I don’t like graduation ceremonies. I never have. Not since kindergarten, at least.

For me, the excitement of a thing comes when it’s really over. In high school, i had to go to two more days of class after my graduation ceremony; it wasn’t really over yet. I was sour at graduation, grimacing in pictures and grudgingly displaying my diploma case, which did not yet contain that immortal document.

I woke up later than i meant to today, though i wound up meaning to wake up late. The apartment looks like a war zone between IKEA and Home Depot, as last night Elise hung drapery brackets while i threaded her maddeningly complicated sexy blue sewing machine. The obsessive organization of our first week has given way to a more laissez-faire approach to apartment decorating, where we move things closer to their presumed destination incrementally in case they find some other suitable home on the way. It’s fun. I want to stay here and work on it.

I finished my last graduation requirement last Friday at 10:03AM. I went through all the emotions that day – the glee, the sudden sense of freedom, the irrational tears. Today is an afterthought; i am already apart from the Drexel family. I know the week was meant for getting your requirements in order and moving out, but i got my life in order and moved on. I don’t want to go back to that gym to sit and listen to Taki – i have earned the right to avoid it.

But, otherwise, what would they take pictures of?