Changing Majors

All throughout childhood I was under the impression that everyone thinks in pictures.
As I grew older, I learned that most people are not as visual as I am. When something happens they don’t record it with a series of images in their minds, and they certainly don’t turn in papers with cartoons up and down the margins.
Most students are probably capable of listening without simotaniously sketching the professor behind his or her podium.

Whenever I hear stories, I visualize them happening.
If a friend is telling me a story, I imagine every intricate detail of the setting and the characters. Its like making a movie in my head.
If I don’t know these things based on content, I simply make them up.

I think this must be the reason I was always so interested in history.
Even in high school during lectures I would hear about an event, and I would visualize the story. There were real people, who were likable, who had families, and values and beliefs. They had fears, and hopes and dreams, and they interacted with one another. And they were characters in this greater story. They fought in the American revolution, they snuck alcohol down from Canada during prohibition, and they stood up for civil rights in the 1960’s.
The human story is absolutely intreaging.

But History is really quite paradoxical.

(Or I should say, the progress of history is really quite paradoxical.)

Even though Barak Obama is our president, simotaniously, racial tensions and boundaries chop up our public school systems, our cities, and our neighborhoods.
While on this side of the world we are concerned with the newest iphone, on the other side of the globe people are dying from starvation.

Human history is so expansive, it seems impossible to fully comprehend every subplot to the larger story.

But I love it.

When I first came to WT, I was a social work major.
For one of the introduction classes, I had to put in 15 hours of community service in a semester. I chose to work at a local nursing home, shadowing and helping the on-site social worker.
One of my first jobs was to go get to know the residents of the nursing home.

So I would go sit with the elderly and just talk to them.
Though I learned a lot about social work during my hours there, I feel I learned much more by listening to those people’s stories.

Some of them lived through WWII and were so poor their parents made clothes for them using burlap sacks.
Others were living on farms during the dust bowl, and they described the black sky, and the barren fields.
One man even fought in the second world war, and after bringing him coffee every day I’d earned the right to hear about his platoon’s involvment overseas.

Those were real people.
And real stories.

So, now I’m a history major seeking certification to teach high school.
I’ve only just begun my junior year, so I’ve only scraped the surface of the WT history department, but so far I like what I see.

Hopefully, after two more years hanging around the fourth floor of Old Main I’ll leave this place not only with the knowledge of the human story and how to write about it, but I’ll leave here and contribute to it.

And in the mean time, I’m sorry about all the drawing in class.

A West Texas Win

Football season is great.
No, I don’t really love football that much, but I do like it.
I’ll wander in and out while the boys are watching the game, and help myself to some chips and queso, or whatever. I’m not going to paint “cowboys” across my face, but I do enjoy a nice blitz.

Speaking of football…
Last night the WT football team traveled to the middle of nowhere, just past yander “biggest cross of the midwest”, to Weatherford, Oklahoma.
Not because we’re die-hard face-painters, or incapable of filling a Saturday night, but because me and my friends love road trips, football players and gas station food we lived the dream, and followed the team.
So far this season the buffs have had it pretty rough, and we were 0-3 walking into their stadium.
Its almost as if the Coach Carthel generation doesn’t know what to do with losses. Ever since he arrived in 2005 wearing his little maroon baseball cap, and his radio head-set, Coach Carthel has been pulling in countless victories. My freshmen year of college the buff football team went 11-0. It was beautiful.
But true fans are not fair-weather fans. We’re there for every game regardless of where the zero is placed in our record, just like Carthel’s once-maroon, but now kinda pink coachin’ hat.

But with our support, the buffs got rid of their zero last night.

It was a slaughter of epic proportions. The score at half time was 31 nothing the buffs, and though we gave up a touch down or two somewhere in or around the third quarter, the final numbers were buffs 40-something, and Southwestern Oklahoma State University 15.

All strings of the buffalo football team saw some field time, which is actually great news for me. That means that I can throw a “good game” to virtually any footballer and pretty much guarantee plans for next weekend, too!

Cheers for a needed victory, and for having classes and future dates with the West Texas A&M football boys!

Reflections.

Another year has come and gone, and I’m 30 some odd credit hours closer to a completed degree plan. I left Canyon this week, leaving many of my friends behind for the summer, to come back to Dallas and do an internship. It was a miserable drive, but I got to reflect a lot on my semester. 

I really did learn a lot at WT in the past two semesters.
Dr. Bruce Braisington is accountable for most of what I learned in the classroom setting. His class was by far the most challenging, and most enjoyable I’ve ever had. I’d recommend him for anyone who wants to understand history, but probably not for the faint of heart. 

