Our Dumb Blog

Naps are good.

Except when my mom wakes me up suddenly, demands I do something and then
starts telling me something important while I’m still not even sure where I
am, what’s going on, or even who I am.

That happened early this evening. I was taking a nap because I went to bed
sometime around 11:30 last night, got up at 2, procrastinated for a couple of
hours before buckling down on my paper on Shakepeare’s _Henry IV_, finishing
around seven something. Dad was proofreading it this morning and noting,
“This is your personal philosophy, Joanna.” Mom read it and asked, “Are all
your papers autobiographical?” I reminded her that my last paper was “The
Irony of Evil” in which I discussed two of Shakepeare’s greatest villains,
Iago and Edmund. “I didn’t include it in that last paper,” I told her, “but
I was originally intending to ask how someone could be that evil and then say
that to find the answer all I had to do was look inside myself.” “I didn’t
mean it like that!” she exclaimed.

I called ATR in Washington and set up an appointment for a phone interview
tomorrow at three.

Functioning merely on caffeine and ginseng tea, I made the final alterations
to my paper and headed out the door, getting to school about 20 till nine.
With some time to kill, I wondered around the fine arts building looking at
the “Art With a Southern Drawl” exhibit and then returning to my classroom,
only to find it entirely empty. It was then that I remembered that class
starts at 9:30 on Tuesdays, not nine. I can’t seem to function in a timely
manner unless I set my alarm for one hour and 15 minutes before class starts.
And last night I got up at 2.

Feeling pretty stupid, I went to the snack shop with Elizabeth and read some
of my world religions text for the quiz we had today. The rest of the day
went fairly normally. We’re discussing Christianity in WR, and specifically
the sermon on the mount. When we got to the part about, “You have heard it
said, ‘Do not commit adultery,’ but I say to you that any man who looks
lustfully at a woman has already committed adultery with her in his heart,”
the question of what lust is came up. Andy, sitting behind me, said, “Joanna
will have an opinion on the matter.” I somehow became the spokesperson for
the females in the group on how women think. I was hoping very hard that
what I said was what they thought. But all the girls nodded when we came to
statement we agreed upon, so I felt a lot better.

I found a couple of books on the National Education Association in the
library and paid a huge fine on a book that was due about a month ago. Then
I purchased a tall cup of coffee and a pint of whole milk from the snack shop
(caffeine protein–a winning combination; kept me awake too) and went over to
Shakespeare, where one of the theater majors insisted I sit down and play the
piano. People kept asking me, “What song is that?” “Sompthin’ I made up.”

At the end of class, Allums said the papers weren’t due till Thursday. I
handed in my paper anyway. I didn’t want to work on it anymore. I suppose
the title was fitting–“The Triumph of Disappointment.”

Then I came home, ate a plate of spaghetti, and crashed. Couple hours of
sleep last night, five the night before (thanks to you), four the night
before that. I’m going to bed for real tonight.

Jonah (seems to be truly able to operate without much sleep)

Oh, got another letter of rejection today. From the Pew Younger Program.
Guess that’s the end of that chapter [grin].

Cara said I didn’t want an internship at Heritage. They’re boring, she said.

I came home this evening, after making a fool of myself at the forum, to find
two envelopes waiting for me on the stairs, where my mom places my “real”
mail. One was from US Air. A promotion, no doubt. The other bore the words
“The Heritage Foundation” in the upper left hand corner. “A letter of
rejection,” I predicted as I, nontheless, ran excitedly up the stairs and
dumped the other things I was carrying on my bed. “Don’t think,” I told
myself in the time it took me to rip open the envelope, unfold the paper
inside, and read, “I regret to inform you that The Heritage Foundation is
unable to offer you an internship for the summer of 1996…” The rest of the
letter was more of the same.

But another sheet of paper in the same envelope caught my attention. I
turned it over and was suddenly surprised to see a copy of a memo “From- Sara
J. Fitzgerald.” I almost jumped. Across the top was the logo for Americans
For Tax Reform. It was about internship oportunities at ATR. I guess
Heritage included the memo in all their rejection letters? It said for
interested applicants to send resumes to their address. I’d already done
that.

