For All Intensive Porpoises

075My semester is over, for all intents and purposes.  Ten years and eleven months after my first college course, and about seven years after my contemporaries, I’m finally finished with undergraduate studies.*  I have one paper left to turn in, but provided I don’t royally fuck it up my grade in the course is secure.  Soon ranking will be out of my hands and it’ll be up to the computers and my colleagues to determine my ranking.  Based on last year’s GPA I should fall somewhere between middle and high honors (Penn State doesn’t use Latin, so no swarthy “suma cum”s or “magna”s for me).  It’s hard to say what others have garnered.  If word of mouth is to believed everyone has an A in everything ever.

I got my old people honor cord set in the mail.  Amusingly, it’s actually handsomer than my somewhat more legitimate English honors cords (Alpha Sigma Lambda, that which I refer to as “the olde people one” is for any student with a moderately acceptable GPA of 24 years or ancienter).  The colors of both sets look good together.  Had I realized I could mock and revel in the spectacle of putting on anachronistic costumes to celebrate my graduation through violating rules against external regalia I’d have joined more clubs and made a Rastafarian-esque mess of decoration. 

078Now I face a year of unstructured self-direction.  The benefits of freedom, the most immediately notable of which is sleep, contrast with the worries of indolence, but with the extraordinary number of things I’ve put aside over the last two years in an effort to finish up my basic level higher education I don’t think I’ll run out of things I want to do anytime soon.

The plants are all awake and now I can make good on this site’s manifesto of Harrisburg-centered horticultural study.  I have kung fu on which to catch up, weights to lift and some to lose.  Mary is thinking of starting a local magazine, something to which I’ll often contribute. There’s the ever looming task of graduate school applications.  There’s no shortage of undertakings, merely a shift from external direction to personal responsibility for their completion.

Let us see if I can act the adult my severe antiquity and decrepitude assert that I am.

*This is not technically true as my chosen graduate study focus is likely to require more basic bio courses than I've currently taken, so some supplementary undergraduate work is necessary, but I needn't take it any more seriously than my demand for understanding requires.

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