All the buildings looked the same as they had when I graduated in 2004 (except for a rambling old Catholic church that was recently replaced by a ginormous privately-run dorm - no loss; the building was only used for Tuesday evening bingo), with a few minor alterations - the campus bookstore had a new entrance, and part of the Angell Center had construction going on. Banks Hall, where I spent five years of substance-free nights, was still where it was before, as was Champlain Valley Hall, where I had just as many years of not-that-useful English classes. 

The bittersweet thing, though, was that the people who'd made my college experience better than I could've hoped for were long gone. They've scattered to places like Buffalo, Saratoga Springs, Clifton Park, Burlington, and others, and the campus wasn't the same without them. 

New people are there now, praising God, sweating through ten-page papers, going back for seconds at the dining hall, and standing in line at the financial aid office. 

College is a hell of a time; you step out from underneath your parents' wings for the first time, experience things and meet people you never would've expected to, and if all goes well, you end up with a degree, years of student loans to pay back, and a Facebook full of lifetime friends. But eventually, the ride's over and you and your friends must move on. 

Enjoy it while you can, because when it's over, it's over. 

"I'm sitting in class and all I hear is 'bloop-bloop-bloop' from you chatting on Instant Messenger all night," my freshman roommate, The Jock, told me one afternoon, back in Ye Olde College Days. 

Nevermind that his dragging and nagging me to drink ensured that I'd be a teetotaler until the age of 23. 

"Jeff, you gotta chill out with that computer," my sophomore year roommate, The DJ, told me one evening the following year. "I'm falling asleep in class." I tried with every bone in my body not to laugh, but an involuntary guffaw flew out all the same. 

Nevermind that he'd sometimes wake from a dead sleep to take a swig of the Mountain Dew under his bed. 

I don't believe in karma, but I do believe that I've paid for that in full. At the rock-bottom price of $20 CDN for the night. At a hostel (which shall not be named) in Montreal on Saturday night, oh I paid. 

Because I had no laptop or nightlife connections, 3am Sunday morning found me tossing and turning on a bed in an open hallway while an upstanding gentleman with a private room brushed his teeth and kept the water running in the nearby kitchen sink. After his buddy did the same. While they lingered in the room, with the light blaring and the door wide open. Before a couple in another private room took a long, lingerous - and talkative - shower, BEFORE leaving the bathroom door wide open with the lights blazing. 

Honestly, I'm a live-and-let-live guy, and I wouldn't've cared if they were making their 5-year plans and sauteeing a steak in there (though I might've asked for some). Just, for the love of Teedy Ruxpin, TURN OFF THE LIGHT WHEN YOU'RE DONE!!!

After that, I gave up trying to sleep, and retreated to the computer (praise the Lord for the internet!) in the main room. The computer and I got along fine, notwithstanding the lack of light (there were people sleeping nearby here, too), and the strange Francophone keyboard. Not too many differences, but there was a é where the comma should've been. Other than that, it was all good.