But I think most of the things I learned in the 2008 / 2009 school year were actually not from a classroom. 
So I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a small list of just a few of the things I’ve come to understand….

=Amarillo’s Vince’s Pizza Challenge is better in theory than actual execution. 
=It is possible to make someone laugh so hard that they throw up.
=Dance parties make dorm rooms smell like feet. 
=Dance parties are still worth it, just plug in an air freshener.
=Take as many road trips as you can. Destination isn’t as important as company. 
=Ribbon dancing is a perfectly exceptional way to spend a Thursday night.  
=If you ghost ride the whip, your car will be rockin some sweet dents on the roof. 
=Drive-in Theaters are a perfect excuse to munch on a turkey leg, and watch a movie in the bed of a truck.  
=Any video left on your facebook wall after 3 am will make you stupider.
= There is no shame in procrastinating bad enough to pull an all-nighter. 
= The closing music in the Library will only scare you if you let it. 
=Popsicles are best when actually frozen.
 =Study parties only work with people who actually study.
=You Shouldn’t eat seafood in a town 18 miles from the ocean.  
=In a community bathroom, whatever you do will be recognized by the community.
= If an idea sounds like it’ll end badly, it probably will….
=Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should…..

It was a good year. I walk away with many more stories and a little more knowledge than I began with. 
Cheers, WT, see you in the fall.

Errands and Epiphanies

“The American Dream”

I could see the gray expanse of suburban Dallas stretching all the way to the smoggy horizon. The sun had just set, from what I could tell from just beyond the bent tip of the airplane wing. 
I’d been buried in my book for most of the flight, but was pleased to be distracted by an announcement of descent and a view of downtown Dallas through the port hole. 

But it wasn’t long after stepping foot into the terminal before I was in a sea of people. Computers laid open on every lap over the age of 19, and iPods were shoved in every ear younger. Children hung on the legs of their parents who were vigorously checking their blackberries, and flight attendants were sneaking a chat on their cell phones to check in with hubby two or three cities away.
Baggage claim was a breeze, and soon their after I sat upon my suitcase in the metroplex twilight looking up at the unusually smoggy sky while I waited for my ride to get there so I could be carted off to Carrollton. 

The last time I’d visited home had been for Christmas, so it was a nice suprise to not only visit but to fly in.
My house smells the same, but my nephew is taller.

The next morning my family’s life went on as usual. At eight-thirty a.m., the house had already emptied out and everyone was off to their various forms of work. I had my mother’s car at my disposal, and a list of errands to run while in the city. I lounged in the quiet for some time, and then went to the bank, to see a few old friends,to get some lunch (and a stomach ache) at a Chinese super buffet, and to the Apple store in Willowbend mall.

I parked in the first garage I saw, in between a Lexis and a H2 Hummer. 
I took to noticing all the cars and guessing how much each one cost, then trying to add the total money in my head, but once I got to the millions, I couldn’t keep up with all the zeros and gave up as I pushed the glass door into the foyer. 

Turns out I parked outside of Neiman Marcus, and I entered the store near the fine jewlry section. I took note of a headless manikin wearing a necklace worth more than my college career, and decided that to be my scarecrow to find my car later. 
Two women who smelled like over-priced perfume looked down their noses at me as I passed their counter of shiny rock rings I have no interest in. 
Three different women in the make-up section offered the prim, young girl next to me samples of their finest goop, and ignored my presence, surely, because of my outrageous choice of shoe wear, (toms). 
I shrugged at someone’s bored husband, and acknowledged his sacrifice of purse holding near on of the glass counters by the entrance to the mall, and was glad to get into the hallway. 

In the Apple store children begged their parents for the biggest iPod. 
“I don’t have enough space,” one little boy cried, “The iPod you gave me for Christmas is black, and I want a white one, that’s got more gigs.” 
Adults huddled around iPhones like newborns, ooh-ing and aw-ing and stroking the screens like little baby noses. 

There were so many people in there I never got help enough from anyone to even ask the question I’d initially shown up for, and ended up leaving just to get out of the mall. 
Something about the recirculated air, the extravagant spending, and the Chinese super buffet were making my stomach churn. 

Why. 
All.
The.
Stuff. 

Cause it’s the American Dream. 

People get an education. 
To get a job.
The job is to save money. 
To be able to live but make enough
To buy the stuff. 

