As the storm gathered overhead, Jacqueline chain smoked and listened to songs of romance.  The wind blew hard and she tied back her hair, watching as people walked by.  A man carried a flat of water and talked idly to his mother who helped him move in.  It was the beginning of the fall semester, freshmen were moving in, filled with hope and optimism that their first year would be all they had dreamed of throughout their miserable high school years.  Jacqueline, ever the pessimist, couldn’t help but have her spirits lifted by their naive souls and wondered if she too would have an amazing year as well.  She spoke with the new adults, listened to them complain and try to act as if they cared little for the future.  She simply smiled, understanding that they only wanted to mimic her own attitude, thinking that her experience was a guideline for how they too should act.  She wanted to take their hands in her own and explain that they didn’t want to follow the path she did.  She’d made a career of negativity and self medication, despite the way it was depicted as being glamorous on television, self destruction really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  There were no cameras following her, no continuous soundtrack capturing the mood of every intense moment in her life.  At the end of the day, there would be no deep lesson to learn, no one would run a laugh track.  The night would close with her lying in bed, sipping on beer; her biggest hopes would simply be that she didn’t spill the liquid all over her favorite shirt.  

Her stomach was turning from a mix of anxiety and too much pizza.  She’d ordered a large pizza for herself and ate as if she wouldn’t eat for another week, which was the truth.  Jacqueline embodied all of the clichés that came along with being a college student, including an incredible lack of money.  Whenever she did have spare change in her bank account it was spent on alcohol and cigarettes rather than a supply of food to keep her living.  

Jacqueline’s lack of good sense didn’t stop at fiscal responsibility and physical health, it also included romance.  Her best friend Rick had described her choice in men quite simply.  If there was a lineup of men, it would include a man in a business suit, a man with a guitar and a bouquet of roses and then a man wearing a straight jacket.  Every time, without fail, she would run with open arms towards the man in the strait jacket and throw all of her being in his rehabilitation.  She couldn’t help it though, because more often than not, the man with the problems would provide the most excitement.  She envisioned passionate sex, him slamming her into the wall and kissing her as if her lips held the secret to salvation.  Jacqueline was an addict in so many ways, and passion was one of her biggest addictions.  She needed it, the worse she would end up being in the end made it all the better.  

Sitting at her laptop, writing as two girls with bleach blonde hair discussed their love affairs; she couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a poseur.  With one glance, she knew what they would think immediately; there is the typical angst riddled college student.  Jacqueline didn’t mind dealing with the stereotype for the moment though, she enjoyed the image that others created in their heads about her.  Jacqueline simply couldn’t help but sit outside and write as the hurricane came on, the tension in the air was electrifying, it filled her with strange thoughts and day dreams of destruction.  She would always be this way, sitting at her computer and writing her way towards a psychological revolution.