Burning Bridges

It's official: college is over.

The last straw came yesterday, when I backed out of a social engagement because there was too much drinking involved. I had signed on for a weekly Beer Die league. Beer Die is a drinking game that involves throwing dice at cups. I was under the impression that there would be three beers per game, but it turned out to be five. A game typically lasts less than an hour. For me, the difference between a few beers with friends and a kind of drinking I didn't really want to do, at least not every week, fell somewhere between three and five. So I decided to gracefully back out.

Gracefully meaning humiliatingly. This is exactly the kind of situation where you should lie, but I couldn't think of a lie that would occupy me every Thursday night for two months. Maybe if I had a job I could say I was working or something. But in the end I just had to tell the truth, that I wasn't going to do it because I didn't want to drink that much.

In college they have a word for this kind of behavior. The word is pussy. Backing out of something because of a difference of two beers is pussy. It's astonishingly pussy. So pussy I can hardly believe it. I'll probably have to leave the state, if not the country. I'll likely have to find a new group of friends. Well, fuck them - I didn't want to do it.

A few Saturdays ago I was walking through the student neighborhoods on my way downtown before a football game. The whole area had become a sort of amorphous block party. That I felt apart from the scene was nothing new. I always felt out of place at college parties, even (especially) when I was in college. The difference this time was that it felt right to be apart. I even felt a little happy for these kids who were having fun.

I guess this is adulthood. I'll have to find something to do with myself.