The Necessity of Excess:
Why All University Students Need to Get Stupidly Drunk
I woke up the other day and realised something very frightening: next week is the last week of the semester, and we all know what that means. The fifteen thousand assignments that we put off for 3 months are now finally due, and better yet at the same time. Now, in my particular case, I havenít started any of them. For most of them, I really donít have a clue as to what I want to write about, or present on, or whatever the format is. And the scariest part of it all is that I really donít care anymore. Iím tired. Working 3 jobs is enough for me, thank you very much. When I registered for university life, I wasnít signing on for a program of intense, never-ending exhaustion. I used to be able to pull off all-nighters and get the assignments done the night before, or the morning of. Now it seems like all the energy I have is being drained into this monitor that Iím staring at as Iím typing this article.
For now I guess that†most of us are in the same boat; itís only a very few†really odd people who organize their time so wisely that every minute of every day is spent doing some sort of constructive work instead of staring off into space as I find myself doing more and more often. And for all of us "procrastinators" or as I like to call myself,†a "university student", our panacea†has always been the mighty bottle: the big A, the keg, the 40 - whichever one we call our own, it is what gives us the ability to say things like, "Yeah, Iíll just finish it when I get home after the bar", or "It doesnít matter. Its only worth 40%." Yes, in times of great need, nothing comes rushing to the rescue like the almighty depressant called alcohol. And although there is a fine line to be drawn between those of us that need alcohol to survive the stresses of university life and those who are just ridiculous alcoholics, I believe that without alcohol, we would indeed lose ourselves in the chaotic and dizzying world of academia forever.
Sometimes, no, most of the time when Iím sitting in front of this computer screen waiting for the essay to write itself, I think, "Geez, if only all of this didnít matter, and I could just do it, or not do it, or better†yet,†just forget that it existed." I take a beer and chug it down, followed by another and another. Soon enough there isnít anything to bother me; essays are†now just†groups of words that form groups of sentences that form somewhat coherent paragraphs. In my psychedelic, hazy-vision state, where I reach the ultimate heightened awareness of the beer-buzz, I realise the true meaning of exams: that professors are evil, torture-loving beings, and that we cannot blame them for their shortcomings. The world becomes perfect for those few hours when all that I think or feel is the urge to keep drinking whatever it is in my hand. Wouldnít the world be so much better if we could just be permanently drunk?
But alas, it cannot be so, for our lives at university will soon end. And whether or not we succeed is up to us entirely. But success cannot be measured only by grades, but by the level of life we still retain when we are done these tedious 3 or 4 or (for those completely insane) more years. What use will it be when we finally have the piece of paper in our hands that says we spent a gruelling 4 years at University, but are so tired, so sick of living, that we cease to enjoy the sheer excitement of our youth? Yeah, I want to graduate and do well, but I also know that I cannot do it alone. Once in a while, I need†my good friend Alcohol to come and tell me that everything is going to be fine, and that life cannot possibly get any worse.