So I was watching the Tufts women's rugby game against the United States Coast Guard Academy when I remembered that I had to write this column. Deadlines? More like dreadlines.
Luckily it's not too hard to knock out a couple of self−deprecatingone−liners and tie them together with some semblance of a theme, especially with my inspirational−movie−score Pandora station playing at full blast. Not so luckily, time goes by really fast here, and there is too much to do.
Why, just today I had to balance a jam−packed schedule that included eating breakfast, napping, watching an episode of "The West Wing" (1999−2006), grabbing lunch, going to an info session for the brand−spankin'−newfood−rescue program (hit me up if you like feeding the homeless and driving white vans) and, finally, watching the game. Still ahead are finishing this thing, eating dinner and going krazy at Cage Rage. Man, how do I do it all?
The weekdays pose enough of a problem. I remember initially being super excited when I first saw the incredible array of activities and opportunities posted on TuftsLife. Now I can't even get my ish together enough to remember to reserve a ticket to hear my favorite living former president of the United States speak (sorry George, George, and Jimmy). Hey, speaking of that, anyone have an extra ticket? I will trick−turn you endless cookies.
And I'm not even super involved with anything. My commitments outside of schoolwork extend only as far as this column and a one−hour practice for TDC once a week — apparently Monday−eveningZumba doesn't count. I can't even begin to imagine how athletes and active citizens manage to get it all done.
Then the weekend rolls around. My mom, who often worries about my sanity and general well−being, regularly asks me if maybe this Saturday night I'll just watch a movie or even do some homework. She's not a freshman, so I can't blame her for not understanding my need to stand on 123's patio for extended periods of time, wondering how much longer it will be until the bros stop being annoyed by my presence. It's all about priorities. And couches.
As a wide−eyed freshman, the prospect of missing out on a whole night of fun is nothing short of terrifying. I like to be a part of the group relaying the juicy details of the weekend's wild events to the poor soul who decided to ship off to another campus for the night, not the other way around.
So here I am once again, trying desperately to fluff up a column on a topic that's overdone at the least. I've pressed Ctrl + Shift + C so many times, I think all three of those keys are about to break. Don't tell my mom I'm saying this, but she might have been a little bit right. There are far worse things than having to dip out of a wild night once or twice. I'll just use all that classic freshmanic enthusiasm that you would totally expect from me to make the most out of every night out.
There's no point in counting missed opportunities: It's better to focus on everything you can do. I might not get a chance to hear former U.S. President Bill Clinton talk, but I can still gush with my roommate over fictional president Jed Bartlet (It's not a big deal. I'll get over it. I'm fine. Really. I'm not bitter. I'm fine).
By the way, my email is printed right below this in case you were wondering how to get that ticket to me.
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