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.
Do you hear that? That’s the sound of credit cards being swiped. That’s the sound of flowers, jewelry and chocolates being bought in excess.
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.
Dear Mr. Poe, There I was, feeling like a new woman as I supped in the Newcomb dining hall, when I realized I was 10 meal swipes down and had 10 extra pounds to show for it.
Katelyn Year: Fourth Hometown: Onancock, Va Major: Environmental Sciences U.Va. Involvement: American-Indian Student Union, Alpha Chi Omega, Environmental Sciences Organization Ideal date (person): Ethnic of any brown sort (Indian/black/Hispanic/Egyptian/Persian/etc.) I like outgoing, weird, funny people. Ideal date (activity): Food is always good, though I’m also into live music shows and sporting events. Deal breakers: Social conservatives, or anyone shorter than I am. Describe a typical weekend: Friends, drinking, bars, probably a concert at the Jefferson or somewhere.
1. Complain about the cold: Now that January is behind us and spring has an official start date, it’s okay to complain about how cold it is.
With the greenhouse-turned-dining-hall N2 no longer obscuring Peabody Hall, a mass exodus back into the second floor of Newcomb Hall has begun.
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.
As fourth-years get closer and closer to D-Day — or Final Exercises, whichever you prefer — figuring out what you’re going after May 20 becomes increasingly daunting.
Taking only 12 credits this semester — only one of which has mandatory attendance — means that I have more free time than ever.
Laura Year: First Hometown: Toronto, Canada University Involvement: Women’s Rowing, Intramural Lacrosse, Sustainability U.Va., Monroe Society and Environmental Sciences Organization Ideal date (person): Tall, good smile, fun loving, adventurous and charming. Ideal date (activity): An evening bonfire outside where we cook our own food and joke around.
1. Going to the gym: Walking into the AFC the first week of school may as well have been a party on Rugby.
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.
When we returned from winter break to find there was a new taco joint in town, we were elated. Especially when we realized it had replaced Big Dawgz, as we both hate hot dogs and thought of the yellow sign as more of an eyesore than an enticement.
