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School’s out. Cue the Alice Cooper montage and paper burning. That wonderful feeling of finally being free from the duct tape and ball gag of higher education is hitting you hard, and it feels good. You move out of the fraternity house and straight into your new apartment down the street, with a renovated pool and freshly installed grill pit. On top of all that, you’ve got about half your pledge class staying in town AKA the idiots who didn’t get their internships. You’re nothing but optimistic that this summer is gonna kick serious ass.
You decide you’re going to use this summer to get super jacked since there’s not much else to do when you’ve got one class taking up about four total hours of your week. Plus, you already made drunken plans with one of your friends to be gym buddies for the next three months, so you’re pretty much locked in at this point.
Summer is in full swing. The scene has been established and life is good. Your daily routine consists of working out, grilling and drinking poolside. There’s that one class you have during the week that has a bad habit of getting in the way, but you’re still going because the building has what seems like industrial strength air conditioning. Even though you only have one class, you seem to be falling behind even faster than normal. You dismiss the fact that going to class drunk half the time has something to do with it.
Shit is dragging along. The manic excitement from the beginning of summer has worn off and now you’re getting a twinge of regret from deciding to not spend the summer at that internship after all. Daily drinking and excessive sun is beginning to take its toll, and you’re transitioning from fairly normal looking college student to some kind of walking, talking alcoholic lobster.
You decide to take a little break from working out. Can’t overdo it — definitely don’t want to show up everyone TOO badly in the fall. Plus, there’s a morning day drink session going on at the pool, and you obviously can’t miss that. You try mixing some whey powder with beer in an effort to achieve some sort of Jimmy Tatro style “alch-o-tein” drink. It tastes like shit. You seriously consider re-evaluating your life choices. You realize you have your first exam ten minutes before it starts. You show up seven beers deep and manage to Hail Mary a C-.
At this point, you’re pretty sure you’ve developed full-blown alcoholism. Your apartment and daily routine is something that would probably upset some more seasoned AA sponsors. After realizing how hard it is to get out of bed at any time the clock still says “AM” when you have less than jack shit to do during the day, you decide to take it easy for a couple days and forego poolside drinking for some quiet time in your room. Your shitfaced friends instantly invade your room and completely derail this plan.
You realize you have spent all of May and most of June making approximately $0. Fourth of July arrives and a bunch of people come to school for the weekend. You get shitfaced and fuck your ex. You wake up in the fetal position to a loud boom. You roommate is launching bottle rockets out of your living room window. You want your mommy.
At this point, the days turn into weeks and everything just seems to start blending together. The cause of this phenomenon could vary anywhere from the effect of a two month bender on your brain, to the sheer amount of slacking off you have been doing. Either way, the fact that you are under so little stress makes time just feel all mashed together. Is it still May? Is it July? Is it already syllabus week? Who the fuck knows. The sun has melted your brain into something that looks like a jellyfish washed up on the beach. The only reflexes your body remembers at this point are blinking, breathing, and lifting your drinking hand to your mouth. You go on a 2-day addy binge to prepare for your final and pull a B out of your ass. You still don’t know what the class is called.
Just like that, fall semester is upon you. Essentially nothing changes, except that you’re doing it with all your boys AND a new crop of freshman girls around. You can only remember about 30% of what actually happened over the last three months, but you’ll be damned if it wasn’t one of the greatest experiences of your life..