Last Saturday at approximately 9:30AM, the band-aid bridging that delicate gap between “Ouachita’s World” and the “Real World” was ripped off. Perhaps a gentler transition would have been nice. Maybe a grace period of 3 months of footloose and fancy free time. Or perhaps some sort of 12-step program. (Step 1: learn to find food on your own. Step 2: accept lack of consistent dance parties in your life. Step 3: find a friend that is not your age—and consequently, probably boring.) But, since this is the cruel, heartless real world, we seniors do not get a 4-day church-campesque orientation session to the rest of our lives. We don’t get a name tag. We don’t get a t-shirt. And we certainly don’t get ice cream with the president. (Ok, maybe we did get ice cream with the president last week, but that is beside the point.)
Let’s face it. However painful, the quick-rip method was always the recommended method for band-aid removal over that slow-pull-of-agony method. Those baby hairs surrounding my elbow scabs were superfluous anyway. No need to keep ‘em hanging around. Thus, it is only fitting to embrace this next season of life with the same level of gusto as that band-aid rip. For, it’s likely just as emotionally healthy to watch those five stages of grief fly by my plane window as it is to actually experience them.
So here we are, now cruising safely into the acceptance stage. Acceptance of the real world. Of the oh-so exciting 9 to 5. Of invigorating chats about car insurance. Of the adventurous world of 401ks (confession: I have no idea what this is). In but a blink of the eye, we seniors will be embracing the stealthy and divinely comfortable Dodge Caravan as our means of transportation and will be saving babies from dirty diapers with a level of calm and collectedness that would put Superman—or at least Supernanny—to shame. That’s right. Say hello, to the rest of your lives, my senior friends! Adventure is sitting on our parents’ doorsteps. (Our temporary residences, of course).
Seeing as how I am now saying my goodbyes to Ouachita, I feel that it is only appropriate to say goodbye to Stuff Ouachitonians Like as well. There is no room for any band-aid remnants on this very adult elbow. My alumni pin would certainly get jealous. However, instead of shutting SOL down and leaving SOL and all of its readership truly SOL in the ways of Ouachitonians satire, I would like to bequeath the blog to a friend, fellow Ouachitonian, and--far more importantly—a fellow English major. She’s a sophomore. She’s a Ouachita legacy. She’s an Eta Sweetheart, and she is a master of wit. She is Jessica Scoggins, the stuff Ouachitonians truly like.
All the best to you, Jess. I could not stand to bequeath to anyone with less awesome of a name. May your satire be sharp. May your Tiger Tunes endeavors be successful. And may your sheep, your bleat, your fleece be true.
O.B.U.
Over and out.
Jessica Schleiff
