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Sep. 6th, 2010 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elizabethThe extent to which I don't want to go to class tomorrow defies language. I am not excited in the slightest — for my senior year of undergrad. For my thesis. For my seminars, for my club, for my last chance to be at this university, to experience these professors. I just want to be done.
When I did my gap year of hell,girlpearl and I were talking a lot about how hard it was to stick it out the closer I (we) got to the end. And that was for an experience I was excited about at the outset. I can't bring myself to believe that there's going to be anything fun about the coming months, only drudgery and exhaustion and an overwhelming desire to escape all the while knowing I will never forgive myself if I don't finish this fucking degree.
This isn't the whining all-too-common on campus. This isn't exaggerated for effect or dramatic histrionics; this is me, sitting at my desk the night before the semester starts, thinking about how very little I am enjoying this and how sick of being a student I am.
And my fucking posters keep falling off the wall.
When I did my gap year of hell,
girlpearl and I were talking a lot about how hard it was to stick it out the closer I (we) got to the end. And that was for an experience I was excited about at the outset. I can't bring myself to believe that there's going to be anything fun about the coming months, only drudgery and exhaustion and an overwhelming desire to escape all the while knowing I will never forgive myself if I don't finish this fucking degree. This isn't the whining all-too-common on campus. This isn't exaggerated for effect or dramatic histrionics; this is me, sitting at my desk the night before the semester starts, thinking about how very little I am enjoying this and how sick of being a student I am.
And my fucking posters keep falling off the wall.
