Really? You're How Old?

So today I graduated summa cum laude, which is a feat I never, ever would have accomplished at Carolina. After stuffing my face with Pepperidge Farm cookies (yeah, BC keeps it classy--no generic shortbread for us), I rewarded myself with a Coontree run in a thunderstorm. I enjoyed it so much that I turned right around and ran it backwards as well. I tried to turn my adventure into some kind of poignant metaphor for graduation/life, but such lofty ideas eluded me and I was occupied with much baser thoughts. Mainly, that schoolwork is an awful lot like doo-doo.

Really?

Yes.

I couldn't stop coming up with similarities between bowel movements and schoolwork. Both are best accomplished in one sitting, and both are greatly expedited by coffee. I often refer to paper-writing as "pooping one out" because the process is fairly uncomfortable but ultimately satisfying. Both essays and excrement can come out pretty awkward-sounding if you try too hard, and there are grave repercussions if you don't submit on time. Meanwhile my hated nemeses, presentations and group projects, are more like explosive diarrhea: quickly done, with a shitty final product.

The worst part about this scatological reverie is that I could glean no deeper meaning from it. I made no revelations about life, I just ran along giggling about poop and chiding myself for being so gross. I guess it all boils down to the simple fact that I am so glad to be done with all that crap.