A Trivial Comedy for serious people archives

I don't have no title for it

I am taking a huge box of tampons. I am going to a bulk warehouse, and I am going to buy the largest box I can find. I will keep it under my bed, I think. Or anywhere there is room for a huge box of tampons.

I am taking Calculus, I think. I am taking small seminar courses, I know. The small seminar courses are required for frosh. They're called weird names like "Female or Male: What difference does it make?" I want to be taking an introductory photography course. My parents would like me to take the introductory geology course. I think I'll take Latin, though my heart edges towards Classical Greek now and then. I must take Phys. Ed for two years.

I am taking a newfound fear and utter distaste for drinking parties.

I am taking the digital camera. I am taking my father's Pentax - they promised me my own camera for graduation but we're low on cash and he decided he'd give it to me for the year. When they told me that I could take the Pentax, I grew sullen and poked away at my food. I couldn't help it. And I didn't know why, either. Except I remember my mother saying, when I initially asked if I could take it, that he wasn't ready to give up that Pentax. He wasn't ready. He hadn't said his goodbyes, he was still attached to it.

("Don't lose it," my father said, while I was sitting sullen at the dinner table feeling guilty for being offered his camera. Like a recording. He's like a robot. He always says "Don't lose it." Automated Nagging Father. ANF Android, Model #435.)

I am taking my collection of MP3s. I'm taking my zip drive and disks, and am trying to figure out how on earth I'm going to transfer to my computer 12 hours of music with 3 most-filled zip disks.

I am not taking any paper weights.

I am taking scissors. "You don't know!" my mother said. "You might need to wrap a present!" "Yeah, or cut some construction paper," snarked my friend when I told him that scissors might be a good idea.

I am taking my He-Man action figures. I don't care what anyone says. I am taking a ceramic armadillo. And bell jars, two of them. One for pennies, one for pencils. I am taking the things I have tacked on my wall - a Sleater Kinney interview from the New York Times, the pages from a coloringbook an old friend sent me. I am taking a mug for soup and a can opener. "You know, you aren't gonna eat any soup now that we've bought you a can opener," my mother mentioned as she paid for them.

I am taking more tupperware storage bins than I could ever use. Plastic shoeboxes, you know? It is my firm belief that the more room I have, the more mess I make. The more space I have in a day planner, the more I draw silly pictures of ball gowns and back-hoes. The more tupperware containers I have, the more crud I have to put in them.

I am taking seven plastic shoeboxes full of music.

I am not taking any prozac. But I am taking a prescription for birth control pills, for my period. Who knows, maybe I'd have sex.

I am only taking books of poetry and books of short stories. This is good because I have read none of my books of short stories, and I always reread poetry. I shall take No Fiction - it's a slippery slope. If I take Ordinary People, I have to take some Steinbeck. And oh, if I take Steinbeck... I have to plaster those words down in my head every time I look longingly on my bookcases. No Fiction. I'll try to console myself, "College libraries have wonderful libraries, they do, I'm sure they have lots of fiction, you don't need to take that book."

Okay. Just The Awakening. My rain warped, tear stained, slim little all time favorite novel. I am taking The Awakening.

I am taking floor pillows and cotton blankets and wool blankets and duvet covers and a comforter and a real pillow and two sets of extra long cotton sheets. I'm taking the chenille throw I wouldn't let my mother buy. She said "Oh Margaret, please. Let me." I looked at the price tag. She looked at my worried face. "I'll buy it for you as a present." So I let her.

I am taking fear after fear after fear with me. Fear I won't find a therapist I like. Fear I won't get involved in anything. Fear I'll be overwhelmed with work. Fear I'll break down. Fear I'll flunk out - I really had a dream! I had a dream where I flunked out of college, can you believe that? I can't. I am taking every last little fear of change that I have hiding around here - the ones that have me scared witless and scared nervous and scared into constant jitters.

I really have no idea what I'm taking with me. I don't think any kid does.

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2000-08-01, I don't have no title for it

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