1613, Mountain Time Zone

Last month my dad underwent some surgery, and he’s homebound for the next three months or so. His creditors keep calling me and leaving messages to give to him, but he gave me a dud phone number. Whenever he calls it’s always been during class or work, so I miss his calls. He left a message on Friday wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. I wish I could call him back.

Sometimes when I try to call my brother, the line actually connects and we talk for a good long time. It’s fun. Other times it just rings and rings, and I have to wait until he wants to talk or is available. Sometimes that takes weeks. He seemed to be doing well the last time we talked.

Just got off the phone with Mom. She has pneumonia.

I’ve been relatively healthy so far. Outside of a summer cold or two, and then a sore throat that didn’t progress this last week, I’ve been quite okay. Keeping warm in the mornings waiting for the bus, even though I have to delayer by the afternoon. Avoiding touching door handles or grabbing uncommon areas of door handles if I have to pull open a door. College students can be just as bad as toddlers when it comes to illness. Since they’re students, and since they’re Mormon, they’re dedicated and come to class ready to share their germs as if the Law of Consecration specifically enforces it.

I am sick, though. Homesick. I wish I could sit in a room full of the people I love and I could see them, and we could talk and laugh. There’d be hugs and smiles and lots of eye contact and inside jokes and reminiscing and catching up. This feeling does wax and wane but it never really passes.

Dated Tuesday, November 16, 2010


Remember how this week started off with some pretty good news? Remember how you’re relearning patience? And how about the time you looked like an utter genius in French class when you suggested the boy symbolized the ball and the parents symbolized two teams playing against each other? And … yes: the hot tub. It was pretty nice, right? Basically, you have two and a half weeks of classes before finals week. Take charge, wrap it up. But first, spend this next week stretching and training your stomach for Thanksgiving.

These letters are not like I’m completely ignoring the completely discouraging things that have happened. Forcing myself to write these notes are helping me face reality a little bit better. Can I squeeze out one little rant? Just one? A little one?

“I’m not trying to discourage you, but…” These are the words someone from my academic advisement center told me when I asked about minoring in French. The person then said something about those who’ve served French-speaking missions or otherwise lived in Francophonia being successful with the minor. Of course I understood more from what the person didn’t say. I get that universities are trying to turn over graduates as quickly as possible, but it’s not like I’m trying to double major; after this semester I’m halfway to a minor, but then the person also more or less said I’d suck or whatever. I’m over it.