The fluorescent
sunlight breaks through the shades of my dorm room forcing my eyes to squint
and squeal for relief from the brightness. Snow came and went in a single day.
The late January morning day feels like a spring afternoon. Wearing nothing but
my ex-girlfriend’s panties, I raise the shades of the window to look out on the
desolate campus. Still inside the room, I light a cigarette, “cause Daddy don’t
play by the rules. Freshmen are arriving with their parents from brunch excited
for the second half of their first year of college. Their spirit makes me sick
with envy. I can smell the leftover fries and eggs benedict from ten floors up. I throw up on my
roommate’s art project as he slumbers next to his foreign-exchanged boyfriend.
Sorry, bro, but who the HELL saves hollandaise sauce for Christ’s sakes?!?
That’s when I
realize it’s already 3 PM. The day is lost, but the night is still to come. Tonight
is a school night, but I did not get any books yet. I’m walking out on any
teacher that dares tutoring on the first day, especially if it’s that lame
accounting class my folks are making me take “to better myself.” Hey, teach!
Thirty hung-over students receivable from one lame lecture equals zero credit.
Tonight is for
me. Worked all break and didn’t make a dime, and yet I am expected to do a
whole bunch of work for some chumps with masters degrees that could not make it
in the real world. Somehow, I am paying for that, too. When did this happen? My
parents wonder why I am always asking for money. Well, I’m paying
fifty-thousand dollars a year to have no sleep, eat Ramen, and chug energy
drinks. You tell me why the occasional weekend keg stands and 3 AM burritos are
“absolutely” necessary. By the way, Mom, if you are reading this, could you at
least wire me twenty bucks for an oil change, jeez?
I wonder what
my professors will really be like this year. I never had a hot professor. I
should have looked for that more when I decided my major. How would things have ended up for me if the one hot professor I could find taught Women’s Studies?
Would she still let me stay after for “extra credit?”
After all this
time, Hofstra still does not have a Greek Row. You wouldn’t even know which
houses were Greek or not if it weren’t for all the crushed Natty Ice and
Keystone cans out on the lawns. It tastes like dog urine that has been canned
and chilled. I swear I never drink that stuff, but I don’t know any other way
to explain this hangover.
I strap on my
shoes, throw on my hoodie, and I bum a cigarette from my roommate. He’ll be too
busy with the puke to realize I took one anyway. So I take one more just for
good housekeeping. I need to buy some books. I hope they still have James Joyce
at the library.
Afterwards, I’ll
go hit up my boys for hookah, and see how long it takes public safety to show
up to confiscate it and claim it’s a bong. Then we’ll have an acoustic jam
session in the intramural fields with some of the hippy students that are so
liberal they are protesting good hygiene. At around 4 AM, we’ll get some Dutch
Treats, but that place better not be out of cold cuts. The cereal is expired,
and I’m no vegetarian wuss.
Before class
tomorrow, maybe I’ll finally finish my dissertation on Nietzsche. That guy had
something special. Most idiots though he wanted to eat babies or bomb England
or something else anti-government. No, he wanted life to be a work of art, even
if it was bad art. Beautiful words, my friend.
CRAP!!! I have
RSR, tonight! Guess I’ll just watch another online documentary and call it a
night”¦eh, just one more cigarette will do.
