Sometimes I am surprised by how stereotypical my college life is, though I can't say I'm ever displeased by it. When I started moving into my house a few weeks ago, I noticed that my housemates wasted no time getting a keg, emptying it and leaving it in our house as if it were some sort of decorative piece of modern art.
In addition to a harmless keg, we also had half a pitcher of beer sitting on our kitchen table. Although a pitcher of beer by itself should be nothing to be concerned about, this one was sitting out for more than a few days, which eventually caused a healthy layer of mold to accumulate on the surface. Generally, something like that would disgust me, but for some reason, I decided this fungus was perfectly appropriate. This house wouldn't be home without a little beer and some dirtiness.
And now, as a result of first-football-game fun, I now have beer cans littered around my room. I have taken other steps to tidy up, but I also have consciously left the cans strewn about because whenever I re-enter my room, I'm instantly reminded of where I am. Not so much the place, but rather the essence of college. A brief period in my life that will probably be defined somewhat by classes and the education I received but in all likelihood, it will be more memorable because of these cans of beers and the times that resulted from them.
At a certain point in my life, leaving trash around my room will no longer be acceptable. Double-fisting with coffee and beer because I am simultaneously trying to overcome both fatigue and a gnarly hangover, and even getting drunk, will someday seem a little too ambitious. Just the fact that I can describe getting drunk as being ambitious is a sign of the world I'm living in.
Perhaps in the future I'll have other little things to define my life. Pacifiers maybe, toys littered around, bills scattered across a table
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