Needles

My father’s funeral service was held on November 1st, 2009.

Here is what I have:

-A mother with all sorts of nightmares and an addled sense of direction. Here begins the return to business, and the return to life. He was her teammate. She wasn’t close to anyone else, outside of out unit.

-A mountain of schoolwork. I’ve been behind on papers for a while now, in the time leading up to finality. College is paper-intensive. My dorm room feels like a cell, now, when my roommate isn’t in. It’s quiet, and the CD player doesn’t work. I constantly look for ways out, running around campus with twitching hands.

-The desire for needles and ink. My friends here are the strongest support network I’ve ever had. Most every time I feel alone, there’s someone coming to spend time with me, to the best of their ability.

I’m going to the Virtue & Vice for the first time today. I plan on getting a nose ring. Beverly’s getting pierced with me.

For now, I’m taking shelter in the unit. I pray that it’s enough.

Welcome to College. Please to Mind Your Shoes.

Ladies and gentlemen, whatever designation you please,

Welcome to my college life.

My university of choice is Oglethorpe University of Atlanta.

My designation is as part of the flock of Stormy Petrels, a group that is weird simply by way of choosing to join this school rather than backing away slowly after a short meeting with the Dean of Students.

I’m writing this on the last day of Orientation, in hopes of keeping a record of my college life in some brief detail.

Ha! Look! English major peeking out up there.

Anyway, let’s begin with the first day.

I arrived on-campus with my mother, and we moved me into Traer dorm. My roommate (who shall not be named), a cross-country runner, had informed me that there had been a mistake made with room assignments, and as an athlete, she was supposed to be rooming with another athlete, because of their early schedules. I soon found out that this had been a lie from my new roommate, Tes, who had been strong-armed out of her rooming assignment by my apparently not-so-sweet former roomie.

Glory.

Fortunately, we’re a much better match than (Unnamed she) and I would have been.

The proof is in the practice, see?

That night, I began having severely depressed thoughts about my family and home. I called my mother in hopes of calming myself down, but it only seemed to work for a short while, after which point I became nauseous, and started a regimen of burping, vomiting, and dry-heaving into a bucket by my bedside.

I became homesick. Literally.

My roommate was up with me nearly the entire time, and we both had a mandatory service project the next morning.

Soon, she asked if she should run and get the R.A. (an angel named Ariele, all luck to her), who came over right away (At 2 a.m.) and suggested, to start, a compress for my throat.

After talking to me for a bit, she called campus safety, who also called and asked me questions, before calling the paramedics.

I shot a call to my mother at around this point, who was not attending her phone at this point, and left a message that was perhaps not, in retrospect, the most intelligent.

Something along the lines of, ‘Hey, mom. It’s me. I told you I’ve been feeling sick…um…I’ve been throwing up since around 12, and I just wanted you to know, they’re calling the paramedics. But don’t panic. It’s not like I’m going to the hospital, or anything.’

I don’t think she’s actually heard the message yet, because I scared her out of her mind when she called back and I told her what was happening.

Anyway, the paramedics came and went, leaving me with a simple, ‘Probably the flu. Drink fluids, take Tylenol.’ Which is, of course, widely helpful in a student dorm where the drink machine is unplugged and the students (at present) have no Tylenol.

Mercifully, the R.A. decided to excuse me from the next morning’s service project, but not Tes, which was a bit awkward. I apologized for the better part of the night.

A bit after everyone left, my mother drove over from her hotel to sleep in my tiny little bed and pet my hair all night.

It seemed that I was allergic to the dorm.

-

The next day, I ‘woke up’ (and I use the term lightly, as I have not yet experienced full, uninterrupted sleep in my wee dorm bed) to my mother getting more of my things unpacked for me, organizing things so I wouldn’t have to worry about them.

I asked her if she was leaving, and she promised she wouldn’t until I told her it was all right.

I took a shower while all of my suitemates were out at the project, leaving me time to try (and fail) to understand the workings of our shower, and perform my daily hygiene rituals.

Afterward, my mother and I bawled for a bit before she decided to take me to the nurse and get me to eat something (which was, for that day, just about the last thing I wanted to do).

The nurse was out, so we left the Student Center, expecting to head off-campus and eat together.

That plan was nixed when we ran into Tes, who informed us that the next seminar was mandatory for students, and would not give us enough time to leave campus.

Back to the Student Center!

We walked into the cafeteria, and the nurse ran up to us from behind, calling for my mother.

She said, ‘We must have just missed each other.’ And proceeded to take the pizza (which was the mildest thing I’d seen) from my hand, put it in my mother’s, and tell me that mom would eat it.

Instead, she gave me half a bagel with butter.

At this point in time, people, you have no idea how awesome this woman is. Kathy Grote is, presently, the queen of my fool heart.

After that, I proceeded to part with my mother and head to another seminar, followed by a QnA on Greek Life.

