I really do not miss living the life of a student. Even though all that independence, those late night donut runs, and the freedom to never take off my pajamas was pretty alluring. But I don’t miss those nights I spent locked in my bathroom, so I wouldn't wake my roommate up, with the cell phone glued to my ear and crying to Adam. "I won't ever be able to finish this paper. And then I'm going to fail the paper, which will make me fail the class, and I will flunk out of college, and my mom will never talk to me again*!" I have a very end of the world style type of thinking if you couldn't’t tell.
But I do miss the girls I lived with, albeit we occasionally got on each other nerves. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, living in a dorm is like being at a sleepover you can never leave. Remember sleepovers as a child? You had fun, but the next day you are sleepy, cranky, and just want to go home and take a shower. On days like this, I sometimes thought about poking out their eyeballs with sporks while they slept (I kid, I kid). I truly loved those girls. Friends like my very special buddy Lark. I can’t believe I just called her my “special buddy.” That sounds like something a single mother who is bringing home her new boyfriend to meet her kids would say. And no Lark is not a made up name. Because her name is awesome enough without embellishment, and she really wouldn't care that I'm telling this story.
Lark likes to spend a lot of time alone. She is kind of like me in that respect. I love my social time, but after my social time, I need my alone time. So when she would retreat to her room to do her Larkish things, we would often tease her and say she was leaving us to watch her donkey porn. I really doubt she was actually watching donkey porn, but in our modern Internet age who really knows.
Lack actually is a chemistry major and does want to be a chemist, but she also loves to write on the side. She is a pretty good too, and she posts most of her work online. Lark had written this one particular story, and before posting it she had added a disclaimer stating that she had just wrote whatever came to mind, a very stream of consciousness type piece. And that it might not be her best work.
Soon afterwards some friends and I were sitting in the common room, when we heard Lark talking to herself rather loudly in her bedroom. Carrying on and on about something, presumably cussing out an imaginary friend. We ran into the room to make sure she hadn’t completely lost her marbles. And then she told us someone online had left her a comment about her story saying, "Your story is good for an ASSBURGER!" “How dare she call me an ASSBURGER?” she railed. “What does that even mean?” “An ASSBURGER my ASS.”
We were shocked! We didn’t know what an assburger was either, but we knew it was far from a compliment. So we asked to see this particular comment. Mainly so we could construct a voodoo doll of this woman and send some bad luck her way. But when I glanced at the comment it actually said,” This story is amazing, especially since I can tell you have Asperger's," I told Lark, "You read it wrong! I think Asperger's is a type of autism. Don’t you remember? It’s what Heather from America's Next Top Model had.” And I do realize how sad it is that most of my medical knowledge comes from watching reality TV or Scrubs (But could J.D. be any cuter?).
Once Lark had read about Asperger's, and was completely convinced that she had not been called an assburger. She turns to us and says, "You know what this means don't you? When it comes to writing, I shouldn't’t quit my day job*."
And just so you know, I still call Lark an assburger to this day.
*My Mother is really calm, sensible, and loving. I just overreact to everything.
**Lark was joking, she didn't quit writing.