the time I narrowly escaped

I'm done.  I'm graduated.

Almost.

It was kind of a scene out a dramatic teen movie when I opened an email from my advisor that so kindly informed me (the Monday of finals week, mind you... as I was in the initial stages of illness) that I was one measly credit short of graduating.  How?  I had to pull out all of my math skills in the midst of memorizing orgo mechanisms to total up my credits and confirm that he was indeed correct.  No bullshitting my way out of this one.

But that's all sorted out (or it will be).  And considering I haven't done legitimate academic work since first semester sophomore year, I can't be too upset about the GPA I've managed to maintain (thank you transfer credits; thank you, curve; thank you, Amelia for not having an aptitude for engineering even if it means feeling like "the dumb one").  

I'll be sad next year.  Because for now I'll be floating on a high of I-can-finally-do-whatever-the-fuck-I-want-and-enjoy-it (with limitations applied by the parental unit).  For now, I'll look forward to my summer research project on polyphenols (I think?), the IFT meeting in Chicago, getting a car and driving freely, and sliding rock yay.  For now, I'll pretend like I will have a build-your-own senior year (add people I want to see when I want to see them, subtract Duke tuition, add classes I give a shit about, subtract unmanageable workload).  For now, I'll soak up the freedom of having a up-in-the-air plans.

I'll reminisce next year.  When everyone else leaves me after I "leave" them.
I'll freak out next year.  In the mess of waiting on job offers and acceptance letters.
I'll cry next year.  Because when I realistically think about who I will see again in the "real world," the number doesn't amount to much.
It was rough, and I wouldn't do it again, but damn that diploma is going to look real pretty on my wall.  Get back to me in ten years and I'll let you know if it was worth it.