If my Profs knew how little I know, they would be appalled. If I graduate this Spring, it’ll be an embarrassment to the university and a travesty to the country. It’ll be a beacon of hope for winos on the street; an affirmation that they, too, can one day walk in cap and gown if they only so much as wish it.

How have I gotten to this place? I’ve wondered the same thing myself, and I have two ideas:

First, the Profs likely harbor an attitude which can be summed up as “Well, you’ve gotten this far through the program, so you must know something.” It turns out this is an unmanageably large assumption to make, and the resulting error of logic leads them to grade coursework more favorably than they should.

Second, it would not surprise me if the College of Engineering were under pressure from the university to increase the number of graduates for reasons having to do with government dollars and private funding.

The avenues of my mind are an unwelcoming place to stroll during the night. They are populated with disparate pieces of information gleaned from the courses I’ve taken over the years. Rather than coalescing into a cohesive whole, the things I’ve learned have formed rival gangs which are ceaselessly battling each other in the slums. Usually, people are good at what they enjoy. In the case my major, I only enjoy it, the proficiency is totally lacking. On the bright side, I still have plenty of time to fail.