A Test Over Break

We drove over to Alehouse, the twelve of us that actually showed up at our club meeting. Being that tomorrow begins spring break, we didn't expect any bigger of a turnout. We managed to squeeze into two tables, and my friend, the President of our club, promptly ordered two pitchers of Miller, 100 buffalo wings, and two plates of cheese fries.

I didn't want to eat heavily tonight, let alone down a couple of beers. In less than 24 hours I take the mercilessly boring trek to Pensacola, and by that time I must pack for an eight-day adventure, organize my stuff, and study for a Friday afternoon exam. But I stayed at Alehouse for almost two hours, cramming greasy chicken drummettes and frosty mugs of cheap beer into my stomach. When my gut was filled to capacity, I said goodnight to everyone, particularly to Chad and Jason. While I won't see the rest of the group for another few weeks, the next time I'll see Chad and Jason is when my shuttle takes me to the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, where Chad, Jason, and myself will $pend the entire Monday-through-Friday of spring break doing God knows what.

It's the "God knows what" that concerns me about this trip. In the weeks building up to Vegas, I've anticipated that I'll experience things completely alien to my somewhat-sheltered existence. There's been talk of everything from skydiving to hitting Studio 54, all on 3-hours-of-sleep-a-night rest for 5 days. I can handle the talk of it all, but tonight the talk seemed closer to becoming a reality. There's stuff my friends want to do that I'm slightly nervous about, and there are some things I just flat-out disapprove of. I got worried, worried that I'd spend more than planned, worried that I'd feel like an outsider for wanting to play spring break a little safer, worried that I'd sacrifice a part of my character to belong in the group, worried that I'd regret going on this trip to sin city.

I told myself on the drive home that I don't have to do anything I don't want. I'm the only one that must live with my decisions, and if I decide that some of these adventures are too wild for me, then I can choose not to do them. I don't have to do anything I don't want.

But if it's all that simple, why do I have a belly full of buffalo wings and Miller Lite?