What I will miss

This is my 59th and final column. I’m obviously incredibly remorseful about this because 60 would have been a much less awkward number to end on. But so it goes.

In the rare moments these days when I’m not counting down the seconds until graduation or packing up my apartment four months before I plan to move out or rolling down my windows and screaming “Seniors ’09, suckers!” as I drive haphazardly through clusters of frightened underclassmen, it sometimes occurs to me that there are a few things I might miss about college.

I will miss experiencing all of the varied and unexpected ways an umbrella can break just when I think I’ve seen them all. I have had to buy a new umbrella every week for the past four years, turning me into a serial umbrella monogamist.
But now that I will no longer be taking long walks through monsoons, the thought of not constantly buying new ones is making me feel confined: I’m not sure I’m ready to settle down with just one umbrella for the rest of my life.

Another thing I will miss is the game that my roommates and I play of seeing who can embarrass the bank teller the most with what we write on the “memo” line of our rent checks. Classics include “breast exam,” “genital reconstruction” and “the sex you slipped into my coffee.”

I will also miss being the girl who is always running to the bus while the other passengers sigh impatiently. I run with such urgency that it’s fun and easy to pretend I’m rushing to somewhere important, like to the airport where I am about to catch a red-eye flight to Paris to stop the love of my life from marrying the wrong woman (Although lately I have felt less like the endearing heroine of a romantic comedy and more like a strung-out college senior who rolled out of bed and has hair and drool stuck to her face, but I will miss that a little too).

And now I’m going to be serious, because there is at least one thing I know I will miss wholeheartedly: I will miss having this column like Paris Hilton misses having a BFF.

College is truly a crazy and confusing time, and you’re lucky if you can find something (other than vodka) that helps you through it. This column has been that thing for me. I wrote it when my hand was broken, when my heart was broken and from the hospital waiting room while my dad was having open-heart surgery.  

And so my obligatory, cheesy last thought is this: When you find something you love to do, you owe it to yourself to stick with it – regardless of everything else.

For those of you who enjoyed my column: thanks for reading. For those of you who enjoyed leaving biting, anonymous comments online: thanks for teaching me not to care what other people think. For those of you I’ve offended: thanks for the material. I will miss you all.