...Stop Being Polite, and Start Getting Real

I know, it’s tired and played out. Two posts in two days on the same topic. I’m whining. But it’s kind of a big deal. If you’ll grant me kindergarten, this is my twentieth spring break. Twenty springs. Twenty breaks. Twenty weeks of lukewarm temperatures and rain, or, if I was lucky, an escape somewhere hot or adventurous. That’s almost half a year of this. Five months, at least. And now, the end.

On the other hand, one of twenty isn’t much of which to speak. Yet, as it’s my last, the break precedes only shortly the impending thrust that will force me headlong into the “real world” – that scary place where all things financial are truncated to abbreviations (IRA, 401k, FICA, etc.), where student discounts and the appurtenant treatment don’t apply, and where the address on your license becomes yours alone, not a constant if latent reminder of your childhood home and the stability of your parents. Oddly (thankfully), none of this makes me nervous. A little responsibility never hurt anyone. Indeed, much of me looks forward to casting off the “student” label and the claustrophobic binding it necessarily imposes. It’s been a long time coming.

Nonetheless, I hesitate and even push back a little. I like school. I’m good at it. It’s what I do. Why fix what ain’t broke?

Ok, I’ll stop now. No more sulking. No more last this and that nor counting all that matters. I should be enjoying myself, not thinking about school on my last free week in March. And I would be, if only it weren’t forty degrees and pouring rain.