Amazed at this, I took the letter downstairs to show mom. “Sara Fitzgerald,”
she said, “She called today. I told her you would be home this afternoon.
She asked you to call her to set up a phone interview.”

“Today?” I blinked.

“Yes. If you’d call home sometimes, you’d find out these things!” mom
answered, somewhat irritably.

So I’m going to call her in the morning. I dunno. This much coincidence in
one day…

Perhaps, as my favorite quote from the movie _Close Encounters of the Third
Kind_ says, “This means something.”

My friend Cris is absolutely insane. That’s probably why I like her.

We’re running together for Senior Class officers of SGA. We ran last year as
well. She won, and I lost. This year we’re running unopposed, however.
Being sure shoe-ins, we weren’t real concerned about the forum held tonight
for candidates to introduce themselves and make campaign statements to
whoever showed up. Only 15 of us did. Of them, only four were not running
for office. They included the present Executive President, who kind of had
to be there; his girlfriend, who was taking notes for an article for the
school paper; and the two work studies, who were running lights and sound.

Almost everyone was running unopposed. I go to a really apathetic school.
All of the candidates were female (except for Stephen, who won’t go have an
meeting with the Faculty Director of Student Stuff Like This, didn’t show up
at this forum, and won’t be on the ballot). They were all dressed up. As
Cris said, “You wouldn’t want to light a match in this room on account of all
the hair spray.” This was in contrast to the two of us. I was wearing my
usual jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirt, and black high tops, and Cris was in a
pair of cutoffs and t-shirt. Before it started, the two of us sat on one
side of the auditorium singing “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oreo, what’s in the
middle, the white stuff,” as everyone else glanced at us nervously.

Since we’re the only ones running for senior stuff, we went close to the end.
I’d written a speech beforehand after asking one of the tech guys what he
wanted out of SGA. Cris read it and chuckled. “Let’s go up there together,”
I suggested, as our turn approached. She shook her head. “Aw, come on,” I
whined in a whisper, “I don’t want to be up there all by myself.” She looked
dubious. “Hey,” I added, “how ’bout I give my speech while you perform an
interpretive dance?”

“Okay!” she agreed. We walked up to the podium on stage. Cris gave her
little introduction saying what we were running for. Then we switched
places. I gave my name and announced, “I’ll be a senior next year, which is
a good thing, considering I’m running for senior class vice president. I’ve
prepared a little speech outlining my campaign promises.

“As senior class vice president, I will make it my goal to bring about
several changes to benefit the student body and especially the senior class.
First off I would address the issue of security guards. I would work to
make them stop delivering so many tickets and start handing out coupons for
McDonalds. Speaking of fast food, the snack shop should offer a wider
variety of selections such as anchovies on pizza. On the same note, the
cafeteria should make items like Twinkies available. Another problem is the
bookstore. Have you been over there lately? They carry absolutely no comic
books! Chapel is an issue that also needs to be addressed. It’s just way
too boring most of the time. Perhaps we could do something about making more
work study jobs available. Maybe have students dressed up in chicken suits
to be present at UM events. They could even dance on the stage during chapel
to liven things up a bit. Finally, if you vote for me, I will work to give
free Skittles to all seniors. And if you don’t vote for me, that’s okay too.
Thank you, and God bless America.”

The nervous, occasional giggle ceased, and we stepped down from the stage to
a smattering of applause. When everyone had completed their shpeels, all the
candidates gathered up front to have their pictures taken. On the one with
all of us in it, Cris and I knelt facing each other, me peering over my
sunglasses at the camera. In the one of the candidates for Senior Class
officers, Cris and I sat back to back with one knee up, me with my sunglasses
still on. I can’t wait to see them posted out for the students who are
voting

I hate it when my face turns a brilliant shade of embarassed red.

It doesn’t happen very often. When people try to embarass me, I simply
revell in the noteriety, making their insinuations even bigger than they
planned. I love it when someone gets embarrassed themselves while trying to
make me blush. I like to say that the only person who can embarass me is
myself. Even when I do something stupid, I’m usually able to turn it into a
joke. But tonight that wasn’t really possible.

