Whoopdedangdo, commencement is back on campus. The student body rejoices. Shipman is back to shaking hands and kissing babies. Soon-to-be graduating seniors are tripping over themselves to thank the Columbia administration as the University spins the narrative into a beautiful, romantic reconciliation between a bigshot city-dwelling girl that’s lost perspective (the University wanting to abandon tradition to accommodate their manufactured safety issues) and a big hearted small town boy with an appreciation for the little things (the entirety of the Class of 2026 taking up torches and pitchforks).
Am I going crazy? If it was so easy to get all the credit of fixing my own mistakes after fucking up majorly, I would’ve done it ages ago!
