Fall is coming. And so is Emily. She’ll be here on Friday! I can’t even wait.
And then, of course, I only have a week after that until Mumu, Fruitypants, Aunt Sally and Grandma Mary get here.
And then after that, fall break and Oregon and Danny.
It’s going to be a great September and beginning of October.
I talked to Mike. He’s excited to come. Wants to do something exciting. I told him there was nothing he could do in Chicago that would be exciting. We’ll see.
Ah, the Wellness Center.
I will never appreciate what they do for all of the students of Loyola. My roommate, bearing swollen lymph nodes in her neck, a sore throat that looked nasty, even from my vantage point (which didn’t include the usual light and popsicle stick check), and a voice that would make a volverine purr with pain, went off to the Wellness Center only to be told that she was fine.
It’s strep.
I am currently debating even going back and asking for a strep test. I went last Thursday with a sore throat, and a cough that included both blood and green stuff, only to be told it was merely a cold and my lungs sounded clear. No strep test.
I’ll make an appoinment tomorrow afternoon.
Someone should say something to them about how inadequate they are. How hard is it, really? I used Steve last year as my “doctor,” since he is pre-med and probably knows more than they do. In fact, I always feel like he’ll at least offer you an answer instead of the usual cough drop and absolutely nothing you get there.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those crazed college students you hear about faking illness for drugs. I don’t think that any ailment can be solved with a prescription. I prefer not to put artificial medicines into my body, but when it’s strep, or something like that, I’m all about proper treatment. Especially because it’s such a contagious illness and I live in such close quarters with people.
Ah, such is life.
I need to get a doctor out here.
I love Danny. He stayed in last night so we could talk on the phone, and it’s wonderful. He wakes me up each morning (just like he used to do in the summer) with a cute text message that completely energizes my morning.
Steve and I might look into yoga.
I’ve been getting very domestic lately. You should have seen the homemade pizza I made. I kneaded the dough, let it rise, formed it and voila! Pizza crust. Then sauce, cheese, veggies, meat. Bake. Food. Everyone liked it.
I do dishes. I clean the house. I whipped out my “Mom-Voice” on my roommate’s boyfriend completely accidentally. He was like, “Katie, you sound like my mom.” Ah. Wow.
I just realized that I don’t really know what I want to do with my life except write. And suddenly, everything else is less appealing than usual. So I think I will just become a writer and then not worry about having an actual career. Because the 9 to 5 won’t make me happy. Did it work for any of you? I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I never did anything I wanted to because I was worried about attaining status or making money (but then again, I’ll probably wish I had). So we’ll see.
I did write a sweet lead for a story in one of my Journalism classes. It had to be no more than 25 words, and while the rest of the class labored over it for quite some time, I had 21 words in less than 30 seconds. So, see, I’m not bad at this.

26 days until fall break! Oregon, here I come.
Yeah, we’re counting, we know. It’s lame. But how many times in my life will I be able to say that I’ve flown cross country for love?
Drama exploded here this weekend, but on the whole it was laid back.
Nice discussions with both Katie and Danny. Katie’s sort of significant other, Ben, asked her when she was going to grow out of our friendship. Wow. Katie has been my other since freshman year of high school. We did the long distance relationship through freshman year, and got even closer, if that’s possible, this summer. I wouldn’t be able to survive if I didn’t know that she will always be there for me. My wall is covered in pictures of Katie, Colorado, and Danny. But mostly Katie. And Colorado. Don’t ever underestimate between best friends. Especially not the Katies.
Emily from Denver came this weekend, bringing her roommate unexpectedly, which caused disastrous results. And I am $17 poorer as a result of her inability to navigate city streets and find a parking spot.
However, things have continued. I got into a fight defending gay rights with someone’s roommate, which ended in me walking out after I asked him to please not use the word “hate.” He refused. I don’t stand for that. As a woman, I know what it’s like to be ogled and objectified, so when he told me he had that experience ONCE in his life and, as a result, “hates gays,” I fought back. It was ridiculous. Some people are so ignorant and disrespectful.
Ah, well, getting a little chillier here.

As of sometime yesterday, my shower will not stop dripping. Hot water is contantly (and I mean a small but constant stream) falling out. Not little drops, occasionally. I don’t know what to do. I mean, I guess I should TMA it. TMA (I have no idea what it stands for….the maintenance association?) is Loyola’s little way of helping a student out. But do they ever come and fix the problem? Probably not. Any ideas? Plumbing fixes? Grrrr……..if I leave the bathroom door closed, the constant stream of hot water warms my bathroom way too much, but if I open the door, I hear it.
…..
….
….
….
….
it’s like that, sort of. Un-ending.
Got heated in Journalism class today. Not only was the classroom hotter than 90 degrees, but I shared my opinion on a document release that was not met well by the professor. I am worried that she may feel as though I was irreverant, but I asked a fellow student and they told me I was fine. However, it was merely a disagreement, and a sharing of opinon. We were essentially saying the same thing, but I was pushing for citizens to remember that this is a democracy, and that the majority vote does tend to rule.
I was sitting there, in my two and a half hours of ninety plus degree hell, when I feel my phone vibrate. (Of course I’d feel it, even when it has to be silent, it’s never more than three feet from me.) A text message: “Hey, just in case you wondered, I am kind of madly in love with you.” And so of course my whole day got a little brighter.