During both of which, I couldn’t seem to stop crying.

--

Skipping over things, really.

It is now the first Friday of school. I’ve made it through an entire week, and I’m really starting to adjust (Less tears, better sleeping).

Planning to Rush, if I can, and join a few organizations.

Making friends and terrorizing people has never been so much fun!

I’ll probably edit this later, to include more, but right now I’m too excitable to sit still and type it all.

^o^

--

Today, Tes had a little mishap on our way out of the Student Center with Heather and Janet.

The creek (which is really more of a dry ditch with a drain by the walkway) had flooded with the rain.

We had been using the stonewall between the two to keep out of the massive mud puddles, but when Tes climbed up, her phone took a rather graceful dive into said roaring rain-current.

In trying to fish it out, she fell in just after.

And lost both her room key and one of her shoes.

She tossed the other one in out of frustration.

Most of this has been caught on video tape.

I bought her a new pair, so she’d still have sandals, but she’s still a little mad at me.

But we’re assuming it will be funny for her, too, once she has a new key (hopefully free of charge).

It was worth it.

>:3

-Hillary, Queen of College Terror

Father's out of the hospital again, but this time, he's not supposed to be.

Dr. Feinstein requested that he be allowed to keep him for 'a few more weeks', which is apparently hospital code for 'indefinitely'.

My father objected, of course. He said that he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker every day, and he felt that it was killing him.

So now he's back outside with all the choking germs and obnoxious stares.

You might recognize him.

My father is the man who has to use the motorized cart at Publix.

He's the man with the red, swollen skin because his cancer has become subcutaneous.

He's the man who has to wear a surgical mask outside.

He's the man who can't walk fifty feet alone.

And he shakes all the time because he is always in pain.

Please don't stare at him.

He knows.

My mother and I have to leave home for the weekend of July 17 for OU Passport, my orientation at Oglethorpe.

I get to meet new friends, pick my classes, and watch my mother stress out over whether my father is as all right as he says he is over the phone.

I'm glad, at least, that now I have my license.

I can be of some use to my parents, even if it's just ferrying my father to and from the hospital.

Such is life.

Since last I posted, there have been a few...moderate changes in my life.

-My father was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's T-Cell Lymphoma on Christmas Day. We have since found out that it's Peripheral, too. He's been in and out of the hospital. He's coming home from his latest stay today, we hope.

-I have received nearly a full ride in scholarship money from Oglethorpe. I'm going to college.

-I never have to sit in my high school Key Club again.

-Mob Wars is overrated.

-I'm FREE!

Presently, this is all.

"Crash" Course? Not so much.

Before we get into the details here, I should provide some background:
I received my learner's permit at seventeen, because I'm lazy like that. I wasn't terribly eager to get behind the wheel of a 'moving weapon'.

Especially not with the 'pencil through your head' visual the D&A test provides.

Anyway, I had been taking lessons from my mother. Only on the back roads, only at around 15 mph. Any faster, and she would start panicking.

One day, I was feeling particularly confident in my parking abilities (Don't ask me why), and decided to 'coast' into a parking place by my mother's office building. Except as I decided to do this, my mother began screaming about stopping, and I slammed on the brake.

...Except, it wasn't the brake.

I wound up accelerating into the wall of the building.

Fortunately, there weren't any serious injuries, but the teasing went on all day, and according to my mother, I had nearly killed Katy, whose desk was just behind that wall.

I hadn't driven since, until yesterday.

At the beginning, he had me pull a three-point turn out of street, and we drove around the neighborhood for a bit before leaving.

Long story short?

He got me going 60 on the highway, and commenting on how slow it felt.

Slow.

At 60.

I was terrified of hitting twenty before I got in the car with this man.

Suddenly, I think that maybe driving won't be such a horror story for me. I enjoyed the lesson, and am looking forward to next weekend's.

Anyone else have a nice beginner's story, so I don't feel like as much of a headcase?

I have, fortunately, been accepted to Oglethorpe, as I may or may not have mentioned. I attended Scholarship Weekend recently, and am now up to my eyeballs in make-up work.

'Screwed' is one of my life's IMDB plot keywords.

Regardless, today (or rather, yesterday) was my birthday. Pleasant and relaxed. I didn't leave the house until around noon. Went to Color Me Mine (where the six-year-old birthday party from Hell was already taking place) and painted a "Love & Therapy" funds piggy bank.

You know, one of those 'practical things' I should take to college.

Anyway, now my iPhone has been (thankfully!) replaced, and I am in possession of a Polaroid Printer.

How many ways can we work ADHD and adhesive surfaces?

Let's find out, shall we?

-My father is in the hospital. He will not be home for Christmas.

-My cousin Jill called at 11:30 the other night to tell us that Willy's newborn son, Liam, has died of SIDS.

-The funeral was already held. No one told us.

At least I got into college, so I'm not as screwed as I was before.