And it's done: college.

I have been thirty thousand different people in the last three weeks--everyone from the C-movie-watching, perpetually pajama wearing house-hermit, to the cool, confidant, poised and polished teacher-woman, to the celebrating-while-simultaneously-crying college graduate. It's like I've been putting on my own masquerade, my own little private freak show, and I'm not sure when the curtain will finally draw to a close. I'm oscillating between too many feelings to define. At least some of them are good, but damn it, I wanted euphoria--not whatever this is.
Perhaps I should get a puppy. Pre-packaged euphoria, and all that you have to do is scoop a little bit of poop...I could deal with that.

Short of, you know, getting a puppy (ha), there are a handful of therapeutic activities that can temporarily provide me with a stout heave-ho out of this emotional quagmire, and they are the following:
1) Watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (check; feel 20% better)
2) Calling Reed and solidifying my plans to return to karate (check; feel 40% better)
3) Tearing apart, reorganizing, and redecorating my apartment while listening to my new albums (Micah P. Hinson and M. Ward) (pending)
4) Writing obscene magnetic poetry that will embarrass my boyfriend when company comes. Such as the following, which I authored long months ago but still remains:
Our fuzzy love ball could
leap electrically above all
You are the foe of the fair fluffy moon
Because your butt is white and shapely.
(pending, and also)
5) Walking down to Smith Family Books and swapping boring Feminist Film textbooks for crisp new classics (also pending)

So you know what I'll be doing in the next 48 hours before Andy and I rocket off to Santa Fe.

Life will improve exponentially.