Channeling Morgan circa 2001
As I have a sore throat and an earache and a husband who rented two video games on 99 cent Tuesday, I have found myself playing around on my computer and eating mass quantities of Jello Instant Pudding (hey, before you admonish me for my preservative filled feast, remember that it is cool and slimey, and thus perfect for a sore throat). In doing so, I have uncovered every email I sent during my freshman year in college, which of course, led me to read (nearly) every email I sent during said year. Yes, my petite filets with mushroom demiglace, I am bored.
But I am also rather enlightened. I have changed. A lot. I have grown. A lot. My writing is quite a bit better. And it is weird. That seems so long ago in a way, but in a way, it also seems very near. I can remember just about everything about that year. What it felt like moving in. Walking into my first class (English 204--Tucker 215). Seeing Prof. Kinnard for the first time (giggedy giggedy). 9/11. Falling for Matt all over again. Feeling truly sleep deprived for the first time. Matt and I going away together for the first time. Taking 17 hours. Taking Anemone for the first time. Going to Anemone's house. Becoming obsessed with all things Anemone. The Secret Six. Getting sent to the Dean. Eating breakfast after visit with said Dean. Laughing. It was a good year for me.
But in reading, I wondered: How'd I get so damned cynical? The Morgan in the emails believed nearly everything anyone told her. She signed online petitions for world peace and forwarded them to people. She emailed people from high school with the words: "What's up with you? Nothing here." She believed in America, in freedom, in all those big buzz words. She read books with raised print on the covers. What happened to that chick?
How did I become this person who kind of twists everything, who rolls her eyes at CNN the way most people roll their eyes at the Enquirer, who looks at student activists and honestly wonders why they waste their breath? How did I become someone who only read "literary fiction," who didn't waste her time with anything unless it was reviewed by the New Yorker or was heralded by someone with a Ph.d?
How did I get so old?
But I am also rather enlightened. I have changed. A lot. I have grown. A lot. My writing is quite a bit better. And it is weird. That seems so long ago in a way, but in a way, it also seems very near. I can remember just about everything about that year. What it felt like moving in. Walking into my first class (English 204--Tucker 215). Seeing Prof. Kinnard for the first time (giggedy giggedy). 9/11. Falling for Matt all over again. Feeling truly sleep deprived for the first time. Matt and I going away together for the first time. Taking 17 hours. Taking Anemone for the first time. Going to Anemone's house. Becoming obsessed with all things Anemone. The Secret Six. Getting sent to the Dean. Eating breakfast after visit with said Dean. Laughing. It was a good year for me.
But in reading, I wondered: How'd I get so damned cynical? The Morgan in the emails believed nearly everything anyone told her. She signed online petitions for world peace and forwarded them to people. She emailed people from high school with the words: "What's up with you? Nothing here." She believed in America, in freedom, in all those big buzz words. She read books with raised print on the covers. What happened to that chick?
How did I become this person who kind of twists everything, who rolls her eyes at CNN the way most people roll their eyes at the Enquirer, who looks at student activists and honestly wonders why they waste their breath? How did I become someone who only read "literary fiction," who didn't waste her time with anything unless it was reviewed by the New Yorker or was heralded by someone with a Ph.d?
How did I get so old?
posted by Southern Belle at 9:01 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home