It’s no longer about the journey

I need to quick get this subject in under the wire, as it were. I am a few short weeks away from (finally) finishing my undergraduate degree. What? Do I hear champagne chilling in the background?


I call it the 25 year plan. Blutto has nothing on me*. Cue flashback.

Graduated High School circa 1985, hopped off the bus onto the UW Madison Campus wide eyed and full of optimism that I would be the next classically trained Opera singer. I learned a few things the hard way:

1. Opera. Not my thing. Boooorrrrring!
2. Soprano singers are like cats. You can buy twelve for a $1.00. A Soprano has to be really good to make it. I was neither really good nor really motivated. Insert kiss of death here.
3. Hanging out at the Union with my friends was significantly more enticing then attending Botany 101 or reading my text book. I think I attended Botany class once. No comment on the reading.

A mere two years later I received the “You’ve been dropped from the University” letter. Having the conversation with my parents that I was been kicked out the University for stellar academic performance is very low on the fun scale, especially if you weave in the “I’m so disappointed in you” look written all over my dad’s face. Sigh.

25 years later (like to the month) I will finally (yes, finally) finish what I started. And it’s been a great journey. Ok, most of it was great. I could have seriously done without the math, the statistics or the accounting, but here I am three weeks out and I attended all my classes (even the yucky ones) and did all  most of my reading. But truth be told, I’ve gotten everything I wanted to get out of the journey. But with 3 weeks to go, I don’t’ care about the damn journey anymore. I just want my diploma. I want my life back. I want to be able to dust my house more than once every 4 months. Ok scratch that. I could care less about the dusting, but I would like to wake up on a Saturday morning and not be filled with dread that the day will be spent procrastinating about hitting the books. I freely admit senioritis. I also freely admit reverting to academic mediocrity to push through these last few weeks. Old habits die hard.

That’s it. I’m really close to being done. I never thought I’d ever be done. I hope to God I don’t get hit by a bus before I’m done. I wonder if the college awards degrees posthumously in the case of accidental death.

Crap. I hate when my stories have no point. See, I’m already failing blogging 101. I have no pith to wrap this up with a cute bow. No pith. No snark. No nothing. It’s probably best I am blog follower free. Ok. Ok. Write courageously even if that means I have no point, no pith, no followers. I am wondering if personal growth and creative courage is overrated. Sigh.

*The Bluto reference is, of course, a nod to the 1978 cult classic Animal House. You know the line…
“7 years of college down the drain.”