Like most everyone else on the planet, I love Christmas. Amid the stress of end-of-semester tests and papers and the new lack of a study period, there is nothing I love more than coming back to my room at night to find strings of Christmas lights and stockings on the wall to remind me what season it is.
It's Sunday morning. Despite how hard you squint your eyes, you can sense light coming in your windows. You don't need to see anything just yet to know there's a grease-stained cardboard box somewhere in your room because you can smell the remaining half-eaten stale pizza dough and slightly rotted cheese that's left on your floor.
Everything in life is a phase. The Dark Ages were a phase, boy bands were a phase, and teenage acne was a phase. Sometimes it's difficult to detect that something is just a phase when you're living in the thick of it and it seems to perpetuate throughout your life, but I think I've found a good one.
As I type this late on Sunday evening, Nick Drake takes his nightly bow on my iTunes playlist alongside a bunch of other mellow indie rockers in a playlist I have cleverly entitled "Night." I don't have a lot of playlists as specific as this one, but I do tend to listen to Taylor Swift when I'm "chillin' with my girlies," Jimi Hendrix for when I'm "chillin' by myself," and A Tribe Called Quest for when I want to be "one of those suburban kids that pretends to appreciate old school rap.
On a cold and rainy late-May morning of 2009, I sat in the packed Alumni Stadium at Boston College, patiently awaiting the two seconds that my older brother would walk across the stage and receive his diploma so my parents and I could all vivaciously clap our hands and get out of there.
For those of you who may not have had the chance to catch up on your share of college gossip, allow me to fill you in: Like, oh my gosh, did you hear about Karen Owen? Karen Owen, who graduated from Duke University last May, has added herself to the list of people who degrade Duke's reputation every year.
Confession 1: I am a twenty year old American female. I am attached to my cell phone, tend to be overly sentimental, and wish I had hair like Jennifer Aniston. Minus a few minor obstacles, life has been relatively easy for me. I have dreams of becoming the next great American novelist and of my future husband looking similar to George Clooney.
Burg's Blurb
On the first day of Intro to Philosophy during the spring semester of freshman year, I sat in the back left corner of Smith 201, dodging a cold and patiently awaiting the weekend. As I silenced my Blackberry when the clock struck two, Professor Sim walked into class donning professional attire and a smile.
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