Posts by Jonah

It was hard to get up this morning. Whatever excitement I had yesterday
didn’t keep up with 8 a.m. Thursday. I even listened to the idiots on the
radio jabber, rather than exit my warm cocoon. But after a cup of coffee
(half of which is now in the passenger seat by way of a quick turn on the way
to school) and a couple of chapters of Jack London’s _Sea Wolf_ on tape, I
was ready for the day. It was a beautifully cold, damp, miserable type of
day, the day that automatically puts me in a good mood. I even greeted
people I knew far too cheerfully as I walked all the way across campus after
parking near the trailers and then remembering my first class was in the
library. Paul had an empty seat next to him around the round table type
classroom, so I plopped my bookbag down. He made some comment about
unfortunately not having much say on where I sat, but I knew he didn’t mind.

Karen came in to Hermeneutics later, so that, as she pointed out afterward,
we were the only two girls in the class. “Let’s argue the rabid feminist
stance!” she urged as she, Paul, Mashburn, and I sat around after everyone
else had left. “God is a She!” I exclaimed. “Whether we believe it or not,”
she went on, “we’ll tick them off!”

Walking over to the other building for Karen to get her caffeine fix from a
coke machine, I told her about the “American Myth” reading club/directed
study Allums and Schaefer and Mashburn are doing with us. “I want to!” she
exclaimed, “Can I?” “Ask Paul,” I shrugged. “I have no say in this,” Paul
kept insisting. “So can I come?” “Yes,” I finally decreed, “You can come.”
“So what happened to Bitter Greg?” asked Karen. She and Maynard made up
names for all the people in God and Suffering last semester. There was
“Genius Paul,” “Jonah,” “Fat Religion Guy in the Back.” But none of us had
seen Greg. “I don’t even know if he’s coming back,” I said, “He was tired
with school.” “He was tired with school,” agreed Mashburn, nodding sadly,
“He needs to be in an environment where he can say whatever he wants.”

I didn’t have anything to do for the next couple hours, so I accompanied Paul
to his Old Testament class. “I’m not in this class,” I said to Dr. Berry as
we entered the room late and he handed Paul a syllabus. “I beg to differ,”
he retorted, “You ARE in this classroom.” There wasn’t much to it, like all
other classes yesterday and today, just collecting and scanning syllabi.

Paul debated afterward whether to eat or buy books in the time left before
his next class at one. Like any good student, he chose the bookstore.
Rounding a corner in the lobby of Weaver, who should we see but… “Greg!”
we both shouted, each taking a hand and shaking it warmly. The recipient of
our attention shrugged, smiled slightly, and began philosophizing in his
Kentucky speed of speech. “I have to register,” he said, “What should I put
for my major? ‘Cause it don’t matter what I put, it’ll be somethin’
different on my diploma.” “Philosophy,” I said. “No, I was thinkin’ bout
somethin’ obscure that NO ONE would pick. Like fish harvesting in
Nicaragua.” That is, incidently, a real class offered at the Nicaraguan
campus. “What should I take?” he asked me. I flipped through my catalog and
pointed out things he might like, Con Law, Presidency and Congress, Russian
Lit, Hebrew Bible Thought. “Photography,” he said, “I wanna major in that.”
“You could take ceramics,” I suggested. “Ceramics?” “Yeah, make pots and
stuff. I’m in there.” “You’re taking it?” he laughed, “That’d be fun.”
Paul still had to buy books, so he left. Greg said he’d come to the
conclusion that nothing mattered. “But, you’re here,” I pointed at Weaver’s
tile floor.

