Dead Week.

As I sit here at my cold desk and gaze longingly out the window at the wispy snowflakes falling the grey Chicago sky I am taken back. Taken back to a time long, long ago when snowflakes were actually shots falling from the sky. And by sky I mean Sky vodka, and by Sky Vodka I mean Bartons. The time, which almost seems more like a dream to me now as I think back, was called Dead week. Does anyone else remember this cherished point in their life? Although I feel like a more appropriate name would be Heaven week, because that’s how it was. It was the 2000’s, way before the world turned dark and crossed over into the 2010’s, beer flowed like water, wine flowed like beer, Ford was President, Nixon was in the White House, and FDR was running this country into the ground. Boy, was it a time to be alive. To be in college. Where everything is a binge.

I remember it like it was just yesterday, I can almost feel my mouth getting dry and my eyes getting heavy. Waking up in my tiny Theta bunk bed in open air on a Monday morning, wondering why the sun was so bright at 12:30 in the afternoon. Oh never mind, that was a lamp, why was I sleeping in the Red Room under a lamp I wondered. Why did I still have Uggs on? If I ate the slice of Papa John’s laying on my purse would I get sick? Oh well. I had not a care in the world, not a reason to get up either. Today was the first day of the rest of my Dead Week. Perhaps a trip to Goodwill to find an ugly sweater? Maybe a trip to the Union to buy beef jerky and Diet Mt. Dew. South Point for some shopping? Find a homeless man on the way home to buy some alcohol. Make red and green jello shots. Oh, the possibilities that came with Dead week. So little to do, so much time to drink. Most often though I scratched all day “plans” and opted to lay on the couch until dusk. Night always came so early during dead week for some reason. And speaking of dusk, where were those damn alumni with our dead week snacks?

The night presented itself with an entire new plethora of activities. A festive house party complete with ugly sweaters and ugly mustaches. A holiday party downtown with a side of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree. Maybe just stay in and drink in the sorority. And by sorority I mean frat. And by that I mean I’m lying. Jk. No. Yes. Hot carls! And hot vodka coco! And Rumples! Goldys! Hot carls! Tis the season to enjoy dead week to its fullest.

By far, the best thing about dead week was simply that it was a week of nothing, with a little bit of everything on the side. Followed by a week of one final, two at most. I sure done love dat English major I gotted. And after that? Well how about a month off. Go home. Relax. Drink in a new environment for a change. Sure, don’t mind if I do.

I think I need to go huff keyboard cleaner now. I’m depressed.