Today, I have done nothing.
Nothing, is, as usual, an overstatement. But what I mean is that, aside from waking up, hopping on public transportation to get back to my homeland, taking a brief walk, and getting Dunkin Donuts twice, I have actually done nothing I need to do. This is somewhat upsetting but mostly typical, and I find it difficult to be bothered. At least, I did until I realised that it was 9:15 p.m. and I still need to pack for vacation, which conveniently begins tomorrow.
Vacation means a break from the end of classes; from the stress and anxiety of assignments, catapulting me into the glorious bliss of doing nothing and the world being okay with my sudden lack of responsibility. But vacation means something else, too. Three months separate Kendra: College Student Extraordinaire from Kendra: Ex-Student/Hobo Hybrid Without Even the Vaguest of Plans. Yesterday was the last day of my internship at Perseus, which was bittersweet. There were times when it frustrated me, times when I was bored out of my skull, and times when I felt like upending all the filing cabinets and weeping at the futile attempts at locating things that didn’t appear to exist at all. But that was my cubicle for two days a week, dammit, my crappy, tiny-fonted computer with horrifyingly slow internet, my rolly chair that looked like a werewolf had taken a liking to it. And I will miss Jennifer as a boss, and I will even miss good old Mer. Except maybe not that.
And of course, before internship ended, classes ended with a whimper that turned into a bang. Problem: Teacher doesn’t show up for the final. Imposter does and gives us a survey. Effect: We feel cheated. Solution: We go to Sweetwater and get beers in the middle of a raging downpour. Problem solved. Shoes wet. Bladder full.
In all seriousness, though, it was a good semester. I got closer to people I wanted to see more of, went to bars, did a lot more stuff in Boston in general, and didn’t even lose a single friend. I spent too much money, sucked at a lot of things, wrote 80 (terrible) pages of my novel, and generally wondered how anyone ever thought i was good at writing, because clearly I am terrible at it and will never succeed, ever.
Now, for two weeks — minus the unfortunate interlude that is commencement — I get to do nothing; have no responsibility except that article I have to do all the time. And then, after that, I’m back to college. My last semester. My last hurrah. A time to regret everything I have not done and taken advantage of in my short career as an Emersonian. And a new internship. And generally, this post is wildly unfocused, but I’m elongating it in order to procrastinate on packing.
And look — it’s working!