I told him I’d started C.S. Lewis’ _The Great Divorce_. Greg said he’d
finished Camus’ _The Stranger_ over break, “I liked the guy. I wanted him to
die. But I wanted him to accept death, deal with it.” “I thought he
deserved to die, even though he wasn’t evil.” “No passion.” “That’s it! He
didn’t have any passion. He didn’t love anything. Lust and annoyance,
that’s all. And that’s what he died with, lust for life.” “Yeah! But,
that’s all life IS!” “Then what’s it matter?” I asked him. “What DOES
matter?” he asked, “What’s one thing that matters?” I was halfway out the
door, on my way to class, “It’s about love. In a cosmic sense.”

We ran into Karen coming in as we went out. That waylaid my advance to class
even more. Though almost all of the same people who were in Presidency and
Congress were also in Constitutional Law, they’d left the front of the room
vacant. I sat in the front, just left of the middle, seat, in front of
Melissa Lindquist, who was in turn in front of Tracy. The classroom was very
quiet, but then the three of us started talking about stuff. Schaefer ran
straight into lecturing, talking about the Articles of Confederation and
saying our first Supreme Court brief was due on Tuesday. Afterward, Tracy
asked me if was auditioning today. “Today? I guess so.” “Auditions are
open this time,” she said, “The thing is that so many of the majors aren’t
going to be available for The Doctor in Spite of Himself. So we’re desperate
for actors.”

So I showed up in the theater room after getting my syllabus from Ceramics.
Mrs. Kellum had us do a bunch of warm up exercises and then do things like
say, “My name is , and I am not happy about it,” making a
movement with our bodies each time we said a syllable and other
non-script-reading activities. Then Stephen and Sherrea, who are directing
_Ladies of the Camilias_, had guys and girls read different parts to that play.
I was pretty happy with mine. My “guy” was Maynard, who is incredibly
talented. I dunno if I’ll get a part or not. There are three plays they’re
putting on this semester all together, so I at least have a shot. But if
not, I’m sure I can use the extra free time! Like I have any anymore.
Finally got home around 6.

Man, I love school.

Okay, okay, it’s only the first day. Nothing due… yet. No papers to write (this week), no projects to finish, no tests to take, no assignments to read. Well, okay, I do have reading assignments to complete by Friday, but no sweat! After all, isn’t that what school is all about? Reading cool stuff under the direction of someone older, smarter, and wiser? Every class is a directed study. Or should be.

And then, of course, there’s seeing everyone again. “Hey! How ya doin’?” “What’s up?” “Have a good Christmas?” Each semester is a time to start over, another chance. The first day of class is a prime time to say hello to everyone you might ignore out of familiarity later on. I say I can live without people. I say I could walk away. And I do. But, I forget how great it is to see them again.

“Do you know anyone who’s majored in General Studies?” asked a girl named Robyn, as I sat in the hallway, feverishly filling out my class registration forms. We got into a discussion about majoring in undecided before moving into the classroom. Paul came in too late to get a seat front and center (where I was sitting). “Hello,” he said. Someone greeted him with a “good morning.” He responded with something questioning the goodness of it. “Every morning is a good morning,” I insisted, “It just goes downhill from there.” He blinked in response. Too early for a good comeback, I suppose.

It should be a good class. There’s a bunch of fresh meat in there. Almost everyone was bunched around the front and center of the room. Dr. Schaefer asked how many presidents we’ve had. “Forty-two I answered. Each day he said he’d start out by telling us weird facts about a president. Today, was George Washington, who died while taking his own pulse. (Can you imagine it? “Uh, Martha, I don’t feel anything…”)

Paul and Marie and I stayed afterward and chatted while Dr. Schaefer listened to Wyatt and signed my schedule. When Marie mentioned taking the GRE test for literature, Schaefer said, “Dr. Garner has a bunch of anthologies she’s getting rid of. Would that help?” Paul and I perked up, “Free books?” We all followed Schaefer down the hall to the offices and ran into Dr. Allums, cornered him into Dr. Garner’s old office and made him talk about this literary club/directed studies thing. We invited Schaefer to join us and then snagged Mashburn on his way to class. The triumvirate all together. It was a wonderful sight. We agreed to meet on Wednesdays, starting at 3:30 till whenever. Allums said a couple of other people were interested in a directed study, so we might end up with quite a crew. Allums offered Moby Dick and Go Down Moses by Faulkner as his selections for reading in this “American Myth” course. Schaefer put out d’Toqueville’s Democracy in America, and Mashburn had to get to class. I’m very excited about the whole thing.