Perhaps I have conquered gluten.
I ate a chocolate cupcake.
Well, half of one.
And then a couple bites of spaghetti.
I am not yet ill.
It has been long enough.
Perhaps, then, I am alright.

Introduction to Shakespeare.
I should have known.
Introduction. For people who’ve never read Shakespeare.
I, on the other hand, have read more Shakespeare than the average person.
The second day of class (the first official day, because we were going over the syllabus the first day), we talked about what it was like during Shakespeare’s time. And I don’t mean describing the political atmosphere, or the social conditions that the people were forced to live in.
Nope. We talked about what the Renaissance meant. We discussed the fact that it brought about the scientific method, a renewed interest in philosophy, math and science.
Duh.
Everyone from the age of 10 on knows this.
Easy A, I know, but brain torture. I feel dumber already.
I do this. I sign up for classes that sound easy because I’m afraid to actually come across a challenge that I can’t meet.
I met this one, though, my junior year of high school.
Shakespeare, I’m so sorry that your work has been dumbed down for college students who never got it in high school.
The teacher, a middle aged man, socially awkward, was asking the class about their anxieties for the semester. (yeah, any professor who brings emotion or fear into the first lesson is going to be a total pushover, even though he wants to pretend he’s a hardass.) And as we were talking about maybe not understanding the language (grrr…… it is, after all, English), a book dropped in the hall and he asked the class if we were worried about bullets in the halls. As soon as he said it, he chuckled, and then must have seen the looks on our faces because he immediately corrected himself.
Ah, the glories of the politically correct statement.
Introduction to Shakespeare, here I come.

Fall break can’t come soon enough. Shortly after Mom, Mike, Aunt Sally and Grandma Mary come through Chicago, I hope to be heading off to Oregon to spend a long weekend there.
My stomach has been increasingly more upset lately. I’m never hungry, but I often feel faint or sick. It’s as though I need to eat, desperately, and even though I do, it seems like nothing is ever enough. I can’t eat much, because if I do, I’ll be sick, but I know that I need to eat. It’s a difficult situation that I am wondering how to handle. There have been no substances entering my bloodstream via lungs or stomach, and I’m wondering how that is affecting my feelings of illness. Certain things do tend to take away the nausea that I often feel.
I’m sure this cold isn’t helping. I feel tired because I am so sick, and I can’t kick the cough or the sinus drainage.
Way too much information, I know, but it feels better typing it all out. I know what you’re all thinking, “Hey, doesn’t Loyola have a Wellness Center?” Yeah, we do, but I am not going. They’re going to tell me I have IBS and then give me cough drops. I’ll just wait it out.

Address:
26 East Pearson
Box #0601
Chicago, IL 60611
Use my full name: Katherine

Danny and I have been communicating via iChat, which allows us to talk and see each other through our computers. Mom, all you have to do is set up that camera and then get on AOL (so you can Instant Message me) and then send me a video invitation. It works. It’s pretty sweet, actually.

I think I’m going to go make some breakfast. I’m not sure that it will help, and I’m nervous that this is going to turn into something worse. Emily was hospitalized last night again for the same reasons as before. Stomach. Stomach. Stomach. And they never find anything, and there’s never anything they can do, but she’s still really ill. I think it’s odd that the two of us are both so sick for no apparent reason all the time, although hers is most definitely more severe.

The building rises out of the ground, standing among the others, not different, and somehow not the same. 25 stories tall, it is hardly the tallest building around, yet it rises slightly above it’s neighbor, the top of it proclaiming it’s affiliation for all the world to see. My room is plain, for the moment, white walls and clutter, furniture against most of the walls. Two desks, dressers, beds, chairs and closets. One bathroom. All mine. Shower, only, of course, although since I am alone in this room I would have enjoyed a tub, and been able to make sure it was clean.
Groceries. Gluten free. The words pop out at me from the boxes that line the shelves and I see them, pick them up, and hope that they’ll taste even adequate.
I hear his voice in my ear, he’s telling me his fears, and I’m unable to comfort him. I told him my story, how even this year, I cried and cried and begged her to take me back with her. He’s scared. I’m scared for him.
But here it goes, on and on.
Broken toe. Kicked a couch. Problem. It’s purple. First broken bone of my life.
Roommates are awesome. Love them. Thank god.
Classes are not bad either.
Coughing fit in the bookstore. Lawyers. Awkward. The salesclerk handed me a cough drop and it didn’t work.
Love.