Last night marked the last day of my first semester of my second attempt at earning at least one college degree.
For many college students, the end of the spring semester is met with jubilation, as it marks the beginning of a summer of freedom. Since I’m taking classes through the summer, the end of the term wasn’t met with the rush of adrenaline usually experienced upon one’s release into freedom. I get two weeks off, but that’s only just enough time to recuperate, especially because I work full-time.
My classes weren’t difficult, and I maintained an A+ in each of them throughout the semester, so I wasn’t concerned about exams. I was very excited about my final project for my poetry class, which was turning in a bound, cover-art-bearing copy of all the poems I wrote during the term:
I spent hours choosing the cover art (which is by Katie Hoffman, a very talented artist out of Denver), organizing the poems, editing them to make them the best I could, and figuring out how the hell to print two-sided properly.
But the end of the semester was painfully anti-climactic. My expectations were modest: fanfare, a cheering crowd waiting in the parking lot, tears and hugs from my professors who would surely miss me and my work so much over the summer, other students lining up to get my contact information so they could take classes in brown-nosery from me. Is that really too much to ask??
But no, it was like so many other things in life. So many mountains you climb expecting to find a summit where you can lord over the valley on all sides below, but are instead greeted by a modest plateau, and another peak waiting to be scaled just a short hike away.