Leaving Paul, I went to stand in line at the business office to register for classes. Suddenly, something slammed into my left shoulder. I turned and saw Jeremy, uncut hair slicked back, a Van Dyke framing his grin, with his fists in front of him. “You wanna fight? Come on!” I rolled my eyes, slid my book bag off onto the floor, widened my stance, and lifted my fists. “I’m here to pick up my records,” he said, throwing a punch I blocked with my right arm as we circled in the crowded hall of people, “I’m not coming back.” “So I’ll never see you again.” “That’s right.” “What are you going to do?” I asked, testing him with my right fist. “Working in Atlanta,” he said, trying to slid a punch under my block, “Financial consultant. And my mom knows a couple of people in TV/movies production, so maybe I can go somewhere with an acting career… We better stop,” he straightened up, laughing, “There are too many pedestrians.” I wrote down our phone number and my dad’s work number for him while every other girl who walked past paused to screech and hug him. “I can’t remember the 800 number,” I apologized. “See! See, that’s one advantage I have over you,” he exulted, “_I_ can memorize numbers!” We stood in line, him to get his records, me to register.

I headed over to the bookstore and, miraculously, found all the ones I needed. As the lady at the checkout copied down the titles onto my bookstore charge, she observed, “Taking a lot of interesting classes.” “I hope so.” Carrying the plastic bag, nearly bursting at the seams, I met up with Karen and Elizabeth, who were on their way to Russian Literature and Culture, taught by everyone’s favorite Russian, Dr. K. Karen was evidently overjoyed to see me because she gave me a hug. We looked out onto the quad from our vantage point on the third floor of Weaver, admiring the green smiley face on the grass. “It’s spreading,” said Karen, indicating the green smudge around the mouth. “No,” I corrected, “They must have sown some more seed. See how the older grass is taller?” We returned to the room, my two companions talking non-stop until our professor came in. “Aren’t you going to write something up on the board?” asked Karen. I guess I achieved a reputation for pre-class graffiti last semester, so I found something suitable about death in the book of short works by Tolstoy and scratched it into the board. I decided the room was too cramped and boycotted the front row. No one dared to scab. This is my first class with Dr. K. that has been mostly English students instead of Political Science freaks. I kept drifting off into daydreams if I watched her talk, so I spent most of the class intently listening about patronymic names while sketching a mutant tulip on the back of the syllabus.

Karen and I went to the bookstore, where I showed her the hermaneutic stack and we harassed one of the track jocks, who ended up in God and Suffering last semester. Then, since I had parked way out by the office trailers where she works, I walked back over there with her to come home.

I had to pick up my plaster sculpture “Thing” from the special events office today, after it had been in the New Year’s Eve juried student art show. I realized when I went to the show with Denise just how selective the jury had been.

Tonight, I was positively hyper at supper. Makes up for being in the depths of depression yesterday, eh?

I made some cookies this evening. I also learned how to knit… again. As I sat down with a ball of peach yarn and the two yellow plastic knitting needles I’d fished out of Mom’s knitting box, Andrew walked in and said, “Jonah, not you, tell me your not learning how too…?” “What of it?” I glared at him. “Jonah, if you do this, my whole confidence in you will be shaken.” “You’re just jealous.” So I did. Denise gave Ben and me a lesson on how to knit, though, she does it the wrong way, so I’ll have to learn the right way sometime soon. I doubt doing it the wrong way will hurt me much. After each line, I’d ask Denise, “Uh, how do you do this again?” My first line was far, far too tight. “Perhaps it’s a reflection of state of being,” I suggested.

