Accommodating Annelise,

Everything is changing. Just found out that I have to graduate at the end of the month? What the heck? I guess I didn’t realize it, because I’ve spent the last few months pushing sand from this tiny zen garden back and forth in the other room. By the time it finally got smooth, the cat walked on it; then I looked up, and it was May. What the honk does this mean for us? Will I ever sleep in a repurposed hospital again? Will partying end promptly at 1:14 a.m. in the next place I live? In this next place, how do I stare at a person I sort of know and then look down, but still wave vaguely and then either deal with them not reciprocating or have to suffer through a three-minute forced conversation while being late to my next class? Will I ever again saunter across an unfinished, torn-up road, like when crossing Isaacs for the last four years? Ooo, Crossing Isaacs, that would be a good band name. 

I guess we’ve sort of seen Whitman go through some changes. Is this even the same place that we arrived at four weird years ago? There have been many ups and downs during my time here, but nothing has me oscillating between the five stages of grief like remembering old Reid and Prentiss brunch. I would be lying if I didn’t say I cry myself to sleep at night when I remember Reid onion rings and the sauce station or a line outside of Prentiss and Jewett where I could cut in front of people and feel guilty about it for the rest of the day. Remember when VNORD could perform in Kimball on Thursday nights?? Neither do I! There’s also this new part of campus I’ve heard about but never been to. I get lost every time I try and find it. It’s supposed to be behind Prentiss and Anderson, but whenever I get there, I end up accidentally walking through some sort of resort that looks like it was transported from southern California; so, I just turn around and go back to campus. And what the heck is the name of that big field we used to cross? Anakin? Ant? I think it’s Ant Field; that sounds right. After this belch of an end to my college career, how do I even know college ever happened? Will fart jokes still be funny? It’s tough to say.

Anyway, I’m reaching out because I have this itch I literally cannot scratch on my back. It is like right between my shoulders but then like down and to the left, and then to the right, and back to the left twice the spacing you went right then down and diagonally to the bottom ri–STOP! Right there. Ugh, yeah, that spot. I can’t scratch it, and it is leaving me feeling so unsatisfied and un-comfy. No matter how hard I try, NOBODY can seem to scratch it. What can I do about this? 

Only thanks,

Antsy, Anxious, Apricot Ashlyn

Dear Apricot,

Oh, brother, you said it. I wish I had more wisdom to impart to you, but I’m lost too; and I can’t find my wallet and I’m running late to my Zoom appointment to get my teeth lasered. So, I’ll just give you the abridged, dumb version of what I might normally say:

There is so much I am going to miss about this place, too. I’ve been an advice columnist here for two years, and yet, I still feel that I have so much to write and so much to learn! It feels like yesterday that I sat at Reid Café, 18 years old and a tiny little baby, being spoon-fed fry sauce for the first time while I sat in my high chair before going home to my haunted hospital bed. You might not ever party until 1:14 a.m. again, but you can rest assured you will cry yourself to sleep again, probably in the near future. Though it may not be because you’re a stupid little freshman and widdle Donny Trumplet got ewected to pway Poopsident. You’ll find things to cry about, you absolute pussy. 

By the way, no. Crossing Isaacs is not a good band name. Can you imagine someone announcing that at a frat party? That’s fucking pathetic. 

Sorry, I get mean when I’m late to stuff, especially when my teeth look ugly.

Even with my disgusting, un-lasered teeth, I can understand how you’re feeling about our upcoming Beautiful-Ceremony-of-Greatness-and-Being-Absolutely-Blasted-In-My-Own-House-Graduation-Pajama-Party-Jimmyjamboree Zoom Call with President K. Murray. Kathy says our business here was to learn, and to that query I, too, inquire, “Learn what, madam?” To never, no matter how drunk you are, sit on a fraternity toilet? That no, you don’t have to text that guy, no matter how succulent his little butt looks in that climbing harness? That my most productive hours are 11 p.m. to 5 a.m.? That the friends I met here would become my family, and the hardest part of moving on wouldn’t be leaving this comfortable place but leaving them?

It’s friends that make a place feel like home. No matter how much you loved this place and how lost you may feel without it, you will find new comforts and new loves at your next stop on the road. Hangovers you weathered at Prentiss brunch might be endured at the diner down the street from your new apartment, and hours in the sun on the big field (What is it called? Anthony? Anarchy?) might be spent in your new favorite park; but things that made these places special are not the places themselves. You won’t miss the sticky tables at the dining hall or trying not to trip on torn up asphalt after taking four jello shots from syringes at a carpeted karaoke bar. Those moments wouldn’t have been the same without the friends you shared them with, and the warm glow of the memories you shared will bathe your coming memories, too. Anywhere you go, you’ll find people who will make your life special. Those people will still make carpeted bars bearable, and they’ll still like your Instagram post first, and they’ll still let you complain about not getting enough sleep last night. They’ll always be around, even if it’s in a different neighborhood or over the phone. I’m getting off topic, though, sorry!

In answer to your main question: I, too, itch.

With so much love,

Annelise, Soon-to-be Bachelor of Trying Not to Fart Onstage

P.S. Fart jokes will always be funny.