Well, it's almost time.
It seems like just yesterday we were lugging our bags through unfamiliar lobbies, gazing around at faces we didn't know, and opening standard wooden doors to reveal dumpy, cell-like dorms that reeked of a combination of old socks, dry booze, and not enough air freshener.
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We tromped into our new homes, trailed by encouraging parents or nagging brothers or sisters who held onto our shirts for dear life while we unpacked our now very mobile, very impressionable young lives, only to shove them into tiny wooden drawers and stuff them under thin, coarse mattresses so the RA's wouldn't see the sins we planned to commit.
We hugged and lifted limp hands to wave good-bye, stumbling back through the doors, back through the unfamiliar lobby, past the faces we still didn't know, and re-opened the doors to our now-slightly-more-comforting fortresses to find yet another unfamiliar face as he or she tossed his crap like pizza dough through the air, penetrating our own side of the room as quickly as we had created and decorated it.
Seems crazy, doesn't it?
We walked slowly down hallways and walkways, maps in hand, looking left and right quizzically as we asked where Room 103B was. (In hindsight, we probably looked like such tourists it's a wonder we weren't wearing fanny packs and packing sunscreen in holsters. Well... not all of us were, at least.)
We slugged our way to the cafeteria, overcome by pangs of hunger after our first full days, only to be handed dry pizza and a sudden rush of bliss with the thrill of unlimited soft-serve ice cream, and the equally-as-sudden realization that the freshman 15 was indeed not a cruel rumor.
We went to our first parties, thinking we had experience as high-schoolers with game. Instead, we came screeching to a halt in our minds because, five minutes after arriving, we'd seen what looked like a classic Old Row/TFM video playing out in real time directly in front of us.
Wait, you mean y'all actually do that? Doesn't that hurt?
We endured our first sicknesses without our parents or guardians by our side, making us understand ever so quickly the blessings that are homemade soup and our own living room couch, since we were now stuck on an uncomfortable mattress under which hid bottles of things I can't type in a family-friendly article, sneezing, coughing and wheezing to ourselves while chugging cans of Campbell's and hitting our infections with the one-two punch of Gatorade and cough drops (or cough medicine and Mucinex, whichever you prefer).
We realized what we now have in the friends we've made, as they (if you're a girl) brought us Panera and gift baskets made from hand, or (if you're a guy like I am) texted "Get well soon, bro," which is probably about as sentimental as 18 to 20-year-old males are going to get if it's not enough to put us on our deathbeds.
We relished the thrill of big-time college football as we united together to cheer on the guys who sit beside us in class asking for notes, and we appreciated the quietness of a school that isn't driven by athletics if you go to a school that doesn't have a football team.
(Disclaimer: If you fall into the second category, it really sucks to be you.)
We pushed and exacerbated ourselves to the fullest extents in preparations for the most difficult exams we thought we would ever take, even though in the end, we realized that it's just school.
We had done this before, and with preparation and confidence, we could "darn" sure do this again.
Now, as I sit at a table on a sunny spring day writing the basic story of every college freshman in the country, I can't help but look back over my own experiences.
And as a freshman at the University of Tennessee, there sure have been some good ones.
But no matter what school you go to, whether it's in Greenland or Greenville (or, God forbid, Gainesville), remember this:
You got yourself here, and you got yourself through what ended up being one heck of a ride in your first year of college.
You may not get the internship you've applied for, and you may not get all the classes you want as an upcoming sophomore.
But if you've survived semi-adulthood for nine months on your own like your mother survived her pregnancy with your spoiled self before you were born, surely you can make it another three years.
At least, I hope so.
In closing, from one freshman to another, good luck next year.
Kick those finals' butts (since I can't say the other word), and above all else, Go Big Orange.
Deuces.
