This is it.
Despite my attempts to turn back the clock, despite dragging my feet and digging my heels into the ground, despite my refusal to cross days off my calendar…
School has started again.
It’s not that I hate school. In fact, if you look at my track record, you might think I like it a lot. I’m going onto my 6th year in college. Six years. I haven’t done much of anything for 6 years straight. I have freckles on my body that are less than 6 years old. I am leaving college with more freckles than I came into it with.
So anyhow, this is my last real semester in my master’s program. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I still have to do my thesis in the spring, but it totally doesn’t count, right? I’m basically graduated besides the massive, overwhelming, looming thesis project I have yet to think about. But let’s not get hung up on the minor details…
I had a nice break after my summer course. A whole month of classless bliss. To be clear, I was classy during my break, I just didn’t have a class to go to. That month was a whirlwind of friends, concerts, lying by the pool, and even a little bit of state hopping. I knew I would get too comfortable. The sun would be too warm and the pool too refreshing. The drinks would be too delicious. The relaxing would be too relaxing.
Then this. Out of nowhere, without warning, class would start again. My attempt to will time to stop was unsuccessful, so here I am. It’s my first day of class and I already hear a margarita calling my name later.
Cheers to the beginning of the last real semester. Sort of.