So I started college at a pretty hoitytoity, southern, liberal arts school after having spent four years at a counter-culture, crazy, liberal arts high school. Very different in many ways, but still, the feel was similar in a way; both schools were small, tight-knit communities and only about three miles away from one another.

What I loved about high school was the unique environment for learning with students who really wanted to be at school every day. What I loved about college was living on campus and getting to make my own schedule. I got lucky with my potluck roommate, who among other lovely character traits, allowed me to rearrange the furniture in our room on a monthly basis and helped me make friends with people I was too shy to talk to on my own.

Once I was relaxed around all these fun new friends, I have to admit we had a lotof fun. We spent a lot of time drawing with crayons and colored pencils, studying and/or not studying, talking on AIM, trying on each others’ clothes, fixing each others’ hair, watching chick-flicks, driving to and dining at Waffle House and Krispy Kreme, and in general wasting time. From what I understand, the other girls stayed up all night on multiple occasions while I wimped out and was in bed before midnight. But there was one night where I joined in the fun and have regretted missing out on all the other all-nighters ever since. That was fun.

That evening was a conglomeration of all the things I loved about college, most of which I mentioned above, with a dash of procrastination and a good deal of delusional humor. I even wrote a paper (due the next day – the final for a composition class, actually) commemorating the event. My one and only all-nighter. {And Mom, to satisfy your curiousity, I can honestly say that there was no alcohol at all involved in that evening. We were far too used to having our drinks provided for free on frat row to spend our own money to illegally obtain anything otherwise.}

I am fairly certain I would have gotten an A on that paper had my teacher actually taken the time to read it. Instead, he gave me an A in the class, citing my excellent papers up to that point. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t read it. I tend to incriminate myself when I do personal writing…

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