When it comes to being the youngest of four siblings, there are just some ways your development is going to be affected, albeit subconsciously, and you’d never know it.
This past Wednesday, I did something I haven’t done in a long, long time. Apologies to my professors, teaching assistants and GPA, but sadly this “something” doesn’t involve doing all of my assigned readings before class.
If you’re like me, you’ve spent much of your college career clocking hours in class or in the library, learning about everything from media theory to the formula for compounding interest.
Have you ever found yourself standing in a familiar setting, taking in all of the usual stimuli, only to suddenly realize how utterly absurd everything is?
A friend came by the other day and started talking to my sister about her columns. “Do you take criticism?” he asked.
Anticipation. Merriam-Webster defines it as “the act of looking forward, especially to a pleasurable expectation.” It’s the waiting period before a song’s beat drops, or the upward climb on a huge roller coaster.
I’ve never written a bucket list, as the whole thing seems kind of grim to me. That being said, there are certainly some things I want to accomplish.
It’s safe to say this has been a politically charged year at the University. Before we even set foot on Grounds, students and faculty alike took up arms to defend the name and position of University President Teresa Sullivan.
The other day, I found myself having a conversation with my roommates about television shows from our childhood.
I’m making a calendar today. A calendar of events, in which I map out my remaining months, weeks, days and hours — time I will spend at the coffee shop or the library or the small wicker desk pushed up against the wall in my oblong bedroom. I almost had a miniature panic attack last night as I lay in bed thinking about what my calendar would look like, but then I remembered that panic attacks wouldn’t fit into my weekly event lineup, so I quelled the urge to scream.
I’ve come to terms with having a complete mental breakdown roughly three times a semester. It’s practically a ritual now, where everything suddenly piles up and engulfs me, dragging me to the bottom of a lake of self-pity. To the general annoyance of my friends and neighbors, I find myself holed up in my room, eating tubs of raw cookie dough and watching reruns of television shows, attempting to convince myself that by not doing anything, I am, in fact, helping myself.
During syllabus week of a psychology class first year, the professor said something that has since implanted itself in my regular thoughts.
This past Saturday was my last Boys’ Bid Night. On one hand, it was sad to reminded of how fleeting my opportunities to wear neon workout clothes and run all over Rugby Road while buzzed off cheap liquor are.
Taking only 12 credits this semester — only one of which has mandatory attendance — means that I have more free time than ever.
I walked into El Jaripeo for a causal Sunday dinner with my roommate this weekend, and I suddenly found myself at what appeared to be headquarters for sorority life.
I love lists. I have lists for my lists. I don’t think I could navigate a day if I didn’t lay out my plans for it.
In a blitz of mixed emotions this weekend, my roommates convinced me to get my ears pierced. If I’m being honest, it was inspired more than a little bit by the “Fourth year don’t care” mentality permeating every aspect of my life as I sit on the cusp of “growing up” – because let’s face it, I’m still dependent on my parents for more than just tax forms.
Sometimes when I sit down to write a column, I have so much to say that the words just flow onto the page as smooth as butter.
I really wish I could think of something non-Greek to write about. I can feel myself slowly becoming Cady Heron from “Mean Girls” — except instead of constantly word-vomiting about how if Regina George cut off her hair she’d look like a British man, I can’t shut up about how I don’t need to cut off all my hair because my new sisters introduced me to “hot curlers” and it’s going to change my entire frizzy life.
Like many of us, I was so ready to leave my hometown when I graduated high school. I couldn’t wait to go somewhere where nobody knew me and take the opportunity to start over completely.
