My last day at home.
I’m leaving for school tomorrow morning at six thirty in order to be there by nine or perhaps, by any sort of luck, a little before then. I’m incredibly excited despite my parents being downtrodden at my departure. They’re excited for me too, on the inside. My mom has come close to tears ever since I got accepted to The University of Michigan whenever I mention having to leave home.
There are five reasons why I am not nervous. They are as follows:
- I’ve taken college classes at a college before,
- My boyfriend will be three minutes away instead of several hours,
- I’ve lived farther away from home than merely across the state for much scarier reasons than getting an education,
- Making friends is simple, and
- I’m going to learn how to speak Japanese. Who could be nervous when they’ve got that to look forward to?
There are a few reasons to be a little sad about leaving home, but they’re mostly curable with occasional visits and phone calls.
I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing, but I was too lazy to answer it. I soon woke up anyways when I realized it was time for Bob Barker. Unfortunately I only saw a brief moment or two of my beloved old man before running off to Aaron’s house to make sure he was awake and packing. He was. Having done this, I rushed over to the church next to West Ottawa High School, hoping I wasn’t too late to donate blood. It turned out they weren’t even starting to accept donations until noon, so I had a half hour to read Child Emperor of Dune with no distractions apart from the endless chatter and gossip of nurses and lab techs. Alia came to the conclusion that The Preacher is indeed Paul Atreides, although I’m still not sure.
I soon received a free t-shirt and began filling out the usual forms to assure the American Red Cross that I am a healthy human being. I was first in line, so there was no wait. I was passed from lady to lady without hesitation, and before I knew it I had a thermometer under my tongue and a blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. The nurse taking my bp was unhappy with the results, so she did it again. The second try was much more reasonable - 94/60. A little on the high side, but that might be due to the fact that the cuff was practically falling off my arm the entire time. I am not the proper size for an adult, I guess.
I had a large needle jutting from the inside of my elbow soon thereafter. It went quickly, and I was on my way to get something to eat in about fifteen minutes. I sat down at the paper-covered table on the other side of the room, drank some apple juice and ate half a cookie. Then the nausea kicked in. I forced myself to finish the cookie, hoping that would make it go away. It only got worse. A nurse saw the look on my face and got a wheelchair close enough for me to fall into before I passed out. It was exciting.
I left around quarter after one or so, after polishing off a half dozen more cookies and several glasses of juice. I think I should have had some more to eat before giving blood, not after. I was pretty embarrassed, but everyone was nice. They told me to gain some weight. I told them I’d do my best.
I returned to Aaron’s house afterwards. Well, I tried to go back, but there was a slight detour. While I had been inside, a major accident had happened at the intersection of James and 136th. A truck was stopped under the light, tow trucks were appearing, police were directing traffic, lights were flashing everywhere. I did not see any ambulances, thank god, although perhaps they had had time to come and go before I arrived on the scene. I hope everyone was okay.
Once I made it to Aaron’s, I slept for three hours. When I awoke, the Schmoo was home from his third day of school and wanted to play some N64 while Aaron continued to pack. When we were tired of playing, I packed up my N64 and my Sega, several dozen old school Nintendo games, and countless miles of wiring and cords to connect it all to the wall and tv. They’ve been away from home for far too long, and my mom wanted them to return before I left.
Went out to dinner with my parents after a long day of nothingness. We went to Pietro’s, a nice Italian restaurant downtown. I had the manicotti as usual, easily cleaning my plate while my parents struggled to make even a dent in their heaping piles of pasta. My dad and I finished off four loaves of bread between the two of us. The waitress seemed to be impressed.
I’ve got a few more things to pack and several animals to spend quality time with. I should get started.