The past few weeks have gone by like a bad trick – quick, irregular and impulsive.

Twenty hours of sleep in a week. The significance of the snooze and alarm reset became a recurring theme in my life the week after. One cup of coffee at 10 p.m. keeping me wired and twitching until midnight, motivating me to sit down and write for the last time this semester.

This is college.

During the past month, I’ve written about the three-ring drama circus Spring Break causes, what reading this column says about you as a consumer of media, my 7-going-on-30-year-old sister (I still don’t have a boyfriend, by the way) and silence, or lack thereof.

This is it.

500 words from now, I’m probably not going to see you again until Aug. 27, barring I’m allowed to keep writing this column at all. After I pitched my “Our generation is an uncircumcised penis” idea last week, my job security seems to be in a sort of journalistic limbo. Sure I’m going to be writing weekly this summer, but there’s a good chunk of you who won’t pick up a Stater until you’re trudging along on the first day of classes next semester.

(Shameless plug time. Go to StaterOnline.com each week this summer to keep up with campus, if only to catch up with me from time to time.)

But there are some of you who might never read another word this paper prints ever again.

Cue the bittersweet “Pomp and Circumstance.”

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of being backstage at The Early November’s last show in Cleveland at the House of Blues. Not being a hard-core fan, I wasn’t that moved by the band’s final performances, but I’m enough of a music junkie to appreciate the mood that evening.

It’s the same mood that’s overtaking campus in the final days of the semester. It’s watching the hot boys lying out shirtless in the sun and thanking God it’s finally spring. It’s packing up dorm rooms and apartments and, piece-by-piece, moving the past year of our lives to a temporary resting place for the summer. It’s realizing a graduating class of people is on the brink of the rest of their lives and is losing all motivation to wrap up this chapter.

At the first party I went to when I came to campus, an acquaintance of mine told me I was so “college.”

I get it now.

I am college. We’re all so “college.” We’re proud of it. I post all my columns as notes on Facebook, and as one former colleague of mine commented on my debut piece a month ago, “I miss my days of weekend-long drinking binges. Not that I did it often, but I could have done it every weekend if I’d have liked. Do it while you can. In the real world, you can’t hit the snooze button and decide it’s not worth getting out of bed so early.”

They told me to write a column.

I told them to make me weekly.

Stealing from The Early November’s last number, “you’ll see that no one knows for sure” what’s going to happen next.

Adam Griffiths is a freshman magazine journalism major and a columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected].