Three + 1

Dude.

No, seriously. I have things to say, and they don’t necessarily go together, but that’s OK. Here, I’ll section them off so you can skip around if you like.

ITEM ONE.
I have a cold. Or the beginnings of one. I have a proto-cold.

I am currently engaged in a steel cage battle-to-the-death with this virus, which Heather very rudely passed on to me the other day. I realize that this disproves my super-immune theory, and I can accept that; if super-immunity isn’t my true superpower, maybe it’s one of my other skills, like complaining. I’ll figure that out later. For now, my primary goal is to prevent an ear infection, which has been a lifelong inevitability every time I’ve gotten a cold. This time, however, the stakes are higher: I don’t have health insurance.

So if you’d prefer that I not be purchasing antibiotics from a cheap Mexican pharmacy over the internet, or knocking over a Walgreens to steal them, or impersonating one of my insured friends at their doctor’s office, keep your fingers crossed on my behalf.

ITEM TWO.
Comforting proof that I am an adult.

I went to Planned Parenthood today, re: the no-insurance issue, to buy birth control. Some people wear a patch to stop smoking, now I wear one to stop babies. While I was there, I noticed something:

• I am old.

The waiting room was filled with these girls in their early twenties, all of them in various stages of freaking out. They didn’t make eye contact when they walked in. Most of them brought friends, because they were scared to go alone. They giggled nervously over the probing questions on the medical survey. They looked frightened and uncomfortable.

While I felt bad, knowing a lot of them were there having to deal with STDs or abortions, I was relieved. Because I’m over that. I don’t have to bring someone with me to the clinic. I don’t feel the need to lie about my sexual history or drug use. I know the name for every body part, and can use it in a sentence without flinching.

When you get old, is it having more confidence, or just not caring what anyone else thinks? Either way. I know a lot of people who would love to go back and be 21 again. Not me. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

ITEM THREE.
An insult.

Yesterday, I told Mr. X that I would not sleep with him. He said that that was unfortunate, since he was planning on booking a skydiving trip for me in a couple weeks.

Um, what?

BONUS ITEM FOUR.
I have interviews for a couple good contracts tomorrow. Fingers and toes crossed, please. Also, my travel journal will be done tomorrow. I swear it on Plinko the goldfish’s grave.

Whew!
Jenni