To borrow a phrase from my second favorite critically-acclaimed musical talent, A-Teens, my life is currently “upside down, bouncing off the ceilings.” If you are cut from a more high-modernist cloth, the words of T.S. Eliot surmise my sentiments quite nicely: “things fall apart.”
Almost as soon as I woke up Sunday morning to catch my flight back to Charlottesville, I felt the waves of a homework-induced headache descend over me.
My best friends are fiercely loyal and come with no strings attached. They know my phone always dies at least three times during the day, that I have a mild Rue La La addiction — or, in their words, a severe addiction to online shopping — and that my alter ego is a cat that tends to come out when I hit a point of deliriousness.
At the age of 20, I am officially an empty nester. After a year of literal sweat, tears and a few drops of paper-cut-induced blood, I am relinquishing my central U.Va.
This column serves as your friendly reminder we have officially entered the two-week pre-Halloween period.
When I first started writing for the Life section a little over a year ago, I was assigned to write a biweekly “how to” column.
Fact of life: the Freshman 15 is a myth. I actually do not believe it’s humanly possible to gain weight while eating at the dining hall unless you live on fries alone.
From the beginning, U.Va. has had a bit of a problem with sex. Like everything great about this beautiful school, the story begins with our old pal TJ.
At this point in my life, I can summarize my collegiate success into a three-digit GPA, fit 20 years worth of sweat and tears into a one-page resume and measure the quality of my education based on the Princeton Review’s rating of my university. In other words, if need be, I am 100 percent quantifiable. And, truth be told, you are too.
At this moment — Sunday, April 14 at 3:22 p.m. — we have exactly 12 days of classes left. By the time this column prints, we will be well on our way to a mere ten.
