of this is all of the conflicting emotions that are going through me. As you may have guessed, I don't really want to leave college; it's been some of the best years of my life, even with the roommate problems and the stress and the working in food. I really belonged here, and I knew that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. It was pretty awesome while it lasted. Now, I'm not that secure. But the people around me are graduating, too, if they haven't already, and the longer I stay here, the older I'll feel. I can still be young somewhere else, if I play my cards right, and by that I mean not continue to work in food. Isn't there supposed to be a bright horizon or something? I want to go and I want to stay, I want to slack off and I want to make the most of the time I have left. I just hope that it's all been worth it, that I've changed enough and become what I'm supposed to be. And I'm just praying that everything will work out okay.

Regards, best wishes, and mixed feelings,

-Cecily Jane

2 comments:

Molly&Charles said...

I'm glad we're graduating together! It'd be scarier if we weren't.

Cecily Jane said...

I know! At least we can live next-door to each other while we're in our cardboard boxes.