The Last Day Before the End of the World. The end of the world, being of course, the end of my world, the beginning of the rest of my life. It's my long goodbye, the sunset of my life, me and Ronald Reagan. I'm nervous, I'm more scared the closer it gets to the time the alarm is set for, and I'm excited, but I'm also feeling nothing. I've had a week to prepare myself for tomorrow morning, no I've had years to prepare. But alas, I have prepared nothing. I haven't prepared myself for my first rail trip to Union Station for this kind of purpose: my job. When it happens, when I exit on Adams Street, it will somehow feel different from the myriad times it has happened before, and I will notice it and pin it into the scrapbook of my existence in my mind. I will make a note in the record, so that someday when someone takes the book off the shelf, it will be there, brimming with all the mixed-up feelings of staring down the barrel of the gun of the rest of your life. I will not have this job forever, I know, and I may not stay with this company, building, career path for very long in the large of it, but it still is the first day of the rest of my life, however cliched that is. It is cliched because it is so very real and common. I worry I will be no good at what I am charged to do, that I will be a handicap rather than a help. It is a menial, entry-level job, one that monkeys, if trained properly and teased with a boatload of bananas could do efficiently. But I feel that it is the start of something big for me, something interesting and different, with promise and uncertainty only ahead. This whole summer has kind of felt like I've been on pause. I graduated with no plans, nothing concrete, only abstract, ideas that sounded romantic at first but unrealistic in the details. For me, anyway. I had competing interests, and I had no idea which way to turn; I rejected any guidance and pushed off making any decisions. I prefer things to work themselves out on their own, for better or for worse. Does that make me weak? Perhaps.