Something Like Suppression

There is a morass of graduation expostulations sludging through my mind that I don't want to succumb to. Hackneyed, tired, sentimental ribbons of similes and metaphors and paragraphs straining one and all to describe the gaping abyss of the graduation syndrome. (Example: It is a perceived, imagined danger that only poses real risk to the utterly supine....) I don't want to join (or at least fall further into) the endless annals of syrupy, lachrymose laments of graduates past. Every thought I am thinking, every swelling, seditious emotion has swept through legions of souls in cap and gown clad figures, and the result has spilled over millions of empathetic eyes. I know the drill so well: Terror, excitement, loss, joy, push - pull, stay - go, change, boredom, comfort, laziness, ambition, the feeling that your suddenly standing on a pedestal that is quivering under you but you can't get off and G-d, what happens if you fall...

It's too much of the same. It's like a formulaic drug that everyone takes and everyone feels, and then a year later you are tall and strange and cynical and it's "Oh yeah, graduation. I was crying so hard... how could I have been such a dork?"

I hate this limbo, this feeling and not wanting to, this conformity when all I want to do is say good-bye with grace. But there is nothing I can do, except cry and quiver and mourn until June is over and the stinging reminders of everything missing fade away.

That's all I can do, except not write about it.