I finished my last reading week yesterday, the last universal weeklong pause at an academic institution. From now on, spring break will be when I make it. I began the week not thinking about how nostalgic this was, but naturally, how relieved I was to be at the end of a particularly hellish week. Regular work, plus regular school, plus a half dozen major assignments and projects that I'd perfectly procrastinated to result in maximum stress and last-minute
productions.

I bathed in the sun in my living room on Friday, and stretched my arms and legs out wearing sweat pants, no bra, a ponytail and a couch blanket watching a Real World marathon. I took breaks to clean the bathroom and kitchen. To me this is a nice break and something my type-A personality thrives upon. I rationalize this by saying it is a break because in school mode, weekends are not spent cleaning, emptying and fetching but cramming, avoiding and typing. Cleaning is a nice return to weekend normalcy.

The problem was, about 4 hours of this and I'd had enough. I went to my yoga class, I did my makeup for no reason, I checked Perez Hilton and Facebook a bajillion times before I resorted to making a list. A list of to-dos, things to occupy my weeklong free zone. I vacuumed, I reorganized, I dusted. I emailed friends, I made plans, I breathed easy. But the novelty of free time wore off mighty fast.

I wonder what I'll do come May when school's out forever, and I don't yet have a real job. Will I focus all my energy onto training and toning my body into a super fitness machine? I like to think the best of my time use skills. Will I throw myself into writing and come up for air once or twice before finding a polished, clear, concise and-most importantly-provocative piece of writing? From the edge of adulthood and the windowsill of my apartment, I'm not sure my pool
of experience will be deep enough to pen anything beyond "life as a twentysomething graduate of two weeks."

It's been easy to make far away plans while justifying that I now carpe diem by getting my work done, goofing with my friends and eating colourful vegetable meals. But when there's no more work, I will be confronted by a pressing need to do something, only without a syllabus or deadline to tell me what that is. I will have to make my own schedule, and I am a little scared to call my own shots. The responsibility then falls on my shoulders like a scale of justice,
too far to one side and there's no keeping all the marbles on the tray.

The good thing about living by carpe diem? I can say I will deal with that when it comes. For now, I press on (no pun intended) my last month of journalism school, try to save enough money to go out sometimes, and go to bed smiling more often than not before my head hits the pillow and succumbs to right-away sleep.