It's Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we're doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer.
If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
'Why do you wear these, ' Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hairband on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. 'If I don't have a hairband on my wrist I feel out of control.'
There's a new me. I'd decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
'I've got a lot to do before summer, ' Peter said earlier, 'so I made a spreadsheet.' I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
'A Spreadsheet! ' I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I'd made him happy. This is what adults do, I'd decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I've been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I'll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she'll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There's not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, 'I haven't slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we're still early in the process.'
She was not amused.
I guess you answered my two questions about your volunteer work and the 'fellowship', but, gee, ya didn't have to write a 'poem' for me to do it. : ) bri
' 'I haven't slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we're still early in the process.'' Ya know, BEFORE I READ 'that', I was thinkin' about it. Has your mom (or dad) suggested it? ?
The closing lines shocked me, least to say. Sure, the poet's mother would have been, too.
The Medical College Admission Test® (MCAT®) . I may try shaving MY legs, but, where will I get freshly-washed sheets? Do they 'need' to be ironed? Oh, yeah, 'permanent press'?
And you can tie your head hair back with your friendship bracelet. Watch out for those over-passing shadows! ! Have that 'dark thing' checked out; a cardiologist is a good start, OR a psychiatrist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'If I don't have a hairbandst I feel out of control.'' I can (sort of) picture you, anais, wearing a hairband (on a wrist) when donning your surgical gloves