Well, here we are. It’s May, and on the 20th day of this month, I’ll graduate from college. At least, I think I will. I haven’t spoken to my advisor lately, so I’m not totally sure. I’ve been skipping all my classes for a couple of years now, but I slipped President Teresa Sullivan a hundred bucks last week, so let’s hope she’s as keen on bribery as our dear founder Thomas Jefferson probably was. I won’t lie to you guys, the real world is scary. It’s tough to get a job out there. I’ve been working hard at it, but there’s a roadblock at every turn. I try to become a massage therapist and I find out you have to give massages to any client who walks in, not just the hot ones. I try to go into childcare, and they make a huge deal of out of my vast criminal record. I try to work at the White House, and it turns out I’m utterly overqualified and not friends with enough Russians. So where am I headed next? It’s hard to say. Maybe I’ll finally marry one of my many suitors. Maybe I’ll get my own TV show. Maybe I’ll join a nonprofit to help vegans. The world is my oyster, but less disgusting than actual oysters. Wherever I go, however far apart we may be, however much you miss me, take comfort in this: when you look out at the moon at night, somewhere across the world I will be looking at the very same moon, only I will be doing it in a much hotter way. It’s time for me to go now, U.Va. The future calls and I must answer. Or rather, as with all phone calls, I am not going to answer, but I have to go hide and pretend to be super busy so that later I can be like, “Oh my god, so sorry I missed your call! I’ve just been so busy, but we should totally get lunch sometime. Not this week, though, this week is crazy for me.”If you ever need me postgrad, you know how to reach me, though it’s unlikely I’ll be able to hear you over the sound of how well I’m doing. Thanks to everyone who’s read these articles over the past couple years, especially you, Guy Who Clicked On This Article By Accident. Like a fairy godmother moving on to help the next princess, I must go. Like an alien returning to his homeland, I must seek my destiny. Like an insane orange president who lost the popular vote ditching his responsibilities in favor of golfing at Mar-a-Lago, it’s time for me to blow this popsicle stand. Catch you on the flipside, nerds.