Pretty Folders!

Some days, I am ready to arrive, to face my Brave New World in Collegteown, Cornfield, but not ready to go. Then, other days, I am extremely ready to go (especially on days when I get three phone calls from friends already throwing out their dice in the real world, and go to sparsely populated parties where I can arrogantly indulge in thoughts such as “that’s so high school”). Today, I think I might be just plain ready. All the way ready.

Of course, the ready I’m talking about is an emotional ready. As far as packing and shopping go, I’ve been ready. I’ve got all the basics: towels, sheets, shower shoes, a sexy but functional floor lamp, impractical undergarments (kidding, Spice, only kidding), bed risers, several Eskimo costumes... And the necessary dorm decorations are all in order. My massive tie-dye tapestry (a staple for every college-bound hippie,), my favorite Chagall print, Mozart (the action figure), and my photo board (which covers everything from my brother’s birth to my senior prom) will soon abandon the walls of my childhood sanctuary to bring life to the fluorescent-lit concrete cubicle of a dorm room that I will, from September to December, call home. My brother even painted a self-portrait for me, with a hug to go with it! I think Squirt might even miss me (if only because he will soon be the sole recipient of all of my parents’ considerable scrutiny and affection).

In addition to dorm necessities, I have created what must be the most beautiful address book that ever will bless a college campus. If only my college success hinged on the aesthetics of my folders and notebooks, I would certainly excel. As it is, I’ll admit to being worried about the coming change. Will I be brave enough not to get lonely? Practical enough to avoid illness and the “freshman fifteen?” Silly enough to keep laughing at what I’ve been ensured is gravely serious? My mother, at least, seems to have faith that I will be all of these things, in time. In fact, I find it very reassuring that one of her greatest concerns is whether or not I will remember to choke down the oblong cannonballs she calls vitamins, every morning before my calcium-enriched juice. I hope to prove her right.

Even when I manage to fail spectacularly, which I am sure to do, I have high hopes that college will provide many opportunities for laughter, scowling, and possibly even mad cackling. In other words, it will be a Grand Adventure. Here I will post tales of my exploits, (and those of Darcy the bass, my faithful companion) so that you can experience, along with me, the terrors and triumphs of being a college freshwoman.


Today I slept embarrassingly late. This is because I do not have sense. That is, I probably have some sense stored away, but if so I am choosing to save it for a rainy day. Case in point: last night, I went to a fancy party. I was late leaving, because this summer I’ve become a girl, and decided I should look pretty, and so spent an exorbitant amount of time struggling towards this end before giving up. When I got to the party, I had several nasty shocks in a row, and hours of hip swiveling (doing the Twist, of course) and eager discussion of other people’s affairs were required before I felt enough like myself to drive home. Of course, once I got home, it was far too noisy to sleep; the shouts from my bookshelves had wedged their way into my lack of thoughts. And then of course, there were folders to be decorated. I will not even tell you what time my yawns finally did defeat these compulsions. It will only prove to you, as it has to me, that I am not qualified to determine my own sleep schedule.