So there are moments when Bryn Mawr is just so obviously the greatest place in the world to be a woman.
Relle: I HATE MEN!
Well, the truth has to come out eventually.
I HATED the Deathly Hallows.
Goodbye Harry Potter.
What better way to get over the demise of the HP universe than by reading something new?
Considering my recent return to the land of the basically happy people, this is a bit of an angstfest, but must ask the question, because I haven't the foggiest.
Michael says: I really am in love with you, I just want to be in an open relationship.
...is that possible? If so, what does it mean?
PS: Please forgive the blatant hypocrisy that is my relationship confusion. I know what I told Charlotte, and I know what I tell you, but nobody's perfect and we're all a little bit hypocritical. :-)
I am terrifically bored.
I work from eight o'clock to six thirty/seven every day, and Iam still incredibly bored.
Sometimes in the face of times like this, we forget that it feel just as horrible, or more so, to watch one person die as it is to lose 33.
RIP Sarah Shoch.
I read the body count out of the paper
And now it's written all over my face
I love bryn mawr. a lot. I mean it. You should all come visit me so you can love bryn mawr too.
More detailed and exciting update later, I promise.
Yesterday was fantastic because of the following things said by the following people:
EB: So basically the plan is that we all dress up like rockstars, and knock on the door of the room below us, lipsync for like, eight seconds to the CD player, and then run away.
Nurse: Good news; I don't think you have strep throat.
Caitlin: Shakespeare Troupe Party tomorrow!!!
Jonathan Brindley: Yes, Jammin Java will employ you over winter break.
Karen: IT'S SNOWING!!
So to recap this past week:
My bank statement came in, and I am really, really, really broke. I have to cancel some plans. Pronto. And maybe sell my brother.
I came into my room two nights ago, and there were two, three, dunno how many guys in there.
I slept on the couch last night.
My roommates are insane. EB came into my room yesterday, made like, an ear-piercing squeal, and walked out. It was pretty fascinating.
Free laundry is sexy.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with emo music.
There is DEFINITELY something wrong with playing "I wanna fuck you" and "Born to Run" at the same time.
I've worn the heels off of all of my nice shoes. Which is strange, because I never go anywhere that requirs really nice shoes. I mean, drunk boys...they don't really care what your shoes look like.
In scheduling my classes, I occasionally had to say to myself "I think I need this one, it's not an English course."
Chris keeps telling me things that I"m not sure I want to hear.
Every single person on my hall is absolutely the funniest, sweetest, most delightful girl I know, except for you guys.
I love college.
That about sums it up.
On the four hour car ride home from Bryn Mawr, there is at some point bound to be a disagreement.
"So wait," I'm saying, after a long and depressing string of Michael's political beliefs taht do not in any way match up with my own, "where do you stand on abortion?"
"I'm not morally all right with it, but I believe that it's a personal choice."
"How are you not morally all right with it?"
"Why are you getting so upset about this?" I really don't like it when he takes his attention away from the road, but we're in bumper to bumper traffic and it probably won't make any difference for a while. "It's not a big deal. You really get too uptight about your politics. It doesn't even matter."
I'm not upset, I'm not angry, I"m just curious. He keeps going before I get a chance to articulate this. "It's not as if voting for any one particular candidate will make any sort of difference. They're all corrupt. Why worry about the political system? It's not like there's anything you can do."
"That is simply not true." And now I'm a little bit upset. "That is just a load of crap."
"You're doing it again," he says in that soothing tone that will make anyone angry, no matter how patient they were the previous moment. "It's nothing to get upset about."
"What I'm upset about," I insist, "is your attitude. 'Why bother, there's no point in trying to change anything?' What is that? I dont' believe that for a minute."
"You're cute," he says. "You're really genuinely just the sweetest thing"
"Do not-" I start, but he cuts me off.
"I'm not condescending," he finishes for me. "I respect that, I do. It's noble. But I mean, really. So you don't buy into my theory about what matters and what doesn't...what are you actually doing about it? You gonna prove me wrong? What difference are you making?"
And honestly I can't think of a thing.
"I know what you mean," he says, trying to soften the blow. "Anyway, you've spent the whole year trying to recover from brain injury, nobody's getting on your case about it, it's not like there was anything you could have been doing."
That, for the record, really did not make me feel better.