If the Piazza Could Talk

If the piazza could talk, it would probably judge me the most for freshman year. When I broke up with my O-Week boyfriend by the fountain because he took edibles too often... or when I asked him to get back together at the end of the year because I needed a new plug. The time I face planted in my undies because I had too much Pink Whitney and then threw up Bruxie on a baby cockroach, the following year when I did the same exact thing, and the following year when I decided not to drink and didn't have fun at all. The piazza would tell me to stop pivoting and trying to avoid people who I literally am friends with. It probably would yell at me for all of the times I sat in the grass and played smash or pass with people who walked by... or maybe it would play along too. If the piazza could play, I think it would smash me. I feel good about that. If the piazza could talk, it would say it's proud of me for making it through, even though I ignored its warnings to get the hell out when I took my first Chapman tour.