"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." - Semisonic

It's finally starting to wash over me that I'm going to college. I have toiled away these last thirteen years and earned myself a high school diploma (which, come to think of it, I haven't seen since graduation) which was basically my admission ticket to college. I'll be living in the dorms, going to lectures, eating in the dining hall, not exercising at the fitness center, writing term papers, and actually taking finals. Yes, it's the traditional college experience, the one everyone expects to have, the one I've been imagining for years. And what did it take for me to realize that this dream is weeks away from being reality? A check.

The tuition check is an important one. It's also a big one. I can say with certainty that it is the biggest check I've ever written. It literally wiped out my bank account. And it wasn't the check that got me so much as how little was in the bottom of the barrel marked 'Pat's Bank Account' after I balanced the checkbook. It really hit me where I live.

There are lots of little endings that, when taken all at once, amount to this elephant I've had on my ass all summer. I can deal with these endings individually, but every once in awhile they become overwhelming and it completely wrecks my day. There was the end of high school, now is the end of my bank account, and soon the end of my job. These things will all be replaced as I move on to a new stage of my life, but until I do I feel sort of disjointed.

I went to my favorite movie and music store today and I couldn't even bring myself to peruse the 'used' bin. I felt so guilty, like the employees could look at me and know I couldn't afford to spend anything, at which point they'd summon Butch the Security Guard who would escort me off the premises. They, of course, didn't summon the security guard, because to start with, they don't have one, and second, they were too busy spazzing about some boring-ass paperwork to explain to me why they didn't have any copies of Profiler available for my window-shopping pleasure. (I swear, I just wanted to admire the packaging. Okay, and smell it a little. Best Buy didn't have it either, though. I'm beginning to suspect a conspiracy.)

I almost burst into tears during The View this morning. I almost burst into tears today because the oldies station is playing too much Johnny Rivers these days. I almost burst into tears when I listened to the Rent soundtrack. And it's not just today. I've been close to crying all this week. After yesterday's Six Flags Death March (note to self: next year, don't wear sandals), I suppose I could blame my temperament on exhaustion, but I think it's that I know that a chapter of my life is ending. It's time for me to move on, ready or not.

***

I'd like to take a moment to apologize to and thank my mom, if no one minds. My mother totally rocks. She took care of me through eighteen years of colds, flus, ear infections, cuts, bruises, scars, and other miscellaneous health problems, and I guess I never really thought about how much work that entails until this past weekend. My mom went waterskiing and pulled a hamstring, which left her bedridden and dependent on her children for stuff. Yeah, I know, blah blah blah ironic role-reversalcakes, but I have a newfound appreciation for parents of all shapes and sizes. I feel guilty in between bags of ice and quasi-room service, like I should be doing more, but I'm not sure what else to do. It's hard to see my mother needing anyone's help with anything. It's hard to see her in so much pain that she cries. She is like SuperMom: all about the laundry, she makes dinner every night, she keeps us away from the knives when we're mad at each other -- again, the little things are overwhelming when you add them up. Thanks, Mom, for everything.

Reading: Finished Skipping Towards Gomorrah. An interesting examination that accomplished what it set out to do despite some unavoidable setbacks. Dan Savage is always a good read, and the book moves along at a good clip. A must-read for the Pat Robertson hater in all of us. Listening to: Fountains of Wayne's new CD, Welcome Interstate Managers. I bought it for one song, but the other 15 tracks are giving me my money's worth. Eating: a club sandwich.