On this day, May 10th, 2005, I walked out of Dwinelle at 3:30 P.M., having completeled what will be officially known as the last day of class of my undergraduate career.

I had a muffin, and some water. I took some notes, doodled a little, and made sure, of course, to doze off for just one minute about halfway through. It was, in fact, completely representative of my classtime experience here at Cal.

It seemed to me a very easy thing. I walked to the gym, trying to remember what my first class might have been. I'm fairly sure that it was English 45A, at 10 in the morning in 160 Kroeber Hall. (Like, the *worst* lecture hall ever. Snug rows, bad lighting, and yellowed seats that hadn't been reupholstered since the students that sat in them listened to 8-tracks instead of iPods.) Hmm. I've come from The Cantebury Tales all the way through to Medieval Russian culture. It seems I've started at one place, made a huge arch, and landed in the same time period in a completely different place. And who knows what I've picked up along the way?

There could be anything stuck up in my head right now, and there probably is.




Thank you, Berkeley.