I have started several different essays in the past 48 hours, all of them different takes on relatively the same subjects and themes. But they aren’t going to be perfect, and I want them to be perfect to express all that I want to say.

But for now, I’ll present an imperfect take.

I’m done. I’m finished. I am at the moment that I have been anticipating since October 2003. This is the day I have counted down to since I found out the date of my last final.

Perfect ending to my academic career:

My Modern Political Thought final, while not difficult in content, was intense in the amount of material covered. It required writing six essays in three hours and one was required to include a great deal of information in each answer. The first girl who finished was this ditzy girl, who was the cause of much eye-rolling from my corner of the room. As she was leaving, people groaned, complaining that they were only half done with the exam (think the typical whining from people when we used to do timed writings in Roeser’s class). She waved her exam in the air and said “don’t worry, you all did much better than me.” None of us would doubt that.

A few minutes later I finished my exam, and got up to leave. Again there were grumblings, and nervous laughter, as people realized they should be on at least the end of the fourth essay. I got to the door, and without thinking turned around and, in opposition of what the ditzy girl said, declared “Well, I think I aced it! How about everyone else?” I couldn’t help it. I’m never going to see most of those people again, I might as well been snarky.

I went upstairs, turned in my exam, and got my Tocqueville paper back. That paper tortured me. I struggled with it. I fell in love with Tocqueville in the process.

This professor is notorious for marking up papers, such that his critiques wind up being almost as much writing as the paper itself.

The 5 pages were nearly blank, save a few grammatical errors, and a few parts starred with comment “good.” I turned to the last page.

A+
And “Excellent job, Rachel.”

And that was all.

I spent the day packing and visiting professors. The professor whom I have worked as a Research Assistant to, and taken four classes with practically cried when I gave her a “thank you” card and gift. Then, she gave me a thank you gift and a really nice letter, and I definitely got weepy.

I went to the Exit 17 Dunkin Donuts with the misanthropes – we were all quite brain dead from finals and lack of sleep, but it was the usual amusing, honest, intellectual evening. These two people have made the end of my college career more enjoyable than I could ever have envisaged. If I take anything positive away from Skidmore, it is they.

I drove home from Laura’s and purposely played “Famous Last Words” for bittersweet scary relevant lyrics.

I sit in my nearly empty dorm room. I did this last semester, turning 21 while severely hung over in an empty Scribner room. Exactly seven months later, my hair is longer, and I’m clad in a sweatshirt instead of a tank top.I’m infinitely happier and mentally healthier. It’s very strange to be ending a school year in December. It already doesn’t feel like an end and the freezing cold weather just adds to my lack of belief. There must be something in the air in May that exacerbates my inherent maudlin sensibilities. Last May found me sobbing on the front porch of Hick A at 2 in the morning. December finds me asleep at 2 AM most often, and spending my waking hours in quiet contentment and loud spiritedness.

In some ways I could say I would have laughed at you that night in May if you told me I would spent this night in quiet reflection of 3.5 years and feel simply at peace with everything that occurred. I even expressed that I was going to be depressed come graduation because of my lack of anything to be nostalgic about. But I know myself. When I reach the end, I tend to glorify, regardless of circumstance.

I will never glorify my college career, because I’m painfully aware of how difficult most of it has been. But I’m always cognizant enough to realize I should be damn grateful for the amazingness of these past two months. Because I deserved them. It makes me a little sad to leave, but at least I can go out on a good note. And as my aforementioned favorite professor teased me “You should always leave the party while you’re still having fun.”

And while I’m still the least likely person you’ll see at a college party, I’ve had a wonderful time finally stumbling into this lifestyle.

“Out of respect for the things I was never meant to do, I have learned that my strengths are a direct result of my weaknesses, my success is due to my failures, and my style is directly related to my limitations”

A thousand thanks to ye who know who you are. Especially those who started this 3.5 years with me and stuck around to hear me annouce “Hey stupid, I graduated” this morning.