As the summer sun fades into the background, the hustle and bustle of fall resonates in the urgency of securing a parking pass and spending oodles and oodles of cash on textbooks that I probably won’t have the chance to read this semester. That’s right ladies and gents, it’s that time already; I’m back at it again with intensely hilarious descriptions of my college experiences and the real life that is young adulthood.

It all began a few days ago with what I had assumed would be a brief drive to my cozy apartment. My younger brother and I buckled our seat belts, secured the aux cord, and blasted as much undecipherable rap as possible. We munched on sour candies and bopped along to the thumping bass until we discovered a two-hour traffic jam in the Pittsburgh area.

Not in the mood to sit in a car for an even more extended period, I decided it was best to entrust Karen – my faithful GPS – with the task of finding an alternate route that would avoid miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic and my uncontrollable road rage. Karen got the job done and found an alternate route that may have been just as insufferable as the traffic jam in Pittsburgh.

Karen’s new route took us through the farmlands of West Virginia, and while we avoided massive six lane highways and claustrophobia and seizure inducing tunnels, we did get stuck traveling on every back road imaginable. It was exhausting, and my brief trip turned into a seven-hour extravaganza.

And now I find myself sat across from the Faculty Men’s Restroom after what was supposed to be an hour and fifteen-minute-long class. Instead, my quirky professor sauntered in a few minutes late, signature coffee thermos in one hand, syllabi in the other. He stood in front of about ten female English majors and described the course materials in the most roundabout way imaginable.

The course is titled “American Literature to 1865,” and unfortunately it is a requirement for graduation in the spring. I am not a fan of the stylistic qualities of most American authors; I would much rather lose myself to the lyrical musings of Hardy or the Brontes. Instead, I get to spend sixteen weeks trudging through texts that I would have never voluntarily chosen, except for Poe; him, I’m excited for.

Another perk to starting my senior year of undergrad is beginning the tedious process that is my thesis. While I have an idea in mind and a significant amount of groundwork already laid, I’m still not necessarily looking forward to spending hours upon hours crafting a twenty-five-page research paper. I guess it helps that I’m passionate about the topic, but still; I’m not ready to end my last semi-free summer and begin my second to last semester before I’m launched into the real world for the first time.

At the same time, I’m ready to begin my career … or at least I think I am. I’m sure this semester will be chalk-full of experiences and insight that will prove my overeager mindset wrong. I’ve learned the hard way that I have to slow down because trying to race against time is a feat no man or overly sarcastic woman such as myself has achieved before.

Walking around campus today recharged my spirit, and I felt the rush of excitement only an English major would feel after catching the tantalizing aroma of a new book or the gentle clacking of the keys on a keyboard or the recycled jokes of the same professor that left class early on the first day. It felt great to be back and even better to be one step closer to cap and gown.

I have a great feeling about these next few semesters – a feeling I’ve never had before the start of the school year. I have a fantastic bundle of friends who make sure to tear me away from my busy schedule just long enough to eat dinner and drink wine over musings about our summers. And of course, I have my trusty Keurig to provide me with my daily dose of caffeine so that I can attack every day with a smile and a sassy comment at the ready, because in my life, you never know what’s going to happen next. Stay tuned.