Why I Won’t Have Any Regrets This Semester

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My roommate Caroline asks me every day of the week, “Are you coming out with us tonight?” Each time, I respond, “Maybe. I have an article due at midnight, three readings for tomorrow and I am really tired,” and then she rolls her eyes at me.

When I texted her, “My New Year’s Resolution is to go out more,” she screen shotted our conversation just to show me when I turn down an invitation to turn up. Freshman and sophomore year, we spent countless Friday nights walking back from the bar, recording drunk videos of each other just to laugh at ourselves the next day.

Our nights always ended with me cooking crepes with Dulce De Leche at 2 a.m. and wondering how we didn’t burn the house down. Now, as college draws to a close, I don’t go out as much.  I have my reasons—either I hang out with my boyfriend instead or I’m too tired from late nights writing. Whatever the case, I always miss an opportunity to go out with Caroline because of my stubbornness.

Last fall, I spoke for an entire week straight about tailgating for my last football game as a college student. My friends and I formulated a simple yet effective plan: Get up early and tailgate at all the fraternities (especially AEPi).

Instead, I slept over my boyfriend’s house the night before and didn’t wake up until noon. I arrived at the tailgate an hour late, 30 minutes before everyone planned to leave for the game. I felt so upset that instead of getting drunk with my best friend and enjoying myself, I moped about how my last fall semester of undergrad was coming to an end. I should’ve asked Caroline to explain the rules of football to me one last time after three years of saying, “What’s first down?”

Once, Caroline and I went to a rugby team house party in the woods of Tallahassee. When my ex-boyfriend started to harass me via text message, I left the party and began to cry. Caroline followed me, and we sat on the porch of a random person’s house a block away from the rugby house as I cried to her about my ex.

She said, “Sharon, everything will be okay,” and I knew in that moment that it would be. We were best friends from that moment. A few months later, we found ourselves wearing mardi gras beads and celebrating our future as roommates for the years to come.

I keep failing to take my own advice. When I arrived back in Tallahassee after winter break, I spent time with my boyfriend while all of my friends went out for the first night of spring semester. When I look back on college, I refuse to say I spent my last moments sitting in front of my computer trying to meet deadlines or staying cooped up with my boyfriend.

When my kids ask me about college, I want to start my stories saying, “ One time, Caroline, Kelsey and I got kicked out of a bar at Panama City Beach for underage drinking and missed our chance of being in a T-Pain music video.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond happy with my life.  I write for two magazines and I’m dating an amazing guy. But 10 years from now, I won’t remember how I did on my business calc exam—I’ll remember how I once took an Uber with my friends at 2 a.m. to eat sushi because we were too drunk from losing a game of ring of fire to even drive.

In the end, my college friends taught me how to take shots and stop acting like a baby. They took me out for sushi and donuts after I found out my ex started dating someone new and hugged me until I felt calm. My college friends taught me how to cook a real Thanksgiving dinner and the importance of a green bean casserole. They helped me conquer my fear of fast moving simulators by making me sit through the entire Simpson ride (even though I still walked out crying).

More than anything, no amount of school work beats sitting at Jimmy Johns with my best friends at 3 a.m., me wearing my  “I love Israel” shirt, Kelsey in her costume-like, red tube top and Caroline in her cheetah robe, because that’s the kind of friends we are—we let each other be. I have four months left to live up college with my friends, and I won’t waste a minute of it. Even though one of our crazy nights led us to the back of a cop car, I’d never trade in my time with them for anything.

College Magazine does not promote underage drinking. Please drink responsibly.

Student, passionate writer, addicted to ice vanilla lattes, obsessed with Mike Wazowski from Monster’s Inc. and a senior studying Communication and Creative Writing at Florida State University.

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