I blew up at Nathan today. I yelled at my dad last night, telling him to get out of the kitchen. Denise went with me to the flea market this afternoon. I wanted to try to get the windshield on the Voyager fixed, since it’s got a couple of spiderweb nicks in it, which will grow if we’re not careful. There was a piece of paper, blown crooked in the wind, taped to one side of thewindshield repair place’s stall. I pulled it back to read, “Gone to store be right back –Tony.” Denise went over to look at ribbon while I sat in the car and waited. When it became evident that “be right back” was a figure of speech, I had Denise escort me to the used book booth. There, I purchased a collection of short stories edited by Ursula L’Guin for a buck and a quarterand returned to the van to wait. I’d read 2 and a half short stories when I finally decided to leave. Denise had come back and was napping in the seat next to me. Three unsure guys had come up and appeared to be waiting for “Tony” to come back so that they could collect their minivan. As we drove away, Denise asked if I was mad. “Yes,” I said, “but not about the windshield.” “Well, what are you mad about?” “I don’t know.” “PMS?” “Probably.”

1-4-97
Maybe the sun’s light will be dim
It won’t matter anyhow

I’ve taken my station at Boris’ keyboard again. The cat, tonight, is trying his best to attack my socks. Unfortunately, the socks are still on my feet.ww22222222222222223344444444
He makes his way up to the desk and onto the keyboard. Now he’s peering into the darkness outside my window, perhaps trying to figure out why the heat pump makes so much noise.

It’s funny how everything becomes a treasure when you have nothing.

We watched Dangerous Minds at Nathan and Andrew’s apartment tonight. The boys sent Emily, Steph, and me to Delchamps to rent one. We finally picked one we said we hadn’t seen. bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbnnn,kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkm (darn cat), guessing that neither of the boys had. Turns out Steph had watched it with BOTH of them already. Steph isn’t a good one to pick out movies. Of course, her personal favorites are G rated films about animals. Since Nathan had already seen it, he wasn’t a very good viewer, especially after the coffee and cookies. We joke about him not being able to last an hour through a movie before he starts talking and making noises and otherwise being obnoxious. This time it wasn’t even 30 minutes. He eventually went back into his bedroom, so Steph, of course, followed. Movies are a low priority on her list. Nathan started playing some REALLY loud 311 on his stereo or whatever he has that makes music back there. Andrew went back and closed the door. As he came back, I muttered, “I suppose it’s okay. They are engaged.”

“Actually, it’s kind of a relief that they are engaged now. They can do whatever they want, and I don’t care anymore. I’m not sure if I should have before. Am I caring? Or just anal? A fine line exists between the two, I suppose.u8y

Late at night is a good time to do some soul searching.
The dark night of the soul.
Or the long, dark tea-time.

The cat just knocked over my jar containing acorns. He seems bound and determined to roll it over the edge of my desk, shoving a pile of things onto the floor with it.

I’m taking Constitutional Law next semester.

I throw the cat to the ground. He was getting just a little disruptive among the chaos that is my desk top.

The movie was about caring. A woman that cared enough to enter the lives of her problem students. Why care? At the end, her smoker friend who also teaches there says in answer to the question why he keeps teaching, “Why do I smoke? Because I’m crazy, I guess.”

That cat is back up on my desk, trying desperately to get the acorns out of the jar. They say you can catch a monkey by putting a stone through a hole into an empty coconut. The monkey grabs hold of the stone, but his hand is now too large to pull back out. He’ll get caught rather than give up the stone. A worthless trifle, yet he’ll trade his freedom, his life, for it.

The cat is now in the process of eating my shoe. Fortunately, the shoe is not on my foot.

The content sheet of the tape I’m listening to lies upside down on top of my desk, among the other things strewn atop it. It’s probably the safest place for it.

