I woke up to Chrissy giggling,
“The water is for you. I thought you might need it…”
I sat up on the futon cautiously, grabbed for the Styrofoam cup and started taking stock of my surroundings. I’m in a sororities’ basement. I’m wearing a red onesie. I have to be at work in 25 minutes. Chrissy and Chelsea go back to eating they’re cereal as I test my balance—not too bad.
“Great start to the semester, huh?” (It’s the first morning of classes)
They’re laughing at me as I attempt to put on my moccasins. I was at a pajama themed party last night and clearly had a good time. After digging my phone from the recesses of the futon, I move to leave.
“I’ll take the back stairwell,” I say, knowing I’m not allowed to be in the house in first place. Chrissy opens her bedroom door and I walk right into the house’s maid.
“Well, that’s quite the outfit.” She laughs and I think wonder how many men she sees sneaking away in the morning like this. It’s probably more than she’ll admit I climb the back stairs and get outside—it’s rainy, of course it’s raining.
As I match across the quad, more presentable people walking to their first classes of the semester surround me. The spectacle of me seems to be brightening their mornings and I put a little strut into my drunken stumble—I’ve never been a believer in looking shameful on a walk of shame; even if I am wearing an adult onesie and no coat at 8am in January.
One bagel, sweatshirt, and spray of cologne later I slid into work. The five-minute walk is just another perk of an easy on-campus job. Today I have to do a lot of filing and I transition from still-drunk to hungover in the copy room. Alphabetical order is far out of my grasp today. I log my shift in zombie mode and then land some grub. Luckily some pledges are in the cafeteria and they recount their nights for me; throwing in a few things that I did but have forgotten. God, I love having pledges.
My first class came at 2:25 and I slunk in promptly at 2:30, I’m not making great impressions today. This teacher obeys the unwritten rule of Syllabus Week and after discussing his packet we get to leave. My second class unfortunately didn’t follow those guidelines—as my professor opened by speaking in Olde English and recommending the driest looking textbooks I’ll never open. Eventually, he put in a documentary giving me a chance to grab some shuteye; resistance was futile.
Starting classes today is weird, to say the least. It is my last semester. I have 116 days of college left and it feels like an expiration date. Having such a rocky/hilarious/misguided first day freshman year would have completely capsized my week, but college has taught me nothing if not how to make due with what I’m dealt. I absolutely love this place and for some reason my mind had committed to the idea that the only way to be completely reverent to my last days is to be as crazy as possible. I don’t think this will be my last fun night turned rough morning.
Onward and ?ward 