But the stuff will break. 
The cool thing will no longer be cool. 
(digipets, pokemon cards, cassett tapes, polo shirts, doc martins, jnco jeans, and full house hair cuts.) 
The ipod will break, the music will get over played, old, and out of date. 
The computer will get a virus.
The phone will get dropped in the toilet….

Buying all these things for happiness….won’t work. 
(90% of people who have all the things, the cars, the bling, the house, the entertainment center, the media room, the computer stuff, the swimming pool, and the dog named Rex, are living extravagantly in extravagant debt. )

I’m not sure how much of this American Dream I buy into. 

If THINGS and our LIST of TO-DO’s replace PEOPLE and RELATIONSHIPS we’ll all be empty shells. 
The American dream feeds us materialism…consumer economy…debt….and lies about what success looks like. Is the richest man most successful? Is the man with the biggest house who we aspire to be? But life is about more than things…

What would it look like if our education was used to relate to others–
our things were used as tools to help one another–
our extravagant life styles weren’t worth more than a human relationship…
We valued each other more than stuff…. 

The American Dream just isn’t for me.

From Sea to Shining Snow

For Spring Break this year I participated in a mission trip to South Padre Island called “Beach Reach.” It was actually started in 1980 by a professor here at W.T. named Buddy Young, a rather infamous Baptist Minister in charge of the Baptist Student Ministry here on Campus. This was the 30th spring break for Beach Reach, and my second excursion to the South.

And quite a Spring Break it was.
I wish I could sum it up in full, but just for a general idea, about 500 college students from across the nation, including about 150 from the Panhandle of Texas (students of W.T. and Amarillo College) load up and head to South Padre Island to give free van rides and breakfast to party-goers. It was an incredible oppertunity to serve the Spring Breakers, and to really live out the love that Christians always talk about having.
In addition to getting to know people from across the country, and serve along-side my peers from West Texas, I also got a remarkable tan.

It was actually sort of strange to come home to Canyon.

Friday March 2oth I was standing knee deep in the Gulf of Mexico, waves crashing into the middle of me. I could taste the salt of the ocean, and feel the sun coat my back and arms like a soft, fleece snuggie. My hair was pulled back, and my tank top left a white shadow of itself, pefectly outlined by the South Padre sun.

Friday March 27th, I was diving off of back-yard fences into eight foot snow drifts, digging tunnels like a snow-gopher, and sliding down snow hills on cardboard boxes bundled beneath layers and layers of long johns, thermal tees and ski jackets.

A freak-post-spring-break blizzard engulfed my college town this weekend, and we were delightfully suprised with a campus-shut-down snow day.

I managed to gather 15 of my closest friends by noon and we were all carrying cardboard make-shift sleds to the hill behind Walmart.  I do say this though, my tan was even more remarkable against the fluffy white powder backdrop.

It was quite literally one of the greatest weekends of my life.

My friends and I were all excused from our obligations due to the snow, and we got to play for seven plus hours making snow tunnels, summer saulting, sliding on ice patches, assulting cars, peers and strangers with snowballs, going on long walks, making snow-ice-cream, snow-men, and snow-angels outside of Old Main. We plummetted down the hill behind Walmart on our cardboard sleds, attempted two-man summer salts, made s’mores on a chimineah and watched the snow coat everything and everyone well into the ungodly early hours of Saturday morning.

It was absolutely majestic.
I’m blown away by God’s creation.
To go from holding my breath and being tossed about by the strength of ocean waves, to being overtaken by icy-chills on a midnight walk through the feilds of perfect white snow can only be attributed to how Great a Creator I live to serve.

It was epic.
Just how epic? Perhaps the photos below will help explain…

Here is me and some other ladies from WT being pretty on the beach. (If this picture doesn’t get us husbands, I don’t know what will.)

This was on the hill behind Walmart, shortly after “Hungry” John and I attempted a two-person summersalt. I’m in the green and blue boots. My head is being squished.

From Sea to Snow, my buddies at West Texas A&M are for sure the best around.
Here’s to living the dream with ya’ll.

Cheers.

Why I Love Living On Campus…

People often wonder what it is I do for fun when you live in a town 20 miles South of Amarillo. 
My friends from the metroplex made fun of me when I declared my destination of Canyon for college.
Of course what they didn’t keep in mind was that Canyon, small as it may be, is a college town, and there are always students around waiting to hang out and make memories. 

