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What You Need To Know: About Uncontrolled Freedom

"Uncontrolled Freedom"
By Nicole P.D.

Sandblast marks the end of extended hours staring at the glowing screens of laptops, bitter frustration shared amongst roommates, Dickie scrubs that reek of formaldehyde and decomposing organs, large quantities of caffeine and excessive amounts of sugar in replacement of real food, and of course the fear induced insomnia ruining typical sleeping patterns. Yes ladies and gents, Sandblast is the ultimate congratulations to us students for finishing the first half of hell – more commonly called midterms.

I don’t think Sandblast is necessarily healthy, in fact, I don’t think this event should be legal. It’s really unspoken permission to allow students to get inebriated and do things they most certainly wouldn’t want to remember...even if they could.

I managed to survive Sandblast the previous term, but of course I’m using the term ‘survive’ very loosely. (Let me paint just a portion of the picture for you) Last year I was a bit over enthusiastic and decided to refrain from eating, and instead consume: numerous jello shots of mixed melon and mango vodka, and chase Grenadian rum with long island ice teas all before eleven a.m. Oh but wait, it gets worse. I sloppily fell out of an above ground pool, and taught a yoga class to randos on the beach. Both were merely just two of the many ‘incidents’ (so I’ve been told) that occurred early that afternoon. Naturally,  my graceful bow out was to projectile vomit on my roommate in midst of walking to the buses back to campus.
That was indeed surprisingly impressive. Is it sad that’s not even the end of it?

Don’t judge. Everyone has those black-out-drunk-moments when you wake up in your bed, shoes still on your feet, with a massive headache,  and sour flavor rotting in the back of your throat. But I do realize, for most people- this doesn’t usually happen at 5 pm on a Saturday.

I wish I could have said that was the final conclusion to my wonderful Sandblast episode, however I cannot. Within the following hour I wound up in a dorm down the hall, in a bed of one of the guys from my class. No NOTHING happened- I repeat, nothing- and you can say I’m denying it all you want but I remember it all very clearly. I remember throwing up one last time in the main porcelain fixture of his bathroom, and I knew the process of sobering up was a few hours premature. Not my finest moment.

Anyway, my point here is simply that: thumbing through god awful packets of notes describing classes, and receptors of specific adrenergic and cholinergic drugs, memorizing the physiological pathways for rumination and systemic route of metabolism (biochemistry and all), regurgitating every zoonotic gram positive bacteria and different species affected, understanding the mechanism in regards to humoral and cell mediated immunity, and identifying every freaking plexus, lymph node, meatus, junction, muscle layer, hoof dermis, artery, vein, and nerve in both equine forelimb and hind limb (and let me tell you they anastomose, perforate and terminate into a dozen more) grants us Vet students the right to be the idiots we wish to be for a single day. And ,oh are you a poor sap if you don’t take advantage of that opportunity.

So here it is, my second Sandblast passed-complete with stories, and videoed moments I will forever be reminded of…thanks to my lovely housemates. I won’t get into such details. I’ll simply expose that I kept myself composed-even during my random volleyball tournament interruption (where I blindly, and wasted joined in on a block volleyball game.  I served a few times for "my team"- mind you I haven’t played volleyball a day in my life), lost an earring on the grass court, and shockingly found it and then a pearl earring in a drunken search twenty minutes later. I also established a sheer airborne arrangement during what should have been a civilized water tubing thrill ride, stuffed my face with pizza and fries after enduring the special K diet the week prior, and then of course ended my night somehow in one of my housemate’s beds, making-out with the guy I hooked up with on my birthday. He decided to come by the house and pregame with our friends earlier that morning…nak....uh. Now, those finer details, must be stored safely elsewhere- sorry kiddies.
I’m not saying I’m proud of those particular moments, but damn it I deserved my fun. It’s true, because once classes recommence there’s no escaping the depression and bipolar ism that sets in soon after. 
 Sandblast is the half way payoff, but it sure as hell should come with a warning label.       
Nicole P.D.
St. George University 2016
Veterinarian Studies, Grenada
(Details have been fictionalized or, hyperbolized. All characters appearing in this work have also been fictitionalized. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental)

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