By Ashley Branam

     I’m finished. Last night, I took my last final exam as an undergraduate, and I stuffed the last textbook in my overstuffed bookshelf this morning. But during the in-between hours, I couldn’t sleep. My brain wouldn’t turn off. It was as if the last minute effort of rememorizing the various aspects osteology and taphonomy and decomposition knocked into the overdrive switch and broke it off. Some sort of neuron mechanic meandered in and fixed it about 2am, allowing me a few hours of sleep before Joe’s alarm went off at 5. He has his last finals today.

     But while he’s emptying his brain, I’m sitting here at my laptop trying to find a way to fill mine. I’ve got a good two shelves worth of books I’ve been meaning to read, a few dozen more I’ve been meaning to buy. But I can multitask and I have a tight budget. I’d like to finish revising my novel and a few short stories I started this semester. That will help occupy my brain for some time to come, but it doesn’t replace classes. I could fight the muck and feed the cows, but I’ve been doing that all along. Same with cleaning. And finally building our Lego Christmas tree is a one-time deal. About the only way to fill the void that college has left is to find a career-related job, which is how it’s supposed to be. But I’m not going to hold my breath for one just yet. Not while living in Cleveland, with or without its supposed recovered economy.

     I’ve been like any senior over the past semester, ready to graduate. And the frustration led me to believe I wouldn’t miss classes right away, that I was done and happy to be done. But I haven’t even received my diploma yet, and I already feel a bit hollow inside. While Joe studied for his exams last night, I began reading another novel writing guide, just to reorient my mind to the creative process.

     “You’re finished,” he said. “You can stop studying.”

     “I’m not studying. I’m reading. There’s a difference.”

     “You’re studying,” he said. “You’re a born student, and you’re stuck with it.”

     And he’s right. I’ve known that since elementary school. But I’m not ready for graduate school. I haven’t decided on a focus yet. MFA in Fiction or MA in Technical Writing or something else all together? Beats me.

     So I’m stuck here in this void for now, seeking what I may devour. Floating along but not really getting anywhere. It’s going to take either a shark or the cry of “land, ho” to get me moving again, and I really hope it’s an island.

     Ashely