hello, good friend

I don’t know why I always tell people that I love the unexpected. You know, the interviewer prompts, “Tell me something about yourself,” and you say (on cue) “I’m totally a people person, and I just love spontaneity!”

(False. Sometimes I thoroughly enjoy isolating myself in my apartment with a few movies and junk food, and I flip out when I don’t have every life step planned to the most minute detail.)

“I can definitely roll with the punches. I’m organized, yet flexible!”

(False. It unnerves me to not know what I’m doing next year, month, week, day. Actually, at the moment, I loathe spontaneity.)

“I’m up for whatever life throws my way! I just love new opportunities!”

(False. Actually, I have a lengthy list of things which, if life were to casually toss them my direction, would trigger in me a severe mental breakdown.)

So, yes, this optimism comes effortlessly on sunny days when my hair looks great, my GPA solid, my employment prospects promising, my relationships intact, my future secure, and my finances stable.

But on those mediocre, borderline–frazzled days when the slightest wrinkle in my starched-and-pressed plans exposes its imperfections, I just smile…and fake it. Recitation breeds authenticity, right?

“I’m totally up for anything!”

My dad reminded me at the beginning of the semester, “It’s a blessing to work hard.”

I think he jinxed me.

I’m gonna be candid: a few months ago, when I still felt energized and not like I had been hit by a Mac truck, I had lots to say. Now, at the end of this ridiculously arduous semester, I just enjoy sitting. And occasionally breathing. (That was sufficiently melodramatic, eh?)

So here I am, reading the temporary filler text on some of the office publication proofs. Susan delivered a sample aloud – a delightful, impromptu “filler text slam,” if you will – and it made me wonder. If I were to arrange these words in blank verse, could I attribute the genius to myself and publish it as poetry? Brilliant.

Progressive tickets easily bought the subway even though
two sheep laughed uncomfortably.
Umpteen chrysanthemums sold
two tickets while Kling-ons tickled the warthogs.
Pawnbrokers auction off Mercury.
And Paul marries the mostly angst-ridden kisses
silly lampstands.
Sheep towed Paul.
Purple aardvarks, the dog gossips, all fight
the progressive cats. The botulism tastes
like a Macintosh.

Besides the utter absence of meaning, that totally belongs in a literary anthology.

Ladies and gents, we have officially propelled ourselves past autumn into full-blown winter. It snowed yesterday. I asked my mom to send winter coats. Humbug. Meanwhile, my darling brother sweats bullets in the near 70 degree South Carolina version of fall. Which reminds me, I’m going home soon.

I enjoy college, don’t get me wrong. But every year, without fail, Thanksgiving break arrives much too late. Tensions are mounting in our apartment . . . and most likely every other apartment and dorm room on campus. And probably off. It’s contagious. Here’s a brief inventory of the recent (by “recent” I mean within the past five days) catalysts for B302’s emotional explosions:

roommate A breaks up with boyfriend
roommate B gets engaged
roommate C accepts a job offer
roommate D’s boyfriend accepts a job offer, roommate D commences job search, roommate D hires lawyer to combat her newly-acquired “criminal charges” (traffic violations, nothing felonious)
roommate E completes grad school applications before December 1

In addition to regular schoolwork, of course.

I write this in the kindest tone possible: it’s a wonder we haven’t drop-kicked one another. To say we’ve been “edgy” would be a gross understatement. That’s why we’re all very thankful to our Rape Aggression Defense class which yesterday required us to suit up in sparring gear and legitimately pound … erm, defend … one another.

All this to say, tomorrow I will fly home, shut off my cell phone, and spend at least a few days riding my bike along the coast (and filling out grad school applicationsgrumblegrumble). Excuse my absence.

To share your emotional explosion stories, please e-mail me at ar1233@messiah.edu. I won’t publish your accounts, but I guarantee that the ladies of B302 will appreciate the humor.