Independence is magic because it doesn’t actually exist.

I learned today that no matter how hard I may try to be a self-reliant, self-supporting student who searches for internships, I will forever be dependent on the professors who give me the grade to actually demonstrate that I’ve earned it.

Yes, you read that right. I, the lowly student who bangs her head against the books in order for the knowledge to sink in, must still depend on the professor for giving me the letter that indicates how well I have done. And that single letter, that one dot of ink on the page clearly indicates how many textbook pages I’ve read and how many hours I’ve spent jotting note after note on a page. Even after months of slavery to this institution that they call education, I’m still indebted to them.

Only this time, it’s for a letter of a different kind.

Those dastardly letters of recommendation.

I have worried sick about the possibility of those letters getting lost in the mail (I’m glaring at you, U.S. Postal System) and I’ve gnawed my poor fingernails down to the bone over whether or not my countless hours have actually made an impression. I’ve nagged via email until I sound like an unhappy wife.

And yes, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Today I am free. I am free of the deadline of applications. I am free of the possibility that the internet would fail me and refuse to upload my resume and CV. I am free of the burden of asking people with authority to respectfully recommend me to other people.

Only to replace it the ball and chain of waiting for responses from the schools I applied to. I spent all my time worrying if other people would be able to finish my applications for me by writing letters and now I get to depend on the other side of the equation to actually answer me back.

This is why students take so long to learn independence. Because with the title of student comes the inevitable responsibility to depend on others.

You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and that don’t change neither.

Hello, you old person, you.

You’ve got quite an impressive list of words underneath your name on this sheet of paper that you’ve titled “Resume.” I even see you completed an internship at SBMF.

That’s right, folks! Tomorrow is my last day at my first summer internship. I’m a whole lot smarter, a heck of a lot poorer, and technically I’ve still got three weeks of summer left. Enough time to perform my bridesmaid’s duties and go dress shopping with one of my good friends/the bride-to-be. Yep, you read that right. I’m also old enough to be a bridesmaid.

Shoot, I’ve aged a lot this summer.

With all my newly found free time, you can expect some more posts.

It’s good to be back.

The day we fret about our future is the day we leave childhood behind.

I decided to let myself ferment a few days before writing about the internship at all. I’m going to pour my words out and you can get as drunk on them as you please.

Day 1: I hated it. I considered crying during my lunch break and quitting.
Day 2: I strongly disliked the people but I liked playing with slides.
Day 3: I like it.

Granted, the extreme opinions of the first few days were partially the result of a hormonal imbalance and also caused by the uprooting of my summer home, living with 4 strangers, and being a full-fledged, grocery-buying adult in less than 24 hours.

But today, I have come mostly to my senses. I also made a friend at work today who plays country music softly in the lab and who has a son my age. Furthermore, I know where things are now and I can translate my mentor’s accent into somewhat understandable instructions in English.

That being said, there was a moment or two (or several hours) when I contemplated whether or not I had made the correct choice in my college major if I hated research so much. I was also trying to decide whether or not the money was worth the suffering and playing with stool samples — and you wonder why I thought the internship was crap if I’m literally playing with crap!

Overall, I’m still not totally comfortable with the idea of the internship and the living with four strangers and the grocery-shopping, making dinner-for-one deal. Therefore, I still don’t think I can accurately speak on my feelings.

Are you tipsy, reader? Or just a bit buzzed?