Sophomore College Transfer to Notre Dame

 Cindy--

I always wanted to read your journal, but I guess being able to write in your journal is even better...I know you don't need more things to pack, but I wanted to get you a special gift that really meant something. I wanted it to bring tears to your eyes, but I'll settle for a smile from your full voluputous lips. Shit! I knew I'd spell something wrong or make a mistake if I used ink! :( Remember, if there is ever a fire, grab this first!! You've really taken a lot of huge strides since I've known you -- from short to long hair, (okay, I know it's the way around, but it would look bad if I crossed it out...) from Venture canvas casuals to Keds. From baggie jeans to GuessTM second skins, and last but not least -- from a spiral to a fabric covered journal. Oooo. Impressive. Keep track of all your crushes and all other important details...Your memories can never be taken away from you. 

Love Always, Tonya 

P.S. Take care of the Black Dress!!! 

August 15, 1984

 

August 22

Finally! I've been writing letters, annoyed because I have to keep my audience in mind and slip in a question for them every once in a while to keep their interest. Now I can write all about myself! Selfish girl! I'm sitting in my hopelessly mismatched bedroom (yellow walls, yellow, green & orange rug, yellow, green and cream floral print curtains, olive green chair, dark wood trim and my contribution of a pastel yellow, pink & blue bedspread & jaunty blue throw pillow.) I could really love this room. Don't forget the pink phone! I know why I love Judy Cool's room so much. The dream. I had a dream that I found a dorm room with hug windows on all three walls and a loft bed. When I walked into Judy's room, I gasped with recognition. Maybe it was just the sun shining brightly in the lat afternoon or the trees through the windows or the wood floor that gave it an open, airy feeling. The windows were huge. I need light. My house will have such windows in every room. The feeling of loss and frustration that I try to push away is the same when I think of Judy or Mr. Ed. Christy (bless her!) said he'd probably was so friendly at the Psychedelic Furs concert just because I was there. I was available and convenient. Nothing wrong with that. If you can't be with the one you love... Everytime I think of Tonya giving me this and the black dress and the earrings and pin, I get all soft inside. It's so easy to love her. She is a dear friend.

Do you believe in things? Mementos? Memorabilia? Something to remember you by? If the house were burning, what would you grab? I felt like a vagrant coming to South Bend with a carload of possessions and a purseful of money and no place to live. I don't want to feel cluttered. I want active "things" -- that I can use or continue or wear or whatever.

August 30

Red, but the trail end. A strange period. The first day, Saturday, I fainted in Mass. One minute, I was fighting back nausea and flashing hot and cold, but I've had that happen before. I put my hands on the seat in front ome to steady myself and the next thing, I felt physical relief, but my mind was doing crazy things, like a bad, fast, confused dream. Then I could hear hushed voices and I was sitting. "Did I faint?" How embarrassing, but then I felt too sick to care. I was helped home by a really nice Italian family (cute son) and got into bed. I threw up and slept for a few hours. I've never had such problems: headache, bad, B-A-D cramps, light-headed and tired. Do I love to fall. Fear of flying? No. Love of Falling. Perhaps. But that was last year. That was William Jewell College. 

Today we saw a film in Communications and Theater 104: The Wild Horse's Dream. Wild Horses fighting, running through marshes, mud, fog, and fire in slow motion. The power. Why I wrote today.  Remember the first time you hear The Ghost in You? No, but I remember the first time I became aware of it: Driving past Glenwood Theater with Christy, Scott, Sherri, who else?, I heard and said, "Isn't that sad? Isn't that the saddest song you've ever heard?"

August 31

Last day. Brown edges. I am nineteen and I'm lonely. For someone to talk to.

September 4

Feeling much better, thank you. I wonder what it feels like to have your protons decay? I'm writing a song (gradually, actually, I'm thinking of a song) called "I Thought I Saw You." Catchy, huh? The lyrics are something like: I thought I saw you/Alone/In the rain and the cold, etc. and then the chorus builds into I thought I saw you, but I was wrong. Then a bridge about how they had broken up and then, predictably, the last verse has I thot I saw you/Leaving the party/With her/Happy, laughing, and the last quite I thot I saw you and I was right, I was right or "it wasn't a mistake" or I wasn't wrong or I saw clearly, or whatever, but repeating over and over and fade. How sad.