Mom and I went shopping for a filing cabinet today. We found a nice, oak one at Oak Express, but it was 200 dollars. I guess I’ll just use cardboard boxes until I can find one cheaper than that. I mean, I could get a used, loud, flimsy metal one for 30 or so, but why?

I keep yawning, so I suppose I’ll go to bed. Maybe the cat will finally calm down.

1-5-97
Another Saturday night
And I ain’t got nobody…
How I wish I had some chick to talk to

Another night at Boris. A continuance of the dance of the cat on the top of my desk.

I actually watched some TV tonight. I was pretty bored. For some reason, I’m the most bored when I should be doing (or am doing) something I don’t particularly want to. All the other females except Steph were in the living room knitting or learning how to. Steph was with Nathan. Nathan’s brother Joshua was in the den crocheting rainbow yarn into a long chain. Mark and Andrew were off talking about whatever those two boys talk about for hours on end. Dad was up painting Steph’s new closet. And I was bored. But I didn’t want to be anti-social, so I switched on the tube2wwwwwwww344444444444 and flipped through the channels. Voyager was on UPN, so I left it there. Janeway and the black Vulcan, Tupoc or whatever, were doing a mind meld. Ben and Josh and I watched it till it was over. Then I went into the knitting bee, but by then, it was about time to eat, so I set up everything in the kitchen instead of joining them.

Eric, Carolyn and her sister Katherine had been over earlier. We had planned to have a bonfireand roast brauts. I broke and chopped off long sticks to cook them with while Mark and Ben sharpened them and Eric, Nathan, and Joshua shot their SKS’s into the hill on the other side of the lake. Chinese assault rifles are loud. Then I heard Steph yell at Nathan to stop for whatever reason. Mom came around back a bit later and said that our neighbors through the woods and on the other side of the power lines said that bullets were shooting up their trailers. Evidently, two big rednecks drove up and, really upset, swore, one of them almost on the verge of tears.

“That’s okay,” I said to mom, when she expressed concern at their presence, “We have three SKS.” They said that the daughter of whatever family lives over there had a guy looking at her car when bullets started whizzing by. The two of them hit the ground and had to stay there, the bullets kept coming so fast. Dad went over there and assured them that if there was any damage, we’d take care of it. It was too dark to see if anything had been hit. Nathan was very upset. When the sheriff showed up, Andrew and Mark joked about the Kompound being under attack. I was fixing beans, but I heard Nathan’s voice coming through the door as the sheriff prepared to drive away, “I’m really sorry!
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So, Eric, Carolyn and company left early, and we cooked the brauts over the grill. Afterward, the knitting crew went back to knitting and everyone else disappeared again, so I cleaned up thekitchen. Denise suggested we all go out for ice cream, so we went to Cream ‘n Bean. Emily, Jef, Denise and I stopped by WallyWorld first to get yarn. I commented how it must look funny, four chicks in flannel shirts walking in to buy yarn. I got bored when they took too long to make up their minds on what flavor to purchase, so I told them I’d be out in the car listening to the radio and sharpening my knife I’m wearing on my belt. I used it to try to cut branches earlier, but it was too dull. It’s getting better now, but I’m not too good at sharpening knives. I’ve never really been taught how.

We finally got to the coffee place by the time everyone else had finished theirs. We got ours to go and headed over to the apartment. I looked through Andrew’s Entertainment magazine’s special on the X-files while we watched MAD TV. There was a very clever piece on black slang, but the rest of the skits went downhill from there.

I tied the cat’s mouse on a string to a nob on the pulled out top drawer of my dresser, and he’s been happily batting at it for the past half hour. I should have done that a lot earlier.

I think Mom is going to take Emily back to Columbus tomorrow after church. She’s thinking about staying for quite a while, like several days. This means that I’ll have to be responsible for taking care of my grandmother and meals and stuff. Oh well, it might be nice to have Mom out of the house again.

Maybe I’ll go to Morocco next fall.