So I’m registering for classes this week. The second semester of my senior year. My last semester ever as an undergraduate. Better make it a good one right? Oh, I intend to.

You see, I have a plan. I’m going to take my last two required college classes and then take on an internship for college credit so I don’t have to take a full course load can gain some real life experience without jumping into real life at full force.  But as I sit here and consider my potential schedule for next semester I start to realize, once again, just how final all of this is.

If everything goes according to plan (then again, nothing ever goes according to plan) I’ll only be in class two days per week next semester, six hours each day. Plus work, and the occasional club meeting/party/annual-event-I-swore-I’d never-attend-again-last-year. College life will still take up a decent chunk of my time, but not nearly as much time as it takes up right now. And it will be a complete turnaround from this semester, a semester that feels a whole lot like someone is playing a game of let’s see how long we can keep Jenn away from her bed before she collapses. So yeah, it will be different.

Less time on campus, means less time to be involved on campus. And as my college life gets closer to ending, my college life gets closer to ending. The school paper has already starting training editorial assistants to replace us, something I have a hard time grasping. We’re training people to replace us when I still feel like I need to be trained! And continuing with that theme, that campus job I had since I was a freshman? I’ve started training my replacement there as well.  And as I yammered on incessantly about the exact font size and label color that should be used on each folder, I started to realize exactly how not ready I am to hand over my color coded filing cabinet to someone else. (And, no, I don’t think it’s just because I’m a control freak, either.) Read More »

As a creative writing major, I’m extremely lucky to have parents who didn’t scoff at getting the arty side of a liberal arts education. My parents are voracious readers who have a high level of respect for the arts, and as a result they can be happy for me, even when my class schedule looks distinctly impractical.

Love in the Novel

Nabokov

Intro to Buddhist Thought

These are the kind of classes my parents put up with throughout my college career, with nary an Econ class to be found among the lot.

Many students feel a lot of pressure, however, to take classes that will turn around into the best profit. They know their parents are dropping some major Benjamins to keep them in a good school, and they want to return the favor by, at the very least, not making their parents go gray worrying that their children will be living in a box on the street. So they take Econ and finance classes. They try to become good little doctors and lawyers and I-bankers.

But most of the people I know taking that path aren’t particularly happy doing it. Read More »