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College of Kruty. It’s not that simple.

Do you know how some kids dream of breaking your arm? I was one of them. To be honest, I didn’ t want to break anything. I just wanted to have a neon green plaster for a couple of weeks, while my friends signed things like \”recovered\” in my wrist healing. Looking at my elementary school, the thought of being abandoned was almost fun. It’s real, really, except for fun. I’m 21 years old, and my eight-year-old dream has finally come true …

A little over a week ago, I took one step down the stairs (the last one, too) on the way to my boyfriend’s annual formal university, who sent my favorite Steve Maddens into late death (right heel) when I sprayed my ankle and broke a fifth-fifth stain on my right foot. Screaming and weeping, as I did, I did what others would have done (not so!)-I put my broken heel back on my right leg, stopped the mascara from running, took off my dress, took a few pieces of gravel from my hand, and grabbed my boyfriend by hand, letting him know that I was still playing the dance …

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He protested, but I was on mission to dance and enjoy the night. Nothing could stop me. So, we did.

After a trip to ER, six x-rays, and one doctor who was not too willing to answer the questions, I was sitting in a sticky vinyl wheelchair, realizing that I broke my leg and sprayed my ankle. Most people tend to be prone to accidents (especially when it comes to alcohol), but, hell, I am.

With a week of crutches under my belt, a soft cast, and now an air-lime (a super-spooken super-orthopaedic doctor), I can testify that the college is no place for crutches, blind or broken bones of any kind. Every day, it’s not hard to do that, from the opening of the door to the bathroom (which I swear to weigh a ton) to get a tray in the cafeteria (I have to rely on my best friend to get my dinner for me). When I think about college, I think about independence, which I’m sure I lost in the last week and a half, because now I have to rely on everyone around me for help …





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