I enrolled in university at the ripe old age of twenty-one. I’m twenty-three now and starting my junior year as a double-major. Meanwhile, the majority of my friends are: graduating, turning twenty-one or graduating and turning twenty-one. And like every twenty-one year old in existence, they’re excited to finally experience the rite of passage of every young adult’s life: the college bar scene.
I started going to bars when I was still a freshman. That was two years ago. The novelty of drinking in a crummy, dimly lit bar has long worn off. By 11:30 on most nights, I’m in bed. Don’t even bother texting me. I’ve probably already finished my skincare routine.
It’s not that I don’t like spending time with my friends. I do. But I am always so tired that by the end of the day, all I want to do is crawl under my covers and hibernate for the next six to eight hours. College can be so exhausting.
Speaking of, have you ever noticed how much your back hurts after hunching over a desk taking notes all day? It’s torture. I should send my university a bill for my chiropractor.
Maybe I’m getting old.