I am in SUCH a foul mood. It’s the foulest of the foul moods of this week, and that is saying something.
I opened my e-mail at work, la-de-da, and saw a high priority message with my name and graduation in the subject line. Long story short: The graduation auditors wrote to tell me — one month to the day from graduation — that I don’t qualify for a degree in Political Science after all. The good news is that, provided I pass everything I’m in right now (which shouldn’t be a problem, unless my head actually does explode), I still get to graduate with my English degree. But. BUT! Seven years of college and the only major I’ve had the entire time was PoliSci, and now I’m 6 hours short of it. They aren’t even specific classes — I have every course I need to graduate, I just lack “residency” in the POLS department at KU. Again, had I known this TWO YEARS AGO when I first met with my adviser, I could have taken two class at ANY POINT in the interim. I can’t even appeal it, despite the fact that my adviser signed off on the degree certification and told me I’d be fine, TWICE, because there’s a disclaimer in the catalog that says Adviser Stupidity Will Not Get You Out of Meeting Requirements.
I am slowly moving between the first two Kepkanation approved stages of “grief”: Self-Pity and Blind Rage. I’m thinking I might go see a movie and then perhaps either take up kick boxing or face plant in some Coldstone Creamery ice cream, all of which seem like much more constructive ways of dealing with things than my first instinct, which rhymes with “irebombing.”