Okay, I have at last been productive.
Reference letters: check.
Statement of purpose: written.
Resume: updated.
MAT: taken.
Application: started.
Homework: done.
Ready for: weekend.
Meanwhile, my birthday is Monday. 22 is a weird age because it's the first age in a while where there's nothing to really look forward to. 10: double digits. 13: teenager. 15: learner's permit. 16: license. 17: R-rated movies. 18: register to vote. 19: legal adulthood. 21: legal to buy alcohol. 22: one step closer to thirty.
So it's my first birthday ever where I'm not sure if I should be excited about. I mean, I've really enjoyed being 21. Young, in college, and still on my parents' tab (although, if I do get into grad school, hopefully that won't change... hint, hint, Mom). As I approach 22 at warp speed, I'm beginning to realize that I'm...older. People my own age are engaged, pregnant, in the real world... but we're babies. Or at least that's how I feel. I can't file my own taxes or make a yearly budget; I can barely make my own doctor's appointment.
One more reminder that I'm growing up: I ordered my cap and gown today. I'll pick it up between 8 and 2 on December 18, and then I'll march across the stage, shake Dr. Gouge's hand, and into the world of job searches and (hopefully) grad school I'll go. After that will I finally consider myself an adult? Probably not.
Plan B if grad school doesn't work out: Swedish tour guide.
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