I truly cannot wait for it to be summer. After turning in today's paper on Pedophiles, next week's on MLK, Mandela, & Gandhi, Thursday's final thesis draft, and two finals, I'll be done with school, maybe forever. As much as humanly possible I'll be striving for a carefree summer in which I can do the following things: ride everyday and hopefully to the beach several times a week, write for fun, use sunscreen, try cooking with peanut oil, and read some of the things I managed to get through school without reading: Lolita, Reading Lolita in Tehran, Anna Karenina, Notes from the Underground, Family Happiness, Lord of the Flies, A Midsummer's Night Dream, some Hume, Death of Ivan Ilynch, The Jungle, Interpretation of Dreams. And perhaps, if I'm very lucky, figure out what the crap to do with the next few years of my life.
Will I end up going to culinary school?
To grad school? If it were for writing I'd want to wait a few years to get my MFA to find some things to write about. But otherwise, I'd probably do PolySci or History, and within those two there are infinite options.
Will I run out of money?
It is unknown. And for the reason that does not bother me, I can speculate. Virtually since kindergarten I've had a very certain, preconceived notion of what exactly my life would look like up until now. Things were very much planned out for me. I knew when I was six I would in school until twenty-two. In one month I'll be on my own: financially, academically. There is an enormous comfort here, in the not knowing, in the knowing that for the first time I'm not obligated to do any one thing (however much my Mother would appreciate my going to grad school).
If I stick to what I already know, hopefully they will be enough truths to go on.
1) Cable locks are useless
2) Good tuna and steak are never well-done
3) A library card is priceless
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