In college I had one boyfriend. One fuckheaded, asshole, piece-of-shit boyfriend the whole five years.
I sometimes wish I could do college over again. If I could go back, I would have joined a sorority, gone to lots of parties, fucked lots of guys, aaand maybe studied some. Because even though I didn’t go to many parties or have much of a social life it wasn’t due to spending time in the library. Most of my time was spent off campus. About 35 miles off campus, to be exact, in my boyfriend’s dorm room at another university.
Without traffic, it would take me about 45 minutes to get to Peter’s school, but there was always traffic so the trip usually took about an hour. That’s a long way to travel for a busy college student, but not for a love addicted one. I would have taken a cross-country trip every weekend for this asshole. Of course, he didn’t have a car so I was always the one making the trip.
My addiction to Peter took up the vast majority of my time, but I somehow managed to be involved with one campus group throughout college. Every year they threw a big, end of year party. The first year I went, I was really excited to introduce Peter to this group of friends. Actually, a more truthful statement would be that I didn’t want to go to this party alone. So I drove down to his campus, picked him up, and drove him back to my campus — a two hour round trip. Nowadays this seems like insanity to me. I bitch and moan and try to get out of even driving across town. But back then, I would have driven three states over to pick him up.
When we got to the party he was his usual self, meaning he was awful. He was rude, antisocial, and disparaging the whole time. Then, in the middle of the party, he wanted to go home. Even though I was in no shape to be driving, I drove him. Then I drove back to the party, which thankfully was still going on. So in one night, I drove 140 fucking miles out of my way for this fucktard. I also got a ticket for speeding. I should have gotten a DUI, since I was only 19 and even one drink would have put me over the legal limit, but I lucked out there.
In my first two years of college, I made that trip multiple times a week. After that, Peter flunked out of school and moved back in with his parents, who lived a lot closer. We ended up spending even more time together — fighting, breaking up, getting back together. It was a non-stop drama cycle. I’m not sure how I managed to graduate, but I eventually did. We broke up for good a few months after my graduation.