Death on Toast
or
The Woman Who Would Be King
I've come up with a new goal, gentle readers: to create a living community of mismatched bohemians, establish myself as their King, and fuel their eccentricities with school-funded tomfoolery.
No, my medication does not need to be adjusted. It can be done. Legally.
One of the residential areas on campus - the Village - has a program that allows one to build a community based on common interest. The "agent" (King) gets 5 to 23 of her closest friends in on the plan, writes a proposal, and if said proposal is accepted, the group gets to live in adjacent rooms in one of the Village buildings. But THAT'S not ALL! The agent (King) also receives funding from the school to spend on group activities. YES. The hour is at hand.
What sort of group have I devised, you ask? Well, there was already one for heavily-pierced meth cooks, so I had to scrap that idea. [For the humorless: the previous statement was a JOKE.] I've decided on the Carpe Diem Society (the Dead Poet's Society was also taken). Our common interest will be living live to the fullest our overloaded academic schedules will allow. Possible activities include group visits to art galleries, the city museum, cinema nights, cooking parties, arts-'n-crafts night (go pipecleaners!), massive games of freeze tag (when it gets warm), group outings to local shows, and anything else that sounds like fun. Whatever. I'm sure the other kids will have suggestions.
Bottom line: if you are a Wash U student and would like to live in my peacable kingdom, drop me a message at lrdennis@artsci.wustl.edu. We'll talk.
My other obsession today is not so upbeat. At Andrew's party last night, I spied the girl who had let me stay with her when I was a visiting pre-frosh. She looked like she was about to die. Her bodyfat was so low that she reminded me of a diagram in my high school biology text - a human body, drawn without skin to show the placement of every muscle, vein, and sinew. Her eyes were sunken and yellow. Her flesh had gone the color of sour milk and was covered in lanugo - a fine, white fuzz that the body produces in an effort to keep warm.
I broke down. I ran to one of the bedrooms and howled, undone by a sickening mixture of horror and curiousity.
She needs help. Her RA, her parents . . . someone . . . open your eyes!
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