I actually finished my final final a week ago, but never really had the chance to post about it, since I was in the middle of catching up on freelance assignments and dealing with the Slate fiasco, which somehow managed to monopolize a week’s worth of my time. (I will never get those 96 hours back. Or you know, my reputation. Though the latter was already soiled anyway.) Then I left Friday morning for New York to visit my friend Adina, hang with the Urtak dudes, and to attend the lovely Feminist Blogger Summit hosted by Feministe’s Jill Filipovic. When I got back to Boston on Sunday afternoon, I basically went straight from my Boltbus to my kitchen to make dinner for my thesis adviser, since he was going to leave the next day for Africa. On Monday, I woke up and made brunch for my blockmate visiting town. And yesterday, the Roomie took off to Germany on a last-minute trip, so Hamlet and I are on our own until Friday.

It’s been kind of hectic around here. At least in my kitchen.

And somewhere in between finishing my thesis, finishing the Rethinking Virginity conference, and finishing my final papers and exams, my career managed to begin without me really noticing. I woke up today to an overflowing inbox that I’ve been checking only sporadically the past week, and surprisingly enough, only half are from guys who want photos of my toes. The rest are writing/blog-related. And there are like over 200 when I usually keep my inbox at a trim 50-60. I have totally entered Freelance Land and even though I’ve been here before (during my year off from Harvard), this time I’m here permanently. And all I can think is, “Um, what? How is this possible? Can’t I have some more time to savor blurry nights and pukey mornings?”

No, Lena. You really can’t.

I’m kind of tempted to engage in Senior Week activities and get shit-faced every night this week like most of the class of 2010, but then I remind myself that I already had one go at senior spring (last year when my original class graduated) and that it ended in me puking Indian food and contracting the bubonic plague in unrelated, but equally un-classy incidents. So this time around, I should probably stay in with Hamlet and get working on the bajillion assignments and pitches I’ve yet to write. Besides, though I’ve been freelancing as a side gig for years, this is only the second year that my freelance income will exceed the five-digit mark and actually constitute, well, an income. Which is, on one hand, fairly exciting, and on the other, really, really depressing.

I have a long way to go.