 Most of the fun to be had I’ve found in Residental Living. The dorms have always been a great outlet for networking, meeting people and having a good time. 
I’m the R.A. on the third floor of Ruth Cross Hall, and I love going to great lengths to get everyone out into the lobby together for one reason or another, be it games or otherwise. 
This semester we discovered a Karaoke video game that has resulted in some sick singing sessions, and the making of some music videos to be premiered on facebook, soon. Usually we’re dressed up in costume, per my dress up bucket. 
The programs have likewise been pretty rocking! The third floor lobby recently got a make over made up of butcher paper and spray paint. Below is a picture of the Cross Hall Resident’s creations during the “Learn to Spray Paint” program this month. 

 I often wonder what students do for fun when they’re not on campus. Sit and watch movies in their apartments I would assume. They also have to drive to campus to go to class every day!
I really cannot imagine living that way–I think on campus is the way to go!
Another great example of the fun to be had on campus is captured in the photo below.

This is a picture of a Rave party I threw to celebrate a fellow R.A.’s twentieth birthday! We set up multiple strobe lights, and black lights, and we had all the attendees “Bring Your Own Glow.”
The Cascada Remix of Skater Boy was a favorite of the Cross and Jones Hall Freshmen who attended this party.
Though our legs were very sore from dancing the night away, I’m proud to say we successfully made on-campus living a rave!

(Special Props go out to Dallas Bass for DJing the ordeal! )

Crossing Maple Avenue

Thanksgiving morning I woke up to my older brother, Micah, accidently wandering into the room I was sleeping in, shocked at my ability to sleep until ten in the morning. I tried to simply roll over and ignore the holidays, but the aroma of homemade cinnimon rolls and cranberry bread forced me out of bed as I wandered the twenty paces to the kitchen in a sleepy daze. 

This was going to be the first Thanksgiving my entire family was going to share together in two years. Not only that, but the Green family was also going to be coming over to our house, for the annual Martinkus-Green holiday extravaganza. These were all things that I didn’t totally think about as I picked away the crust of my cranberry bread and drank my orange juice. The preparations seemed to be finished for our mid-day meal and the excitement was winding down.
“When are the Greens getting here?” I asked my mom.
“Well, I’d say you’ve got about three hours,” she responded.
It was about then that my brother piped in, “Abbey, do you want to go for a quick run before lunch? I’ll show you a sweet park near downtown, and we can explore it!” 

Though I do not run, ever, I thought that the idea of exploring an unknown place sounded exciting and before I knew it I was promising my mom we’d be back before one, and pulling out of the driveway in a little red truck. We sang to the oldies station at the top of our lungs as we barreled down the interstate the twenty or so miles it takes to get to Dallas from Carrollton where I live. 

The park was absolutely gorgeous. The trees were just beginning to change, and the colors were extravagant. The oranges, reds, purples, greens, and yellows hung over our heads as we ran through the the lush fields that ran alongside a rocky creek. It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, and though it was in the heart of the city, it was like an oasis of peace and quiet. It was like a dream, neither hot nor cold, and not a soul around. Stone stairways climbed rolling hills, and forgotten formations of rock were hidden behind overgrown areas of greenery.

An hour later we found ourselves climbing back into the little red truck to leave, but instead of turning left and going back to the interstate, Micah said he wanted to show me something else, and we turned right into Turtle Creek and Highland Park. We drove atop brick streets looking at mansions that had fountains in the front yard, statues to welcome their guests, guard towers, stone archways, and marble driveways that mocked the cement sidewalks outcasted by their towering iron rod fences. 
But as we traveled down Maple avenue something strange happened…
 
“This is the line between the richest of the rich, and the poorest of the poor,” Micah said.

Quite literally on the left side of the street was a massive empire built by capitalism, and on the right stood what we can spare through the hands of welfare. Highland Park Mansions on the left, Maple avenue projects on the right.
A group of kids standing around with no shoes on stood on the right side of the street while a man watered his perfectly kept lawn on the left. Uptown lofts leasing for between one and two grand a month on the left, and on the right side a group gathers around a dumpster digging for who knows what, and in the middle, our little red truck, driving so metaphorically between the two.

We got back to my house before one o’clock and the Greens had already arrived, along with my brother-in-law, and a few friends of mine from college. Though Thanksgiving used to be a formal affair in my younger days, now we just pull out the plastic cups and plates and have at it buffet style and sprawl out all over the house. We loaded plate after plate full of food, and refilled soli cup after cup with Dr. Pepper as we told stories, and enjoyed one another’s company. After lunch we played our annual culs-de-sac game of football out n the front yard, and my team took home the Martinkus-Green Heisman, and bragging rights for the coming year. 
All the while my mind kept wandering back to those kids in the projects who had so little, and who live in the shadow of mansions. 

