Third year, half way through, four months to go, spring break, turning 21, a summer, hopefully five weeks in Italy, and then September 2011. Four months, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, 2012. Four months, another spring break, turning 22, graduation. Then it's all over. Then move back home, get a job, find a gallery, live in my parents basement till I can move out. Save money, travel, live with B, downtown, close to her school, close to art. Go home on Sunday's for dinner, get lunch with either parent once in a while. Turn 23, apply to grad school for September, go somewhere in the summer, come back tanned. Start MA in art history, maybe museumology. Maybe York maybe U of T. Part time student, still working, at a gallery, in between. Be with my high school friends, get high school drunk, sleep with the high school crush, be single in the city, 23 and back at home. Finish MA two years later, 25. Go somewhere, maybe Holland, maybe England, hopefully New York. Find a bigger gallery, a better gallery. Stay for a couple of years until I decided if I want to teach or keep curating.
Or, on Monday at my meeting with the Associate Dean they could say no. They could say I fucked up one too many times and it's the last. They could kick me out, put a note on my record. 2 1/2 years of university and I will not be able to go to another one. Go to Collage start again, be a year behind, graduate at 23. Maybe in Ottawa, maybe somewhere else. Get depressed, loose motivation, take an extra semester, graduate at 24. My friends are working, doing their masters, I'm just getting my diploma.
The most expensive piece of paper you will ever pay for.
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