When I first walked outside last Sunday morning, the last thing I wanted to do was get wet. There was a distinct chill in the air early in the morning, as well as a slight breeze. But I was determined to still go river rafting – there was no way I was going to miss it my senior year. The day had warmed up slightly by the time I met the other OP Staff at the bus to check everyone in.
My roommate keeps a life-size cardboard cutout of Ronald Reagan in our living room and every morning I wake up with the knowledge that, no matter what I do, I am still going to forget about him. Then, some unknown time later, I will be violently reminded of his presence and have a minor severe heart attack when I see his disapproving, wrinkly face and think that it’s the ghost of Christmas past.
Plastic utensils are often valued most after the acquisition of a dear food. In my case, the worst nightmare came true: I have no way to cleanly consume a piece of Smores pie from Shari’s. It is sitting here right now, a symbol to my lack of proper planning. I have the highlighters, I even remembered wet wipes and Q-tips. The last item on my list of priorities, seemingly, was the ability to nourish my body with sustenance. Needless to say, saltines have been a close friend over the past few days. If only I could smear them with peanut butter.
The week of last things is halfway up. On Monday, there was the last round of finals. On Tuesday, there was the last frantic checking of final grades on Web Advisor. Today I started my last move-home efforts. Tonight is also the last Goose Wednesday, but I’m going to pass on that one in favor of writing one last long blog post. I’ve turned in my library books, picked up my cap and gown, and helped Stefan throw a lot of his unwanted belongings off the balcony. I’ve got three days left at C of I before I walk across the Boone steps.
It’s 3 am, I’m lying on the floor, and all things considered finals are going great.
When it comes to finals, everyone inevitably ends up on the floor at 3 am, either literally or figuratively. You can tell when a person has accidentally slipped into the “3 am floor” emotional state when they go wistfully dead in the eyes and their hand starts reaching out towards an invisible horizon. They also lose the ability to say vowels, which is odd.
What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than zipping through the trees, hundreds of feet in the air? This Sunday, as part of an OP trip, I drove up with a group to students to Horseshoe Bend to do just that.
My group was the last to go, and we left C of I about 3:30. After a much shorter drive than I expected, we arrived at ZipIdaho. They took our group of 11 in an incredibly bumpy “Indiana Jones Style” truck ride up the mountain (and yes, for those of you wondering, we were definitely singing the Indiana Jones theme song).
Two weeks of the school year left and I’m totally not freaking out so let’s not even talk about it again okay great.
In all honesty, I have been too busy to freak out. I call it The Final Paradox (oh! Totally rad band name idea!) and it happens at the end of every year; I get so overwhelmed working on final projects and papers that I don’t even realize the school year has ended until its mid-June and I’m at home eating cereal at 3 am.
Thursday night and I’m on the chaise. I’ve just helped Stefan pour Kikoman soy sauce into four, gallon-sized ziplocks of raw chicken. We have 20 pounds of chicken and 12 pounds of flank steak in our refrigerator right now, which is especially strange when you stop to consider that Stefan’s a vegetarian and I refuse to cook meat.