December 18, 1997 Thursday
A few weeks ago my Sociology professor wrote on the board that the final would be on Thursday the 18th, but I later didn’t remember the time. Last night I called his office to find out the exact time. Let’s see, I had a final at eight at so that would still give me enough time to– and that’s when the secretary said, “The Sociology final is at eight.” Jake was in the room at the time, and all I could do was stare blankly at him. I was still thinking about my fix later that night, up the cafeteria, about having to be two places at once. I offered Collinsville fifty dollars if he could be me for an hour of so, but no money may be worth that. I may not have been completely joking. The night went on, and here I was, deciding which final I should take, and which I could reasonably miss. At one time I thought about taking one final of an hour, turn it in partially complete, run across campus, show up late for the other, and taking it with whatever time is left. These were my options…
I called my Sociology professor one more time; just as I called he came into his office. I asked, down on my knees, of the test was really at eight. “What?” I asked, confused, “the Sociology test is at ten, not eight. Where did you hear this?” Even-Steven triumphs again.
Last night Jake and I had out last wrestling match. Sure it was 23-hour quiet hours for finals, but we were slamming into walls with the utmost of care. Somehow the fight found its way down the hall and into my room. I threw Jake into D, almost falling myself onto D’s Christmas gifts. D quickly took each of our necks under his much larger arms and threw us out. We retreated to Jake’s room, where I asked of D might be mad at us. As an answer, I heard my room’s door open, and I peaked down the hall. My blankets and pillow were thrown into the passageway. After some time I went to my door, knocked meekly, and said softly said, “I love you.” Finally I was let back in.
You know what happened yesterday? Bozo the Clown died! I watched him every day when I was little, at seven o’clock on the WGN Chicago station. The Grand Prize Game was the best, and I always wanted to be in the Grand March after the end of the show, Bozo leading the audience of children off the set with his whistle and baton.
After four hours of testing today I took one last venture to Macomb’s downtown. I have enjoyed these walks alone every day, and it is not as far as everyone thinks. When I got back Jake was already gone, as well as Tom and Aaron. The only people left around here are D, Korn and Jeremy. It’s been a good semester.