Fine

On Saturday, I successfully survived my first blind date. As I alluded to, it was fine. Fine isn't a word you want to describe a date. Fine is a word you use to describe the six hour drive between here and there. You can use fine to describe an ordinary day at work. It would even be appropriate to refer to last night's leftovers as fine. Lots of things in life are fine, and it is fine for them to be fine. If a date is fine then it is, well, not that fine.

I read an [LANGUAGE WARNING] article a few weeks ago saying that if something isn't f*** yes, it's no. This wasn't f*** yes. It wasn't even hell yes. It wasn't really even just plain old yes. It was meh, therefore, it was no. Yesterday, I ended up deactivating my online dating profile. I will probably return eventually, but the last seven days of my life have been absolutely insane, and I know that is what will continue over the next few weeks.

I have six weeks and five days left of my grad school existence. I never would have thought I would be sad or melancholic to see this coming to an end, but here I am with 47 days left, and while I am excited about what comes next, this is going to be hard to leave behind. Over the course of the last two and a half years, I have changed in ways I couldn't have even begun to imagine. Grad school has been the craziest, best, weirdest, hardest, most beautiful thing I have ever done up until this point in my life. For most of my time in grad school, I have acknowledged that I will miss it. That is becoming more and more true as the days pass. Forty-seven days isn't a lot. The merest of blinks. It will be gone before I know it. I don't want to spend it going on blind dates or talking to guys who will, more than likely, have no place in my future. Everything in life comes to an end. There is a last time for everything, and you often don't know when those lasts will occur, so when you do know, I think you should hold on. Enjoy those lasts. Take advantage of them. Savor them.

I am about to start my last paper of my college career. I mean, sure, I wrote my last paper in undergrad. It was a big deal. And sure, I may go back for a further certificate or continuing education or something later on, but I also may not. This could, very easily, be the last time I ever have to write something to turn in for a grade. I hate paper writing, I really do. It's ironic considering how much I enjoy writing and how well I can write a paper. I just don't enjoy it. There is something so desperately, strangely, hopelessly beautiful about this one, though. Do I want to write it? No, of course not. I never want to write a paper. This time, it's more than that. It represents the end. The end of 30 months of insanity. The end of 30 months of beauty, 30 months of marvelousness, 30 months of growth.

I have complete control over the next 47 days, and I am choosing to spend them doing things I enjoy. Things I love doing; things I feel passionate about. Things that make me say f*** yes!