One of the opinion page editor's jobs during this time of year is to have all the seniors on The Daily Collegian's staff write an end-of-the-year diatribe about their experiences at Penn State.

It's one of the rare perks to putting out those unread words that surround the crossword puzzle at least half of you do during lecture - especially now that we only have two weeks left before finals.

Two weeks?!

Those two words struck me as I was looking at the calendar this weekend, realizing those rants would need to begin running in the paper -- umm, now.

Yup, that's right. The end of my last year here is somehow the present. I feel like it was just a few months ago that I was the fish-out-of-water freshman stuck with all the seniors in West Halls, and now I'm headed out to be another fish out of water in the real world.

Most of this semester has been spent trying to actually graduate on time, chasing a date far, far in the future and filling my "free time" with finding a job so the eight semesters spent in classes were actually worth something.

Well, I'd utter the phrase "mission accomplished," but we all know how that statement bites you in the ass.

So I'll just leave it to, "Yeah, it looks like I'm leaving."

And now that I finally have a breather from life to actually think about it, I've come to one very strange conclusion; one that everyone who knows me will chuckle from.

I'm at a loss for words.

With two weeks ahead of me helping others put into words how much they will miss -- or never look back on -- their times here at University Park, I have no words of my own.

Maybe it's because the reality hasn't had time to sink in.

I still can't imagine a time when I don't begin a day stumbling off the couch (I usually don't make it all the way to bed) and stagger up to Willard, being late for class because I just need to pick up that huge coffee from Uni-Mart.

I can't imagine when I won't end a day by meandering down my well-worn path along Beaver Avenue to friends' apartments, or to the bar, before finding myself again on my couch.

And in between all of that, I can't imagine not walking past the construction sites -- I mean, walking through campus -- to some dry lecture and then to my "other" job in the Penn State admissions office before making my way via Starbucks to this dark basement on Burrowes Street.

What will it mean for me as a person when this isn't my life in a nutshell? Considering all of this stupid-sounding stuff has made me who I am as a person today -- not a whole hell of a lot, actually.

One of the few things I remember before coming to Penn State was that I had this master plan for my four years here. I was going to get my degree, figure out some kind of an internship in between, then go back home to the people I had always known to split my time between writing hunting and fishing stories for statewide magazines and covering news for my local weekly newspaper.

Yeah, the psycho-liberal who puts together this opinion page you hate reading started out wanting to write about the wonders of firearm discharges in the early morning twilight.

I don't understand it either. I guess the sheltering of central Pennsylvania was undone by the people who were stuck here with me -- those who came to get out of the city and realized too late that it was a mistake.

But I do know one thing: Considering how much I've changed since I got here, it's safe to say that graduation is definitely not going to be the end of the road I began four years ago. My friends here are the most important I've ever had; every experience in the Collegian's office has shaped the journalist I will always be; the person I found within myself is someone who is not going away.

And none of these things are changing after graduation. They will simply continue.

So I guess that's really why I have no words for "the end." Because that day for me really is far, far from today.