Arriving Back On Campus
Finally. After way, way too long, you’re back with the squad, feeling good. No, feeling great. You are about to fucking crush this week like it’s never been crushed before. You’re well rested, tanned, summertime skinny, and are taking syllabus week by its dictionary definition: “class optional.” If you’re not so hungover every morning that walking the quarter mile to campus doesn’t sound as impossible as getting back together with your ex, you’re doing it wrong. The Gatorade has been purchased, the half-G’s acquired, and the mixer themes finalized. You’re giddy at the thought of being back with your sisters and finally being able to employ the Instagram captions you secretly have stored in a note on your phone. No effing way is Gretchen going to keep beating you in the likes department. New year, new Instagram aesthetic. You make plans to meet up with friends you haven’t seen in three months. You put on your perfectly planned outfit, and you hit the streets. As usual, you don’t meet up with anyone you meant to, you get way more drunk than you had originally planned, and you take more than a few tumbles. These bruises will only continue to multiply as you try to survive the remainder of the week.
The First Day After
You wake up wondering who sucked all of the water out of your body last night. Seriously, though. Your mouth is like the Sahara Desert, and your eyes are drier than month-old Domino’s left out on a hot day in Arizona. You reach for your phone and immediately turn the brightness down, but not before being partially blinded. You check the time and realize it’s only six in the morning. You try to fall asleep again, but it’s no use. Your body needs fluid and it needs it now. You slowly make your way downstairs, bringing your glass of water into your roommate’s room to recap the night. You make it through your day, even managing to look like some semblance of a functional human while grocery shopping. Before you know it, it’s time to do it all again. You assemble in the dining room to make a game plan, and the night quickly becomes a blur.
Through the haze of your hangover the next morning, you realize that your sisters are low-key kleptos, as you are now the proud owners of three new fraternity trophies. You take it in stride, thankful that you have finally found something to decorate the bare wall of your living room with. This is the day where you will inevitably realize just how low your tolerance has sunk over the summer. You tell anyone who will listen that you “want to literally die,” and raid your roommates’ closets for new outfits. Your group text will blow up as you try to decide when you want to start pre-gaming and who you want to invite over. Tonight, the shots go down a little rougher at first, but as you hear the opening lines of “Jordan Belfort” by Wes Walker, you come alive. You can’t let Jordan down, so you persevere. Miraculously, the squad remains intact for the majority of the night. There’s a lot of squealing, bathroom gossiping, and eventual public crying as the evening progresses. You want to act like you’re not totally basic, but you shoot down the Fireball and dance on the bar anyway. Girls will be girls, as they say.
The End Of Your Liver’s Journey
By Saturday, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. One of your roommates has a legitimate black eye, one attempted to invite both of her regular hookups over at the same time, and you haven’t seen the other one since Thursday. To say life is shambly would be an understatement. But, you’ve almost made it. You somehow find it in you to rally, and give your last night out the ol’ college try. Apparently you’re better at college tries than you thought, as you completely knock it out of the park. When you wake up the next morning, you see that the Instagram you posted on the guy’s phone you were hanging out with is raking in the likes. It’s inconclusive why you decided it was a good idea to post on his account without consulting him first, but you vaguely remember feeling that his Instagram game was weak. Not anymore, thanks to you. You’re ready to get your life back in order now that it’s Sunday. In other words, you avoid doing your homework by drinking smoothies and binge-watching Sex and the City. Whatever, you have fifty-one weeks to live in the library but you only have one to get Sylly..