Graduation: "Oh my shit!" is universal. It's adaptable.

Contributor: Speak Coffee
This post was written two years ago and has been taken from my journal to post here.
May xx, 2006 – 1:45 am

I graduate tomorrow.

They call my name. I walk across the stage. I get my diploma. And it's over. Four years is over. Oh my shit.

So tonight I got drunk on a bottle of wine. Went up to the roof with all my pledge sisters and we sat around in sweatshirts and jeans, drinking and talking all together one last time.

I really don't know what to do with myself.

The count down is over. Today, Sunday, is graduation. I've been counting this down for the past 79 days. That's the past semester, three months, fifteen weeks, something like that. Holy shit. I don't know what to do with myself. Thank god I have plans otherwise I would be in total rebellion mode.

Right now, if I didn't have plans, I would give the world a big middle finger. I would tell all of them to screw themselves and do something stupid. Something impractical. And by that I mean I would look, and look at travelling Europe while following my parents' advice to hunt for "real jobs." At least this way I get to make my own decisions. Sorta. At least I picked Chicago. The odd part about my plan for the next three years is that not all of me feels like I have to finish law school. If I decide in a year's time that this is not the shit for me I will move on, but I will still be in Chicago. I dunno. then again I really don't know what to do with myself.

I just had a rather scary thought. It crossed my mind as follows: I need to get myself together, get calm, get married. ... wow. that was a scary moment. I don't think like that. Ever. Maybe it's the wine talking. Maybe it's the graduation talking. Don't worry, folks, I'm not getting married. At least not any time soon. Even if I wanted to the two front runners have proved extremely inaccessable. And that doesn't count the younger men I've been seeing with the purpose of leaving them here when I graduate so that they won't talk about "getting serious." It's fabulous, really it is. Isn't. Whatever.

I don't really care about that.
This is not an emo entry.
This is a drunken entry.
So there.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I want two boys that I haven’t seen in forever. I don’t even know why I want them. What should I really be doing? I should be concentraiting on my weight and then on law school. And then I should be gone, concentraiting on life. But I’d rather concentrait this summer on relationships. Bastards. I won’t meet any here at my summer gig. What will Chicago hold for me? Lots of variety and very little selection of choice meats I bet. Fuck that shit. I need to get married. I need to get into a serious relationship. That’s what I should be looking for. That’s what’s expected of me. That’s what’s what. That’s what will make the world happy, and if it will make all those people happy then it has to have some modicrum of truth attached to it. Doesn’t it? Oh my shit. I don’t know what to do. Let’s face it.

There’s so much that I want. And I don’t know what to do to get it. I don’t know. I just don’t know. There’s material things that I want that I won’t get for three more years. So what? There’s emotional things that I won’t get for many more years than that because I’m too busy getting material things.

At one point tonight, while we were drinking on the front roof tonight, R------ whipped out her cell phone to drunk dial people. And I began to flip through my phone to find people to drunk dial as well. And I realized there are a lot of dangerous numbers in my phone. Like B----. A boy who doesn’t know I have his number. A boy I will probably never see again in person. We are fated never to be in the same palace at the same time. Woot. Who the hell cares about that? Maybe this is a sign that it’s about time that I’m done with all these Indiana-corn boys.