“I’m embarrassed for myself,” admitted Hester Corduroy. “Even now, I feel like I’m half present — some part of me is looking on in complete disgust as I continue to tarnish my own memory so close to the end. And God am I so close to the end.”

Corduroy, knowing that she is about to graduate, has elected not to leave gracefully and allow others to look back on her with fond memories. She has instead, in her own words, chosen “to not gently go into that good night. Wait, shit, goddamn — it’s ‘to not go gently into that good night.’ That’s how the poem goes. Fuck.”

Corduroy continued, “At this very moment, I’m hearing a voice in my head actively screaming out in complete anguish. I currently can’t hear in my left ear. I could’ve been respected. I could’ve cut my losses and reveled in the joy of finally being done with university. But no — I can’t let go. This is an objectively stale ending. My story ends with a whimper, not a bang. Wait —”