Let me just begin by saying: My college is amazing.
The students are wonderful, the professors are profound, the campus is beautiful, the dorms are welcoming…
Even the food is good.
That’s how awesome it is.
I wasn’t even sure if I would make it in. I began mentally writing this post while walking to a class, because I was having trouble holding my joy in. The temptation to start dancing around like a madwoman, singing, “I’m here! I’m actually Here!” was, for a few moments, almost unbearable. (Normally I would’ve just gone with it, but the college rules say no dancing so as not to offend those that are offended by such things. Also, my attire wasn’t quite appropriate for such enthusiasm.)
Fast forward about five minutes. I enter my class, and realize a) everyone is already in their chairs; and b) half the points on the board have strokes through them. The class was halfway over.
I was devastated.
Eventually the class ended and I went back to my dorm to see what went wrong. (I had switched a Monday-Wednesday-Friday class with a Tuesday-Thursday class.)
The feeling of shame at having been a disappointment was crushing. I know, one late class may not seem like that much, but timeliness is one of my passions. I felt like I had let down my professor, the other students, and the college in general. (If you’re laughing, refrain from telling me.)
This is what I imagine being in love is like. Giddy excitement (they actually like me!) then crushing despair (I let them down!). The giddiness, at least, resembles the descriptions I’ve heard of being in love. The despair comes from my own relationship experience.
So yes, I am in love with my college.
*cue music of “It’s almost like being in love” from Brigadoon*
UPDATE: The professor forgave me and all is well (in the state of Denmark).