As if on cue, when we went back in the house after our two-touch game, my brother asked me if I wanted to put together some plates of food for the homeless, and go give them out.
“Absolutely.”

So Micah and I went into the kitchen and started to put together plates, and we caught the attention of everyone else. Matt, Philip, Gonzo, and Sam all decided that they wanted to go too, and so each of us towered a plate high with as much food as it could hold, grabbed a water bottle, bagged up some cookies, and borrowed the keys to Mrs. Green’s van. 

Before you knew it the six of us were on a homeless hunt in a Mazda mpv. To the untrained eye it might’ve looked like we were a bunch of teenagers trying to score some drugs in the hood, but quite the contrary we were a mini-van on a mission to feed the hungry.

After driving up and down ally ways, under bridges, and all up and down the more ghetto part of loop twelve we ended up meeting three men, Shelton, Eddie G. and ‘The Rabbit.” We stumbled upon a homeless camp tucked away in the woods behind a strip mall, and gave them some food.

It was a very solemn, sweet time. No one really said much as we watched the hood turn back into suburbia on Northbound I35. I just kind of reflected on life and thought about the real meaning of thanksgiving. I thought about how we typically eat our Thanksgiving meal, and surround ourselves with those who love us and don’t take a moment to love others. And how we rejoice in all of our blessings without sharing even a bit of it. It was a real eye opening time that I find hard to put into words. I think that it’s best explained by the metaphor of Maple Avenue.

Who’s going to cross the street ? 

My older brother said to me when we got home that night, “We may not be the salvation army, but I think we should all give all we can.”
I think that’s the real Thanksgiving. 

The Giving part, more than just the Thanks.

My Bad

Last night I had an epic bicycle wreck.
We were leaving the caf, and a group of us were going to head back to Ruth Cross Hall to hang out for the evening, but when we all jumped in the back of my friend’s truck, someone pointed out that I’d ridden my bike, and I probably shouldn’t leave it behind like a forgotten step child.
I agreed, and went to go unlock it, but halfway through the combination I was challened to a race.

Being the youngest of three kids growing up, I was raised with a sense of pride to protect, and when presented with a challenge such as a race, I have no choice but to accept.

By the time I was on my bike they were starting to “unparallel” the truck from it’s spot in front of Buff Hall. But it didn’t take me long to shoot out from in between two cars and cut them off in the middle of the street. I was biking as fast as I could, pumping the pedals, my legs were hurting, my heart was beating, the chain spinning as I went faster, faster faster…
I glanced over my left shoulder to judge my lead, and saw that I had two or three car lengths on them.

Victoriously I took the corner from in front of the library towards Ruth’s finish line…

Patch of gravel.
Wobble…Wobble.
Lost it.
The bike shot out from under me, the left pedal touched the ground and I had a rather epic booty slide of about ten feet.
I turned around in time to see the truck come to a halt, and all my friends absolutely lose it with laughter.

Shamefully I picked my bike up off the ground and finished my shame ride past a few awe filled strangers, locked up the beast to a railing out front and self assessed my injuries. Aside from a slightly brusied left foot and a small rasberry the only real casualty was my favorite pair of jeans. The back pocket was quite literally torn apart, and could flap around like a little flag.
A butt flag.
A butt flag waved proudly from beneath my sweater as if to draw everyone’s attention to my wipe out.
That flag will continue to wave around WT campus as I refuse to retire my favorite pair of jeans, and as I take up a new hobby of walking.

An Election To Remember…

As most college students know facebook is a staple of our college community. Most 18-24 year olds would probably admit to checking their facebook before regular emails, or work-related sites. This social networking is a powerful thing, and when combined with something as explosive as Presidential Elections, it can be catastrophic….

The world stayed up late Tuesday watching the news and waiting for the ballots to finish rolling in. And regardless of a McPalin or Obiden victory, some party is going to wind up talking trash, and college campuses were going to explode into midnight political debates. 

Well, as you know, History was made this fourth day of November, 2008. 
We elected the first African American President in Our Nations History. 

Every lobby, on every floor of Cross Hall was filled with girls and guys alike watching the moments tick by, and votes roll in…and though political experts were not surprised by the Obama victory, it seems that most of Conservative West Texas was. 

