No more papers, no more books...

Yeah, right. The likelihood of me extracting myself from a life of study is nil. But as for teachers' dirty looks - I've seen my last. On Wednesday, I finished up the dregs of my last semester of school. I've been enrolled in one school or another for twenty years, ever since the first day of nursery school. The irony of this is that I hated school with a passion. When I wasn't faking illnesses, I spent my elementary school days weeping through long division, steeling myself against a barrage of teasing from my peers, and wistfully longing to be in the company of my pals from The Babysitter's Club (it never dawned on my that Stacey and Claudia were probably too cool for me, too). One of my most vivid memories from Echo Hills elementary is waiting in the principal's office for my Ma to come pick me up early. My excuse was always that I "didn't feel good." Which really wasn't a lie; I didn't feel good. My throat wasn't sore and my brow wasn't feverish, but I was miserable nonetheless. How I ended up voluntarily attending school for seven more years into adulthood is something of a mystery, though I must say that once I surpassed the years of math and science requirements and highly-stratified social cliques, this whole education thing turned a bit rosier. Now I'm a little sad and overwhelmed that this defining structure of my life is quickly dismantling. I'm excited about what comes next, but you better believe I already have designs to enroll in some continuing education.

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