December 21, 2003
Sniffles and Smith
My body is revolting in the sense of the verb and the adjective. While most people are sporting new bracelets or necklaces, etc, as their accessories, I am toting a tissue box, toilet paper for when the tissue box fails me, and a lovely purple tin to deposit my yucky tissues.
During church this morning I tried to wait until the music swelled to blow my nose; otherwise all that could be heard was my poor, suffering self. The worst part was when everyone shook hands and I explained that all I could say was "Peace be with you" sans the handshake; it's nothing personal, but I just think that some things never need to be shared. Like germs.
My cold was even more terrifying yesterday celebrating Chirstmas with my dad's side of the family, mostly because I feared I would pass on my terrible cold to my grandmother, who has cancer is on chemo and all of that jazz. I am not sure if I mentioned that before; this is her second round of cancer and the doctor is not giving her any hope. The cruel irony is she volunteered, still volunteers, at a Cancer Thrift Shop for over twenty years; she has spent countless hours not only working the counters but sewing quilts and repairing merchandise and everything else. So I feared I would cough or sneeze on her and make her extremely ill.
On the bright side, I finished my pink written journal and now I am onto a dark maroon one.
Being sick is sort of a mixed blessing. On the one hand I feel like shit and all of that obvious stuff; on the other hand it gives me time to sleep long enough to fade the dark circles under my eyes I always assumed to be permanent fixtures and I also made a lot of progress in Kinflicks and watched one of my favorite movies of all time, Little Women. I used to always draw with a pen or pencil on the left side of my middle finger on my right hand (could you follow that?) just like Winona Ryder so everyone would be able to clearly know I was a writer. Being marked as a writer due to carpel tunnel just does not have the same romantic edge.
This year my Christmas spirit is missing. Fortunately no ghosts of Christmas time are haunting my dreams yet; instead I just had an odd, odd dream where I had a relationship similar to Ginny and Joe Bob's in Kinflicks with a 6'11" black basketball player I eat lunch with (the race is only mentioned for the image, and it is how he describes himself all the time, except he might trade in "black" for "Nigerian"). As far as the name Joe Bob goes, I too was initially turned off, but do not knock the book until you've read it.
Even though I do feel a little bit like I am reading one of Judy Blume's books "for adults." I have talked to many people of my generation and learned that many of us learned about the details of sex through reading Forever. May I never date a man who names his penis; if he absolutely must name it, then I hope he keeps the name a secret from me. The idea is that the whole thing should be intimate, I do not want to have to learn any new names in the bedroom.
In exciting news, I e-mailed my RTA from Northwestern yesterday asking her to gush about Smith since it is probably my number one choice. There is something terrifying about naming Smith as my top choice not only because now I am committed to it and now I can have my heart broken if they send me a rejection letter. That is probably the biggest reason why I would not apply anywhere early, or one of them, I have a difficult enough time putting myself out there for rejection personally. To put myself out there in academics, an area where I am supposed to be relatively comfortable and successful, is terrifying.
Anyway, my RTA, Helen, e-mailed me back. She just finished with finals and papers so she told me that she did not feel much like gushing, but she did tell me that all of the ways I reminded her who I am were not necessary because to roughly quote her: "I'm not that forgetful (and you're not forgettable)." She is going to e-mail me again in a few days to gush and told me that if I come stay at Smith I can stay in her room on a futon instead of a sleeping bag like most of the girls have to.
I was relieved when Helen wrote to tell me how she was unsure about attending a women's institution in the beginning too, because she did not like girls much either.
Enough worrying about college for tonight, though. No more information on decisions until April (oh the torture), for now I will just have to try my best to stay in the here and now, something I have always struggled with. I will probably write again, but in case I do not...
Happy holidays to all!
Love,
Mandy