Acting as my own shrink, I think my fears have made me
sick. At 5 a.m. this morning I woke up with a need
to sprint to the only bathroom in our apartment that had
toilet paper this week and get sick. OF COURSE, I thought
morning sickness, but that's not very likely.
If so, the birth control pill company, Alesse, will
be getting a nice fat letter in the mail.
It's very curious that an apartment of six girls and
one and a half baths would have only one bathroom with
a toilet paper supply. We're a different kind of Girl's
Nest. We're very lazy, but quick to complain if no
one else does their chores (Oh, we have a chore list).
Thank God I'm never around.
Tonight's an exception. I feel like shit. I'm overworked,
overtired, and all gastrointestinal functions have
been paused with no prior warning to me.
So, I'm home instead of at work, where sometimes I think
I'd rather be, even though I'm in my room with my
flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt on. I can't
stand listening to these Ants fluff around this place,
watching 90210 and Party of Five.
I might as well broach the subject: I'm scared out of
my skin about the blossoming war in Kosovo. J. is in
the Marine Reserves, so naturally I fear that I could
get a call within the next week or month or year saying
that he has 2 hours before he boards a plane at Westover
Airforce Base. I wouldn't know when he'd come home,
how he was doing, and if he was ok. I tried to explain
my fear to the roommates/Ants and they said a blank, "Oh."
Then it was back to 90210.
J. tells me not to worry. Not to be concerned. Let
him do the worrying. But there have been many
nights where I pray for God not to take him. It would
kill me.
