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The bachelorette wants her Bachelor.

The first time I opened the maroon leather-bound book, I felt as if Reality, with a heavy iron-laden fist, just punched me in the face. Then in the gut. I think it left my nose bleeding for a while.

Andee and I spent a good part of our morning at the library, looking through several Creative Writing undergraduate theses to give us an idea on how to begin our critical essays. While our list of possible sources and related literature is yet to be completed, another cause of panic came by in the form of a presentation of the introduction for our essays on Friday. In a mad scramble for sources, I downloaded every related article I could possibly get from the literary journals I found online at the library (thank the literary gods for UP's access to Project Muse!) - which left me at a loss with where to start, and even how. Andee and I figured that at least, by looking at how previous CW undergrads did their work, we could probably get a head start on our own as well.

And what an ignition that was.

I opened the first page and there it was, sprawled out for my eyes to see: the words "In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing." Goosebumps on my cheeks, through my neck and down my back. All I could think of was, I can't believe this is almost happening. I leafed through the pages of the thesis one by one, and as I saw for myself the letter of affirmation from the adviser, the table of contents, the abstract, for a moment I felt a sense of hesitation, then fear, and finally excitement. This is it. We are so close. Soon, I shall have my own collection of essays encased in a divine maroon cover, with my name emblazoned in gold letters. Shivers. I felt reality knocking me out pretty heavily.

I can still feel blood dripping down my nose. Is this how you taste like, Senioritis?


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