Graduation seems like such a quick and easy process on the endless photo stream of shellshocked twenty-somethings and beaming parents that crops up on my Facebook feed for the entire month of May. But, in reality, it's a week long endeavor that involved handing in a 57 page final project, then going to the same barbeque with the same hotdogs for various arbitrary reasons all week before finally sitting through a four hour ceremony where they read 800+ names out loud and the guy next to you chants the name of his fraternity every time one of his brothers walks. But at the end of it, I was still grinning like an idiot. In fact, I felt like this:
Probably because I had some balloons. You see, I celebrated in several ways throughout the week. Firstly: I stole some balloons.
There was a party for all the literature majors after we handed in our project, and we all got balloons. And I stole a shit-ton of them.
I'd been copy-editing for 36 hours straight, and it seemed like a good idea. I took them home, put them above my bed, and slept for 12 hours.
Then, after the graduation ceremony, my parents, The Boy and I went out to dinner and The Boy told a story about coming home to find his fiance dead asleep under a bunch of balloons. We all had a good laugh, and I chuckled and refused to throw them out. And my mom gave me an amazing vintage lunchbox and cake. Life was good.
Then, I had a party with some girlfriends. We drank beer, ate burgers and caught each other up about our lives. Under the balloons I nailed to the ceiling.
I had a few idle days this week, which is not something I've had for quite a while. That's the thing about school: even when you're relaxing, there's always a project, an exam or something hanging over your head. Which works for me: I get the most done when I have the most to do. And in the face of having nothing substantial to do, I went...a little overboard in prepping for this party. When my friends arrived and saw the porch one of them put it this way: "you should instagram the shit out of this."