People are nice here. But why oh why are these professors so intent on harming my faith. What did I ever do to them? It's unfair. What are they giving up to replace our beliefs?

In dinner the other night, I sat down by three guys, I didn't think anything of it until I noticed the blond cat-corner across from me was moving slowly, bent over the table, occasionally moving his hand in front of his face in a strange way. The other two boys were quiet and natural, addressing him every once in a while. I looked at him maybe twice and then couldn't anymore. He was so beautiful. His eyes were huge with long lashes. He had the face of a angel. Multiple sclerosis? Spinal bifida? Cerebral palsy? I don't know the names of these things. As I cried and straightened Scott's turned hands, pulling him coordinated, I would weep over this boy, holding him close, folding, moving, pulling into place, perhaps my arms around his head, kissing his eyes, tears falling freely on his face.

 

September 9

Hello, nothing to say, but I'm in a good mood and feel like writing. Amazing how different this is from Jewell. Jewell is actually as bad as I thought it was! I like myself better here BUT I had an important revelation a couple of days ago. One of the reasons I might have come here is that I wanted a religious environment where everyone believed as I do. I wanted someplace secure and safe. God is showing me, I think, that I can't just physically run away from test of my faith. They're all over the place here. One problem I haven't had (PTL) is lust. Good-looking guys all over the place, but I talk to them and there's none of that uncomfortable fire down below. I like being detached (sometimes), but I don't know how long I'll want to keep from committing myself to any friends.

September 13

Whoops! I fell into a Jewell mood tonight. I better hurry up and start making some history for myself here. Am I a stoic? Reading Epictetus's Handbook, I felt a comfortable sureness of how right it was. Not all, of course, but a lot of the philosophy falls along the lines of what I so admired in Jeff and Lauren: I often think "What would Lauren do?" or "...think about this?" Mostly its answer is "It's no big deal." Simple, just not giving any situation any credit (?) or much value (?) buy not worrying or even giving it much thought.

That's my Philosophy class. As for Arts & Letters Core, I actually feel myself learning as I sit and listen and strain to find an answer inside my head and discover connections and revelation opened before me. But. My ideas about God are perhaps changing. How could I lost my faith? How could I? I don't rely on scientific proof, my beliefs aren't based in logic. But. Oh how I wanted to burst into tears in class today. Just sit in the half circle, sobbing, everyone silent with shock, watching. "So, we were just talking to ourselves?" Here. Here's my first Notre Dame tears. Why? Because losing your faith is nothing to cry about. You'd never have anything to cry about again. Why? Because I felt abused yesterday, people looking at me like I was insane. Because my feet hurt. Because Jewell was so bad and this is so good (not perfect, I'm realistic, you know, or at least trying to be) Because places like Jewell exist. Because I'm lonely. I don't care, I just want somebody to talk to, somebody who's not doing it because they feel obligated or responsible or who wants anything from me. Just somebody to sit and chit and sit and chit-chat and smile. Really. Just for fun. Because I love my God. My Lord. My Father.

Andrew Wyeth. Have you seen "Christina's World"? Her back to us, she seems to be reaching for her home. She's crawling, pulling herself along the ground. I'd always pictured her young and tender and beautiful and wild (the hair blowing out form its ties, she wanted to be out in the sun-warmed grass, even if it was for only a while, even if it did mean a hard climb back up the hill.) Christina was an old woman, thick, wrinkled face, large nose, tiny eyes. Wyeth makes her beautiful. No, just pulled out her beauty for us to see.

My greatest fear. "You look ridiculous."

Will I be silent as I die? "Oh. This is happening." When I fainted, my car accident, there was confusion, then I sat, I began to understand that this had happened to me. Do I remember taking N. & C.'s deaths like that? No. Do I remember lying on the ground feeling like that. I think so. Perhaps I'll scream in fear or surprise, then pass the confusion and sirens in my head (the end of the world will sound like that and thousands of discordant voices) and I'll start understanding.