(no subject)
I've managed to catch the nasty cold that has been circulating around here for the past month, and just when I'd thought I'd escaped it, too. I spent the first few days of break hacking, sniffling, aching, sleeping, and doing homework. Thank goodness for the friends who didn't take off for their homes or better weather. Today's the last push on the summer fellowship application, then I'm off to Chicago. Today, it’s snowing again.
I survived the molecular genetics midterm, but barely. I got some pity from the grad students for being so sick during the exam, but a couple gave me looks when my on-call phone went off in the middle of the test. It actually turned out not to be the middle at all. When there were only fifteen minutes to go in the ninety-minute exam period, my professor checked on us and found that, in general, we were only halfway through the test. We got an extra hour, but no longer, since she was scheduled to have beers with the prospective graduate students at that point. I think I did all right with a combination of frenzied studying and intricate guesswork.
I had a nightmare a week or so ago that I hadn't remembered ever having before, till I woke up from it. My nightmares are usually the same ones from my childhood, slightly altered at times. This one was a bit different, now that I'm older, but it hasn't yet adapted to where I am in life:
I'm getting ready to go off to college, reading over the paperwork I have to bring with me, packing up the last of my stuff, and shoveling down some dinner before I have to go to the airport. It's fall of my freshman year, so I don't know what to expect. Something seems funny, though, especially in the way I catch my mother looking at me from time to time. It's a sad and determined look, which I might expect, but there are tinges of something else, too. Fear, maybe? It starts to frighten me. My little sister is excited, but I can tell she'll miss me. She's acting normally. My father comes in as I'm zipping up my carry-on. He says that they can't drive me to the airport after all, but he'll get me a taxi. I frown, but hug him. He's awkward in my embrace. We go out to the living room and he dials, talks into the phone, gives our address. Just as he's finishing his call, the phone rings. My sister and I stare at each other for a moment, astonished, as my father yells as us not to answer it. "Don't pick up; I'm on the phone. It's the other line." He hangs up and studies me, but I'm scared and run to the front windows to check for my ride. Three dark sedans are pulling up, and I can't see through the mirrored windows. I look down to my sister for help, but she just smiles and hands me a drawing. It's years too young for her, a crayon sketch of the two of us and our guinea pigs that she'd have done at age eight. I turn to run, to get out the back door and get a neighbor to take me to the airport without my luggage, to just get away, but my father's right there. He's crying, but stoically. Over his shoulder, my mother looks unbearably miserable. "We're sorry, we are. It's just... we have to." The doorbell rings.
I wake up.
I survived the molecular genetics midterm, but barely. I got some pity from the grad students for being so sick during the exam, but a couple gave me looks when my on-call phone went off in the middle of the test. It actually turned out not to be the middle at all. When there were only fifteen minutes to go in the ninety-minute exam period, my professor checked on us and found that, in general, we were only halfway through the test. We got an extra hour, but no longer, since she was scheduled to have beers with the prospective graduate students at that point. I think I did all right with a combination of frenzied studying and intricate guesswork.
I had a nightmare a week or so ago that I hadn't remembered ever having before, till I woke up from it. My nightmares are usually the same ones from my childhood, slightly altered at times. This one was a bit different, now that I'm older, but it hasn't yet adapted to where I am in life:
I'm getting ready to go off to college, reading over the paperwork I have to bring with me, packing up the last of my stuff, and shoveling down some dinner before I have to go to the airport. It's fall of my freshman year, so I don't know what to expect. Something seems funny, though, especially in the way I catch my mother looking at me from time to time. It's a sad and determined look, which I might expect, but there are tinges of something else, too. Fear, maybe? It starts to frighten me. My little sister is excited, but I can tell she'll miss me. She's acting normally. My father comes in as I'm zipping up my carry-on. He says that they can't drive me to the airport after all, but he'll get me a taxi. I frown, but hug him. He's awkward in my embrace. We go out to the living room and he dials, talks into the phone, gives our address. Just as he's finishing his call, the phone rings. My sister and I stare at each other for a moment, astonished, as my father yells as us not to answer it. "Don't pick up; I'm on the phone. It's the other line." He hangs up and studies me, but I'm scared and run to the front windows to check for my ride. Three dark sedans are pulling up, and I can't see through the mirrored windows. I look down to my sister for help, but she just smiles and hands me a drawing. It's years too young for her, a crayon sketch of the two of us and our guinea pigs that she'd have done at age eight. I turn to run, to get out the back door and get a neighbor to take me to the airport without my luggage, to just get away, but my father's right there. He's crying, but stoically. Over his shoulder, my mother looks unbearably miserable. "We're sorry, we are. It's just... we have to." The doorbell rings.
I wake up.