pre-graduation poops

I think I may be coping with graduating college in a way… that I did not suspect. For instance, my roommate Nick told me he was going back to the room to pack – my first thought, and I plan to see it through, was to go back to the room and hide all of his belongings. Maybe all of his shoes, or just the left ones. I’ll hide all of his left shoes. Maybe I’ll take all of his hats, he loves his hats, he’ll never leave without his hats. I don’t necessarily think this practice is too weird, but generically, roommates rock out together and pack their things. Not this roommate. Not. Me.

There are too many “lasts” going on right now. Frequently my friends say,

            “Last Saturday night coming up! What are you going to do bro?”

or

“Last late night breakfast at Gladfelter dude! It is our last one, you have to go”

I figured out that I am not a fan of lasts. Last is a word that not only sounds weird isolated from other words, but is a means to an end – or something like that. I, being the ODL major I indefinitely have become, will turn this last into something better than a means to an end. Well. I cant turn a last into something it is not. I can shape my interpretation of it though. I'm starting to think that there is a subtle beauty in last. Would you not live your life differently if everything you were to do would be the last thing you would do?

The other night, I wrote my last college paper (in potentia). It then hit me, that I’m going to miss writing papers. MISS writing PAPERS. A phrase that has never come out of my mouth or found its way into my brain piece before. It then donked me on the head. Just like that. Donk. Writing papers is flippin’ sweet. You spend a buncha time writing it, putting thought into each sentence forming complete organized creative thoughts that are visible on a piece of paper. You can see your work and its tangible how awesome it is! You write YOUR name on top the first page because that’s YOUR piece of work. MY name! Not yours, that’s my name on the top of this awesome piece of paper. Go ahead, read it, cause’ it’s the shit. Take it in, sip it, it goes down smooth every time. Your paper gets graded by a human being and you see a nice “A” on the top of the paper in a colored pen. You say to yourself,

           

            “I’m gunna go home and put that shit on my fridge.”

            “I’ll mail a copy to my momma, so she can be proud of her intelligent-ass-son.”

            “Look at that sentence. That sentence was creative as fuck. My sentence.”

            “No body could write as inquisitive as that.”

            “I’m going to file this paper so I can show it to my kids.”

            “Look at that inquisitive sentence your daddy wrote.”
            "That is my CREATION!!!."

I figured out that I’m coping with graduation in a weird way when my poop started to change. I know what I said, and I definitely know my poop. I began, just a few days ago, to poop at unimaginably frequent intervals. Has my body just discovered that I’m graduating? and I may not be okay with that? Well the stock in Charmin just went up a couple of points, because I cannot stop pooping. My friend Eliot suggested I save my poop. He said it could be my graduation present, or graduation poops, something like that, it’s very difficult to listen when you’re on the verge of crapping your pants.

Do not fret, though, reader. I have purchased a bottle of Pepto-bismol. The measuring cup they courteously provided broke. So I’ve started drinking it casually. My poops will come to an end. Most likely abruptly. 

I am curious if the Pepto-bismol company knew, when they first devised the ground breaking formula that would comprise the pink liquid, that their product would be utilized as a pre-graduation stress management technique.

-Jackson

P.S. Riley please show me how to make mix tapes.