Remember the girls in the middle are always the first to fall off.
As the clock blinks towards 9pm this Sunday night, I lament the ending of one of the best weekends of college, perhaps ever: The dust from a four-day affair is now landing. Wednesday night was the first time I drank for since the State of the Union. It was, however, the first time i've drank since before Christmas break. In a flow of reckless, wild actions i streamed back into non-varsity athletics college life.
The theme of this weekend was most definitely: irresponsibility.
It was irresponsibilty in its purest form, doing the things you can only do for four years of your life. It was running around campus in bras and underwear screaming in a blizzard, eating batches of cookies and tubs of cookie dough, drunken morning dance parties, throwing all garbadge right on the floor, vomiting, rallying, laughing, peeing outdoors, writing all over ourselves in permanent marker, living without a cell phone, moving into someone else's room without their permission and subsequently wearing their boxers. It was no work and all play, no worries about grades or calories or expectations or criticism. It had an animalistic quality of fufilling desires as they arose without deliberation or remorse. I can easily say that if CNN told us that a flaming comet was bound for the earth, that is how i would spend my final hours.
The consequences of such behavior (the comets not hitting, say whaaat?) are immense, namely hours of work to make up, meals to be skimped on and colds acquired. Now I have the feeling that beautiful unreality being snapped back into normalcy. All of college, however, is this feeling to some degree, the wild-lack-of-real-consequences freedom. You can only really feel that freedom if you embrace it and live it.