Today was my my first day of classes of my last year of school. At 8 a.m, I learned about deductive reasoning from an elderly man with a charming British accent, followed by an art history course at 9. For 18th and 17th century literature my teacher called my name during roll and looked up at me.
“I’m familiar with your writing,” she said. “It’s good to attach a face to a name.”
At 1:10 I was done for the day and unbelievably exhausted. Time flies, it’s cliche but true. It’s seems that an hour ago I was writing my first article for The Vanguard, and nervously attending Freshmen English 101 classes. Am I really approaching graduation now? I pose the question, but warn you not to confuse my nostalgia with saddness. I’m not much into academia, so I welcome the departure. If you ever hear me talking about grad school, I give you permission to ring my doorbell and slap me in the face.
