I botched my first college assignment.

In June, three months before I even started packing for my freshman year at NU, I landed a spot as a writer for this fine magazine. The editor gave me a fairly simple assignment: Write a column about how it feels to be an incoming NU freshman.

Despite having nothing to do all summer but surf the Internet and deal with small, disgusting children at a camp, I missed the deadline.

No big deal, right? It’s not like this column is graded or the editor was going to write a letter telling my parents how disappointed he is with me.

But it got me thinking: This is a pretty awful way to begin my college career.

My thoughts soon terrified me.

I’d never been like this in high school. I was the epitome of an overachiever: the yearbook editor who came to school on weekends, the thespian who was always performing in something, the singer and violinist, the intense student whose parents frowned at Bs.

Basically, I was the kind of student to whom NU sends acceptance letters.

Still, with a steady stream of mail reminding me I’m now an NU student - including a random invitation to join the marching band - I managed to forget about this assignment. (Until said editor left me a threatening phone message.)

Then I asked myself: Is this what happens when you go to college?

I remember how things started to change around the time I received my acceptance letter. Homework seemed laughable, and sitting on my ass all day was way more attractive than squeaking on my violin. I even delved into drinking and smoking - substances I’d sworn off before that point in my life.

I wonder if my fellow freshmen and I will all be transformed into unmotivated drunks. I wonder what awaits me at this frigid campus with only a three-week Christmas break and a wacky quarter system that feels more like high school than college. I wonder how soon it’ll be before I’m bored with graffiti on The Rock and more concerned with remembering the name of the girl I wake up next to in the morning.

From innocence to guilt, straight As to a 2.3 GPA, I’ll let you know what changes I’ve experienced here.

So, bring it, NU. Show me your beer bongs, your real bongs, your Human Sexuality class (which I’m definitely signing up for), and your layers and layers of The North Face gear.

I’m a liberated bookworm now, and I’m expecting quite a wild ride.

You up for a ride on the Hofeditz Express? E-mail him at c-hofeditz@northwestern.edu.