Lacking power on the last day of classes–a fragmented account

It’s 00:50, and power on the Rose campus just came back on. For twelve hours, Rose has been on its knees, with no Internet, no lights, no air conditioning, and, in my residence hall, no plumbing.

I was getting ready to take my last Gender Issues exam when the power in the office started fluctuating and turning on and off both regularly and quickly. I ran around and quickly turned off all the computers and the printer, since the last thing I wanted was for Luke to have to spend any more of the Thorn’s money on equipment.

What was the common sentiment on campus as soon as the power went out? “Don’t let the beer get warm!” Drunk folk were out in more force than ever tonight, KY Jellying our door handles and stairwell rails, driving like maniacs without headlights on, putting cans of flammable shit in the bonfire that was built.

I had my last chemistry test this morning. It either went really well, or really, really badly. I was the second one to finish, and the guy that finished first seems to have grades as low as mine, because he looked scared as hell, too. My last Gender Issues exam was sort of cancelled because we couldn’t see to write the exam. We just held a class discussion and went over the questions. That was perfectly alright, given that I hadn’t really been able to prepare for it as well as I did for chemistry. Or as well as I think I did on the chemistry exam.

Continue reading Lacking power on the last day of classes–a fragmented account

A month off can be a good thing.

So the Thorn’s final issue, a commemorative issue to Dr. Hulbert, our departing president, is done. I just e-mailed the PDFs to our printer, right at the 05:00 deadline.

I ended up becoming only one of the halves of a lap onto which the paper was dropped. I look at what’s finished, and I realized I did very, very little. How disappointing.

We were supposed to have most of the content in by April 30, so we wouldn’t be doing this shit at 04:30 on the night before distribution. I, however, didn’t write my story until Monday this week, dragging my heels because I didn’t want to write my first-ever “news article” in such an important issue. I ended up writing two articles combined into one since my other writer reneged, but, alas, such is life.

I wanted to get my page on coeducation done last night. I wanted to get the template and content of the center-spread timeline laid out so all Bob would have to do would be to scan in the pictures I picked out and place ’em. I wanted to help Bob figure out what we wanted to do with Hulbert’s old 1976 interview, so that would be cake as well. I didn’t want to be a bitch at people’s slowness or ignorance, and I didn’t want to be the one holding back progress on production. These were my goals for the past two days.

Continue reading A month off can be a good thing.


The Thorn office has cleared out. Bob (who I love to death) had been loitering and complaining all evening, and Laura (a nice girl woman) had just sort of been in the way, blocking access to resources I needed. They kept talking to me, meaning I couldn’t keep my headphones on loud and focus on work.

But now I’ve got until 07:30 before I need to shower and get ready for class, and I can work straight through the night until then, no interruptions.

Continue reading Finally…

"That’ll teach you."

Is there any other phrase better designed to cause quenched, beaten down, silenced resistance to flare back up in a blaze of semi-impotent fury?

After I (admittedly) got my ass whooped in the wee hours of the morning earlier today, I was going to stop stealing someone’s knife and lay off with the permanent marker drawings on the back of his neck.

When I woke up after my two-hour nap after said fight unable to lift my arms above my head or type/write for more than ten seconds without needing a break, I was going to stop using Luke as my punching bag just so I could stop having my arms wrenched up behind my back.

When I bumped into my desk and was made painfully aware of the thirty or so finger bruises on my wrists and forearms, I was mos def going to chill out, before someone saw and got the wrong idea about the whole thing.

Continue reading "That’ll teach you."

Growing into one’s skin

Fat people have opinions too“. Not a diatribe against discrimination of fat folks (although those are fun to read, too), but something so much better–an account of a woman’s development of a self-assurance and self-confidence that is hard and long in coming.

It’s something I still don’t have. I still can’t look at myself in the mirror without giving myself a critical eye–how much more weight I need to lose, how many hours I need to spend in the sun to get my skin to be where I want it to be, etc., etc. I still flinch and twitch in overreaction and hypersensitivity to physical contact–my body is not one to be touched casually without my mental balance being upset. It’s something I’ve learned to cover with a funny high-pitched squeal for comic value, and I am getting better, but I am always acutely aware of violations of my “space”. Why? Because, of course, if you touch me, you may feel what my clothing covers, what I dislike so much.

I’m better than I used to be in terms of the harshness of my self-criticisms, but I’ve got a long way to go before I’m really comfortable in my own skin and don’t feel a need to change how I am (because this surpasses my physical state) to be okay. But I don’t know that I can even define what “okay” is, for me. I just “know” it’s different from how I am currently, which I also know is ridiculous. But, alas, intellect and emotions don’t always mesh smoothly.

Continue reading Growing into one’s skin