It was as if right when the news came in, text messages, middle fingers, phone calls, flags, angry words and fists started flying. Type A personalities everywhere were thrown into a whirl-wind of emotion and disappointment, or intimidating “i told you so”s. Students began packing their bags for Canada (though Mexico is much closer), and ignorant voters began to voice their parents opinions, and referencing skits they’d seen on SNL. Abortion fanatics singled out Obama as a baby killer, while others rejoiced in his call for peace in Iraq. Type B personalities such as myself, just sat back and watched the chaos, and wondered if somewhere a riot would break out between all these high strung nut-cases…
Little did I know that the cyberspace riot had begun in the form of Facebook statuses. 

Hmm. 

First of all I’d like to emphasize that regardless of who you supported up to this point in the Presidential Elections, from this point forward you might as well support the President we have, which is and will be OBAMA. The hissy fit you’re throwing doesn’t get McCain more votes, your anger doesn’t shorten Obama’s term, and high levels of stress will give you an ulcer, so deal. 

Second of all, here’s to the lady I saw bouncing around outside the White House on the news with a sign that says “Why Wait Evict Bush Now,” you’re not even lobbying for change, you’re just being a moron, so put your sign down and go read the rule book again, because you’re confused. 

Third of all…. 
Facebook, while fun for sending virtual bumper stickers, chatting it up with out-of-state friends, and procrastinating on homework, is not in fact a legit forum for your McCain vs. Obama supporters to fight with statuses. If your point of view is narrow enough to fit into a 15 character limit, then you should send in an application to Fox News, but if you insist on making a fool of yourself by expressing your political discontent on a facebook status, I feel obligated to tell you, that no matter what you write in that little box, you’re not going to change a damn thing. Either get a real opinion and publish a book, or put on your big girl panties and deal with fact. If you can’t, I’m sure Canada would love to have you. Don’t forget a jacket, I hear it’s chilly. 

And on that note…I toast to you a cup of V8 splash. 
Here’s to the unknown future of our country, the new presidency that awaits us, the conservative panhandle, a better economy, type A personalities plus Valium, constructive debate, the end of facebook stupidity, educated voters, and to change…
 

And with this famous quote I leave you :
“Yes we can.”
_Bob the Builder & Obama.  
 

I’m so glad this is only once every four years. Gross.

College: Celebration and Sorrow.

One of the most beautiful things about college, is that if you arrange your schedule as such, you can have a three day weekend, EVERY weekend. Friday classes are for freshmen who don’t know better, and upperclassmen who couldn’t get out of it; but, as for me and my friends, we will only consent to four days of education a week. Thus was born “Celebrate Thursday,” a wonderful tradition that can only be defined as something like, “Friday, part one.”
Celebrate Thursday can range from anything to a midnight meal in Amarillo, to initiating middle school prank-wars on one another, to watching episode after episode of Gilmore Girls, to playing Dr. Mario on original nintendo, to jamming to young boss, and almost always drinking the nectar of the gods. 
I love that part of college. 
I dare say, I love most parts. 
Classes might be early, but I almost always get a laugh, or a nugget of knowledge and sometimes both, (unless it’s science in which case I walk away knowing and laughing less than when I entered). I’m an RA in Ruth Cross Hall, and it’s the greatest job in the entire world, hanging out with and taking care of the 3rd floor girls. The caf is a great place to meet up with everyone from multiple dorms, and play childish pranks on one another with salt in the napkin holders. 

But as in most things, there is a flip side.  A sorrowful nemesis.  An evil twin. 
With all this freedom, and fun there is a certain level of doom and responsibility. 

Laundry Day.

After approximately one month of avoiding my hamper like it had a disease I finally broke down today and dragged two trash bags full of dirty clothes down the stairs of Cross Hall and into a deserted laundry room. 
My clothes, dating back to somewhere around September 9th and 10th, seem to have been multiplying since then like little bunnies, and I took up 5 washing machines out of 6. Undergarments, t-shirts, jeans, sweatshirts, and tank tops each had their own rinse cycle. 3 hours, 4 drying machines, 6 trips up and down the stairs, and too many mismatched socks later I’ve finally completed this callous ritual. 
A friend once told me “Pairing my socks after I do laundry is the worst part of college. It’s awful and it makes me want to drop out.” 
Though my friend might be  bit of a drama queen, he is right about the evils of laundry.

The freedoms of college outweigh this evil, but only because after a year and a half I’ve discovered the secret to good living….
Avoid Friday classes, and hold out doing laundry until Thanksgiving so Mom will do it.