I could use this space to write a reflective and sentimental commentary about the end of my Dartmouth career, but I'm sure emotions will be running high enough on campus today without my contribution.
I have a list of potential editorial topics to write about, but all my ideas seem meaningless in face of the haze that is currently hanging over everything in my life.
I have used this column to share many things about me: my mishaps and adventures, my friends and family, my interests and issues. But there is something significant in my life that I haven't shared. I am five foot six inches tall, and throughout my four years at Dartmouth, my weight has gone up and down and up again, on a range of 113 to 139 pounds (and you better believe I know those numbers by heart). The fluctuation in numbers is indicative of something more than the freshman fifteen.
I had a scary experience while watching TV the other day. It was a commercial for the Army that did it.
Friendship amazes. I came to Dartmouth knowing no one, and I leave four years later with a group of people who know and care about me -- my friends.
After dining on cumin-dusted salmon with sundried tomato couscous one night at home this past vacation, my father and I set to work on the new recipe box.
What kind of job are you looking for?" she asked. I was in Career Services thinking about the future.
Over dinner one night last year, the topic of conversation turned to children. More specifically, babies.
I had hoped for bigger biceps from my summer exercise regimen, but I had not anticipated enlightenment.
I had a few apprehensions about starting college: leaving my friends and family, taking hard classes, sharing a room, doing my own wash. Laundry was one of my biggest fears about college life.