I think most of my friends know that while in college, I had the greatest roommates ever. Sadly, I also had some of the… weirdest roommates ever. (The girl who kept her dirty clothes under her pillow case. The angry girl. The girl who peed on the carpet. The girl with the Britney Spears posters.) But! The bad ones left almost as quickly as they came into my life, and luckily the good ones stuck around. Saturday night I had the pleasure of meeting up with Ashley and Liz (according to our dorm door “Smashley" and "Lizzo")for sushi and drinks. (Tara, if you’re reading this- we missed you!)
It’s funny how far we’ve come in life since the days of fooling bouncers at the bars, dancing at Oyster Creek, and living with only a shred of modesty in room 331 (then room 106, Blanco Street, and finally Iroquois Street). Since graduation in 2006, one of us has survived leukemia, six rounds of chemo, and a broken engagement. The other two of us blush when talking about diamond rings. All three of us confess to still not knowing much about life except that it’s short even in the longest of days. They tease me about how flippant I am in almost all aspects of my life. We talk about the good ole days—only half certain that we would be willing to relive them. It’s better as a memory, not as much angst to deal with. On the deck of Sangria’
s overlooking St. George Street, we take our pictures and make a joke about how it better not be another year before we get together. We all realize that last time we got together it was at the hospital. This is definitely an improvement. We’ve shared so much together, it is kind of hard not to be sad by how little we still share. A dinner here or there. A Facebook message. A birthday wish. I guess Dorothy had it right when she landed in Oz, “People come and go so quickly here.”
It’s funny how far we’ve come in life since the days of fooling bouncers at the bars, dancing at Oyster Creek, and living with only a shred of modesty in room 331 (then room 106, Blanco Street, and finally Iroquois Street). Since graduation in 2006, one of us has survived leukemia, six rounds of chemo, and a broken engagement. The other two of us blush when talking about diamond rings. All three of us confess to still not knowing much about life except that it’s short even in the longest of days. They tease me about how flippant I am in almost all aspects of my life. We talk about the good ole days—only half certain that we would be willing to relive them. It’s better as a memory, not as much angst to deal with. On the deck of Sangria’
s overlooking St. George Street, we take our pictures and make a joke about how it better not be another year before we get together. We all realize that last time we got together it was at the hospital. This is definitely an improvement. We’ve shared so much together, it is kind of hard not to be sad by how little we still share. A dinner here or there. A Facebook message. A birthday wish. I guess Dorothy had it right when she landed in Oz, “People come and go so quickly here.”
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