The Internet and I have been in a serious, committed relationship every since Al Gore invented it.

As a nerd of epic proportions, I’ve learned to tumble and to tweet, though neither of these things means what the words once intended.

I blog. Once I vlogged, but it was an overrated experience.  

One time, I tumbled about Twitter, and the world exploded.

We were both texting other people, ignoring each other’s company and a gorgeous day in favor of poorly spelled black words on a tiny white screen.

I had microwaved my dinner.

I had taken the bus, though I live only a mile from campus. I’d put on my headphones and ignored the birds.

I realized I was not playing an active role in my own life. I was the supporting actress in my movie, not the lead. 

In a few short weeks, I’ll be venturing into the proverbial real world, the same real world that leaves little time for the spontaneous trips to other states for which I’ve become known for.

It’s the same real world that won’t grant me “mental health days” to spend hours in my pajamas watching Jason Schwartzman films and eating soup.

I must now make an exceptional effort to not float through life, treating each day merely as a preamble to the next.

I must eliminate the phrase, “Almost the weekend!” from my vocabulary.

For the last four and a half years of complete and utter misery, I’ve seen college as the part of my life I must truck through to get to start living.

But what next? Do I work at a job I hate in a town where I’m bored until I retire? And then, maybe, I could take that trip to Prague I’ve always wanted.

My mental and physical well being suffered for four and a half years because I thought college was just what you did after high school.

I watched my friends who did not go to college travel the world, create art and become successful musicians.

I watched them living the dream, while I sat in my literature classes and read about people doing the same.

So now, tens of thousands of dollars and several mental breakdowns later, I’ve got a lousy piece of paper that says, somehow, I’m more qualified for a big girl job than my degree-less friend who spent six months alone in a country she’d never been to.

It discounts the life experience of everyone who lacks that piece of paper.

I could give you advice out the wazoo. Thank your bus driver, call your mom.  Learn to change a flat and drive a stick shift. Laugh until you cry at least once a day.

But all I really want to say is drop out of school if you want to.

Open a bakery. Marry the love of your life. Design your own video game. Catch a ball at a baseball game. Start an organic farm. Start your own publicity firm.

See the lighthouses of the world.

You can always come back to school later.

Stop suffering. Start living.

I, for one, refuse to judge success in four-year increments.

Goodbye, Appalachian.

I’m off. And I’m not updating my Facebook status about it.

Allison Casey, a senior English major from Raleigh, is the lifestyles editor.

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