There are two things that happen this week. The first happens tomorrow, on Thursday. That is when I find out whether or not I will be a resident assistant next year. There were more than 500 applicants, and only 100 open positions. I am nervous because--even though I made it through the multiple interviews--I may not get a position. Admittedly, paying for college is quite stressful for me and, honestly, I won't be able to afford school next year if I am not an R.A. This frightens me, because I don't want to continuously draw out the time it takes for me to get an education.

Is it selfish that I am praying for a position?

On a less nerve-wracking topic, however, the second thing that happens this week is the conclusion of my classes (for a time, anyway). Friday is the official cut-off; spring break begins!

A. and I had a lot of options this year, and we quite unsure about what to do, where to go. He was pushing for Canada. In my head, I was thinking,
Canada? You have got to be kidding me. Why did I ever suggest skiing over spring break? I must have been crazy. I don't want to do that. What a waste of a spring break! A. also suggested that, while in Canada, we could visit an underground mall.

Well, that's nice dear...but I am perfectly satisfied with the stores that we have above ground in this country. Besides, an underground mall is just that...a mall. I've been to one in Australia and, let me tell you, it was nothing spectacular. It consisted of stores, a food court, a few more stores, fake trees, fake sunlight, and uncomfortable stone benches.

Now, had the underground mall been built into a cave lit by torches and roaring fires, (I am thinking Lord of the Rings--
Khazad-dûm before the dwarves unearthed a colossal demon) the mall would have been appealing, unlike the four-room/building club A. also suggested visiting. Yes, because the enjoyment I derive from the stench of alcohol, the burn of smoky air, the ear-splitting music, the drunken-men-sloshing, and the girls-in-too-tight-shirt-dresses cannot be contained within one all means, I need four.

I suppose I find it interesting that you, dear boyfriend, thought I might possibly have "fun" at this club. Let's face it--you can't stand me when we go to the one-room dance club here in Indiana. To further elaborate, allow me to say that I smile at your suggestion of your having a brain tumor. Perhaps you do possess one. After all, I wonder if you are/were delusional in thinking that I would enjoy going to a four-room drunken syndication in another country.

Anyway, back to our trip. We had four options, one of which was Canada. The others?

Option 1: Iowa
It was cheap, as we would simply be going back to my hometown and staying with my mother, who was recently injured. Though I have repeatedly offered to come home, she insisted that I "do something fun" with my time. "Home is not fun," she said. "It is boring here. Besides, I don't need you."

"Mom, you can't even get dressed properly. You have one hand."

"Dawn, I'm
fine." She sighed. "Oh! You know how I always put lotion on my hands because they dry out so badly at work?"


"Well, you should have seen me try to get it on my hand yesterday. I just had to give up, because I can't get it anywhere. I can't rub it in, I can't touch it, blah, blah, blah. I just can't use that hand."

"Mom, I'll come home so I can put lotion on your hand, if for no other reason."

Even that didn't work.

Option 2: Route 66
It's adventurous, it's long, it's fun, it's exciting, it's enticing. However, we wouldn't have been able to do the whole thing in a span of a week. That is, we wouldn't be able to "properly" do it, given that A. and I would want to stop in a variety of places and experience our surroundings.

I have no doubt, however, that this is trip that we will take on at another time...

Ultimately, with Route 66 out and my mother declaring Iowa "non-optional," that led us to...

Option 3: Southern Authors Road Trip (We need to come up with some monumentally memorable name for this trip, I think.)

This road trip spawned from an idea that one of my friends had last summer. Taking a few weeks off of work, he headed south with the intentions of backpacking part of the Appalachian Trail, kayaking down some river, and visiting the homes of both Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner. However, given his inability to plan things, the trip turned out to be somewhat of a disaster, and he wrongly accused the staff of both homes of "not being welcoming."

In hopes that I would have a better time, I brought up the suggestion to A. last semester and--lo and behold--that is precisely what we are doing.

I could not be more excited.

That is, I am incredibly excited despite my outward appearance, which currently sports gnawed fingernails, a droopy, glazed-over right eye, a twitch in my cheek, and an orange, Goldfish-cracker crumb perched in the ledge between my lips and mouth.

Yes, I do think it is time for a break.

I look ever so much forward to it, my dear.


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