ode to the purple robe

DISCLAIMER: profanity and severe stress...

IS there some point when we're given the answers? Or an open door? Or a key? Or a map? Or a compass? Or perhaps a companion who is directionally exceptional?

I am graduating in 16 days (or something like that). I find myself going three days with very little sleep and producing two papers and a presentation. Then I recoup for a day; maybe two. Then I get so stressed, hardly believing that I allowed myself to waste time when I could be thinking, writing, rethinking, rewriting, etc... I just have a lot of fucking writing to do. How much, you might ask?

Independent Study: 15
Modern China: 7
Women's History: 8-10
Pro-Seminar: 15 (17 written. 17 to perfect)
and
Bob Dylan: 100 multiple choice final exam.

MIght I add that they have to be organized and intelligent. Ready to send to grad school in the next two years. Proof to my Prof's that they taught me something valuable. Proof to myself that I know something.

Last night, I lay in bed for 2.5 hours before finally popping a nyquil. My mind was racing with new ideas for my papers, going from one to another. My heart was palpitating a million miles a minute. I thought it might just explode. My friend, the GRAD student, said that her last week or so of her undergraduate degree was spent on adoral and some other prescription drug. I feel a little better.

I have worked so hard the past four years. Really. My grade point average might not be phenomenal, but it is pretty darn good. And I have excellent relationships with most of my Professors. I have met really fascinating people. And I have learned about the world and all of its inadequacies and its beauty.

And in 16 days I will walk across a stage with thousands of other people and receive an empty folder. I will shake hands with someone I don't know and I will be overwhelmed, trying to track down my family in either the heat or the cold. I might run into people I know; we'll hug and kiss and tell each other "mazel tov!"

And then we'll drink beer and sleep and watch movies for a week or two. Then we'll travel a bit. Maybe home, or the East Coast, or maybe Portland. And then we'll start looking for jobs, or move to different, cheaper towns. And reality will hit like a wrecking ball. And we'll sink or swim. I hope I swim.

But I hope I am not still wearing that damn purple robe.