Today I took the final for my last class. I passed, which means I am officially no longer a student. Not because I’m so over the whole student thing, though I am, but because I finished. I’m not usually such a great finisher. I start off well… then, it’s pretty much all down hill from there.

Previously, my story was something like this:

1.) Start [relationship, job, marriage, school, etc.].
2.) All is seemingly going fabulously.
3.) Get [scared, bored, nervous, restless, don’t know what else to do, etc.] This part would have likely not been spoken about to any one. Possibly a few feeble excuses, but probably number four was a shock to all.
4.) Move. Or run, call it what you will. Primarily it was out of the country, but also there has been a couple different states and cities. Once it was just a different apartment in the same building. To be fair, though, in my head, I was always very logical, making the right decision. I didn’t know that I was being flaky.
5.) Repeat.

But here I am, suddenly a finisher. One that has lived in the same place for almost two years. Something that had not been done since I moved away from home at seventeen. I think I might be growing up. ‘Tis a strange thing, this maturation.*

Now, on to finding a job. Huzzah.

* Possibly not completely grown up. I couldn’t help but notice how similar the word “maturation” is to “masturbation”.