This morning, in an attempt to avoid a repeat of what he perceived as the studentry’s tendency towards sleep last class, the business course prof played a short video of a beached sperm whale carcass being blown up by 20 cases of dynamite. The sense that my future depends on my leaving this place is so strong as to be palpable.

One of the requirements of graduation is that I take the fundamentals of engineering (FE) exam, an 8 hr multiple choice marathon put together by NCEES, a national organization, and administered by each state. The wonderful thing about this degree requirement is that I need not pass the exam, I need only take it. True, burning the $250 registration fee is a downer, but I have no motivation to cram over material I learned and forgot years ago when my laziness has gifted me with coursework that could actually keep me from graduating if I neglect it.

The campus pub mailed me a ticket to the 13th annual graduation bash. It’s the Saturday before finals week. I’m going to go. As the music pounds and people down their drinks and shout in exuberance, I’ll sit quietly at a wall booth, carried away by the shock of 7 years at university spelling the end.