Las Cronicas de las dos Alyssas
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College of Arts and Sciences
Las Cronicas de las dos Alyssas
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I don’t know if I have mentioned this to you yet (whoever you are). My roommate has the same first name as me. No jokes, please, we’ve heard them all. I was supposed to be in overflow housing with three other girls. In fact, the only reason Alyssa and I were put together, apparently, is because we both like Tegan & Sara. And don’t even think about making a joke about that, because they are awesome.
The situation at the beginning of the year seemed quite problematic. Alyssa P likes coffee; I (used to) like tea. Alyssa P stays up veeery late; I (used to) need my sleep. Alyssa P likes Hanson; I got over that when I was twelve. There are many thousands of teensy little differences between us that could have possibly made this living situation impossibly depressing. Guess what? We got over them. Next year I have a single in Upper Alder, but boy, am I going to miss my wonderfully strange roomie.
So our day usually goes like this. We both press the snooze on our alarms quite a few times before we actually get out of bed. Hers is tuned to a random radio station that will spew out any variety of music, so my morning dreams are punctuated by odd snippets of opera, 80s music and Christian rock songs. She usually gets out of bed before me, and about 20 minutes after she is up I tend to sit up bolt straight and shout something obscene because I should have gotten up way earlier. We both go our separate ways for the day, but the night studying begins with a huge pot of coffee (which I am officially addicted to) with creamer anywhere from 10 to 12 pm. The night will finish around two or three am, with me passing out with my eye mask on to the sound of her typing something (brilliant no doubt) for one of her blogs (or something). Tonight this situation is reversed as I am staying up typing this. I often think she should be the one writing this blog though – she would probably do a way better job than me. This post’s pictures, by the way, are all by her, and she is a way better photographer.
The moral of the story? We don’t like morals – they remind us of religion. However, this year would have been a lot less fun if I hadn’t had the chance to get to know a certain person who happens to share my name.
“There's a war inside of me Do I cause new heartbreak to write a new broken song Do I push it down or let it run me right into the ground I, I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me…”
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