Kathleen's Holiday

If my leg were a face, this is what it would look like right now.


It's as if a heavily decorated boy scout snuck into my calf and tied all the tendons and muscles into a giant, impenetrable knot. I had to leave the library early tonight because I felt so out of control that I thought I was going to push all the books on the bottom shelf on to the ground for the midnightbrarian to pick up on hand and knee. The midnightbrarian probably would have quit on the spot at the sight of such a mess. Our midnightbrarian is a man. I've found him to be really useful. Not really.

It's been far too long since I've had a fortune cookie... in bed.

You will be handsomely rewarded for your work in mathematics... in bed (The Fookie fortune cookie company of Renton, WA is still trying to pass this one off as a legitimate fortune. Write your senator.)

Speaking of snack food, the first care package from my mom consisted of all the left over snack foods that were in my cupboard pre-Grinnell plus three gum samples from the dentist, plus a crushed package of complimentary US Airlines pretzels from my parent's return flight (and two pair of chopsticks?)- My dental hygienist, Barb, gave me a pamphlet about snacking in college a week before I left. I read it.

Did anyone else read the article in the NY Times today called "It Can't Be Love" about the praying mantis and their courtship with the Chinese mantis? The female eats the male after sex.

I'm for it.

DINING HALL UPDATE: White sauce at the pasta bar today. I put the Washington Apple sticker over my heart after every apple. Kathleen, the manager of the pizza station, not to be confused with my roommate, has got to be 165 years old. They should have a holiday after her and put her fossilized remains in a museum.