I attended a Seder, the traditional Jewish Passover feast, put on by a local
Messianic Jewish congragation and held at a local hotel ballroom. It was
fun. This is the third time I’ve attended it. I drank two glasses of wine.
But although they made my ears buzz, that was AFTER my face had turned
crimson.

Before the ceremony began, I took my grandmother, who uses a wheelchair to go
long distances, to the restroom. While I was waiting for her, I noticed
three rings sitting on the counter. Closer examination revealed a monogram
ring, what looked like an engagement ring, and another expensive looking
piece of finger jewelry. I told my grandmother I’d be right back and trotted
downstairs to the front desk to tell the man behind the counter about my
find. He suggested I bring them to him, so I ran back upstairs, retrieved
the rings, and left them at the front counter.

About halfway through the ceremony, someone at the front announced that one
of the ladies there had lost three rings that were very special to her in the
ladies room and that… “They’re at the front desk,” I spoke up, figuring
that was a good enough place to interrupt. Every head in the room turned
toward me. It was about then that I felt the blood rushing upward. “You
took them to the front desk?” asked the announcer. “Yeah, I took them
there.” “You found them?” “Yes,” I answered again, “I found them. They’re
up front.” Whatever else the person up front was saying was lost as the room
was suddenly filled with applause. That was when my face probably turned a
color akin to purple.

I was chewing a bite of chicken a little later when a woman walked up to me,
sniffled, and asked, “Are you the lady who found my daughter’s rings?” I
nodded while hurriedly swallowing. “Thank you so much!” she sobbed, throwing
her arms around my neck. “Mmmmff,” I replied into her shoulder. “You don’t
know how much this means to her!” she continued and rattled off something
about how one of them was her grandmother’s ring, and she died last week or
some such. She finally released me and said thank you one more time. “No
problem,” I shrugged.

Another lady, I guess her daughter, the one whose rings they were, came up.
She looked like she had been crying. “Thank you, thank you! Give me your
address! I’ll send you Christmas cards! Birthday cards!” “Uh,” I shifted
uneasily and shrugged uselessly while she continued to chatter excitedly.
Finally, they all left me alone so I could finish my dinner.

It’s a bad feeling to wake up in the morning and think, do I have a paper due
today? I try not to do this very often, but it happened, nonetheless,
yesterday at 8:16 a.m. I habitually set my alarm for 8:15 every Tuesday and
Thursday mornings, but it takes me a minute or so to exit dreamland and
achieve sentience in reality. The next thought was equally abrupt but not
quite as disturbing: perhaps I have a test today. Then I remembered taking a
test in that class the last time we met. No, there would be no test. But…
my only answer lay in the syllabus enclosed in the three-ring binder in my
book bag. I didn’t have far to reach for it. My bed is queen sized, and I
have a custom of putting things of importance on my bed to deal with later.
I may be a slob, but I do make an effort to make my bed every day to give my
room at least one corner of order. Otherwise, my living space is an
excellent example of the Second Law of Thermodynamics in action. What I
found, however, is that I could sleep on half of my bed and leave all the
other things that had piled up during the day on the other side. Only rarely
do I have such a restless night that I inadvertently kick one of the items of
importance over and off onto the floor, waking up when whatever it was thumps
to the ground.

So sitting up in bed, I reached over and pulled my book bag over, opened it,
and flipped to the appropriate section. Two page paper on Rousseau’s Second
Discourse, due April 2. April 2, was that today? My slumber filled mind
struggled with this new concept of chronology. Yesterday was April Fool’s
Day, unless someone had been playing an elaborate joke on me. Today was
April 2. I had a paper due. I’d forgotten all about it. Modern Political
Theory was my first class of the day. There was no way I could read the
Second Discourse and write a paper on it when I’d set my alarm for just
enough time to get to school without being late. The frustration of these
realizations overwhelmed me. My first utterance that day was not an
uplifting one.

The good news is that I have a good average in that class. By handing the
paper in late, I only get docked one point from a four point scale. And we
write several papers. And they get averaged in with the tests. So I’m not
really in danger of much of anything as a result of my absentmindedness.
Well, not in this case. But this is the first paper I’ll have ever handed
in late. And that irritates me. Because it’s for no good reason at all.