Douglas Adams, that comedic genious of cult literature, tells us that it is important to know where your towel is.  His book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy describes in detail the importance of this terrycloth invention:

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical
value – you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you – daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have “lost”. What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

 

I regret to say that this morning, shortly after I woke up, I found myself in a such a position that I did not have my towel with me.  While I appreciated the hilarity of the situation I was in, particularly in light of Adams’ description, I could not help but lament my own stupidity.  It wasn’t just that I didn’t have my towel with me, I was also soaking wet and completely naked.  Let me back up.

It started out as a fairly ordinary morning.  I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock, which appears to choose a different raido station for every new morning.  I just can’t tell that thing what to do.  I gathered my shower things and headed for the bathrooms.  I felt that perhaps I was missing something, but I decided I was not.  This should have been my first clue.

I took a shower as usual.  Nothing of consequence happened.  In fact, it was not until I wrung out my dripping hair and stepped out of the shower into the changing area that I realized anything was wrong.  I think I actually laughed out loud at myself at this point.  I tried the simple shake-dry that always seems to work for cartoon characters (think Bagira from The Jungle Book), but to no avail.  In the end I was forced to struggle with dirty clothes, working to pull the shorts over my wet thighs and to keep my hair from causing a scene.  I pulled back the curtain, hoping to make a quick trip to my dorm room and return in a surreptitious manner.

I tried, but of course nothing like this can ever happen without ample witnesses.  One of the upperclassmen from my floor was washing her hands at a nearby sink as I emerged soaking wet in dirty pajamas from the stall, my sopping hair still tucked down the back of my oversized shirt.  Nice girl that she is, she didn’t say anything, but I’m afraid I rather grimaced at her. 

“I forgot my towel!” I told her.  It takes a lot to admit this, particularly if you are a hitch-hiker, but I felt I had to offer some kind of explaination.  As for the rest, I walked stiffly to my room, dryed myself off, and then returned to clean up my things in the bathroom.

What sets this story apart is not the embarassing situation of losing my towel.  I have been in more embarassing situations before this, and I’m sure there are worse ones to come.  It is the stark difference from what might have happened in a similar situation at home.

I won’t pretend I have never been lost without a towel before.  I have been lost a good number of times, and I don’t think I ever had a towel with me on such occasions.  More to the point, I have certainly emerged from a shower and found myself towel-less before now.  At home, however, this is not a huge deal.  It is easy at home to yell for assistance, and you will be rescued by some family member or other kind enough to provide a towel for you.  Your family, whatever else you may say about them, knows where the towels are. 

At college it is different.  Even if I could have found someone willing to bring me a towel, I would have had to go to the trouble of explaining where my towels were.  I would have had to trust that this individual (who I probably do not know very well yet) would be able to enter my room and emerge with nothing more than a towel in her hands, if you know what I mean.  There is a good chance I would not have been able to find anyone at all, especially at such an early hour. 

Here is a fundamental truth about dorm life:  towels are much easier to acquire at home than at college.

THE CRASH

College tears you away from everything you know is True About the World.  It rips you from home and family in a matter of hours or even minutes.  You have left the Boat of Civiliztion, and now you find yourself in the Ocean.  And let’s face it, even if you live by the sea, the Ocean is not something you have encountered before.  Not even close.  It feels different on your skin, it’s colder, it has an amazing range of aquatic life you’ve never seen before.  There are lots of boats out there, but there are also icebergs, sharks, and God Knows What Else.  And you don’t even care about any of those things, because after a shipwreck, you are Drowning, and all you want is to get the heck out of the Ocean.

DROWNING

They say when you’re Drowning, your whole life flashes before your eyes.  That’s true of college too.  You remember things and people from home to remind yourself that you are loved.  You think:  This Person reminds me of So-and-So from back home, that Tree looks like the one on My Street, My Father would really love This Activity.  You remember things the way you did them at home and you point out the differences to yourself.  My Mom makes a Rice Dish like this one, but she adds eggs to hers; This Song sounds like one we did in High School Choir, except it has a different pronunciation here; This Desk is like Mine, but it squeaks more.  You also remember things that your parents did for you, things you never thought about until now.  I don’t remember having to take out the garbage before this; are you sure that’s the way to do laundry; when was the last time I drank some water, and why isn’t my mom here to remind me?

LATCHING ONTO LIFE SUPPORT

A drowning person will latch onto whatever objects they have within their grasp.  You start to have extreme fondness for objects you would have overlooked before.  Should I throw away this envelope?  It has my mom’s handwriting on it, after all.  I love that drawing hanging on the wall downstairs.  It depicts the Colesseum, and after all, my best friends and I went there together.

You also latch onto people.  In a shipwreck, you are thrown haphazzardly together with other passengers.  You might have a few things in common, you might have nothing in common.  The only thing you know for sure about them is that they’re Drowning too.  Circumstance forces you to reach out to the people around you.  They become your Floatation Devices.  It becomes a race to see who can find the most people with similar interest the fastest.  You have to rush, or you may be left alone.  Against terrifying odds and amongst countless other challenges, you must choose who will accompany you in the nearest Lifeboat.  You’ll be living with these people and working with them and laughing with them for a long time.  It’s important to choose wisely, but there’s hardly the time.  And always remember that if you come on too strong, you will force that person underwater, and that will cause them to Drown faster.

 THE LIFEBOAT

Once you and the select others with you have formed a Lifeboat, you strike out into the Open Ocean.  Civilization is closer at hand now that you have rejoined a boat, but there is still much to do before you will be safe.  All that can be done for the time is to lie down and wait for the Ocean to rock you to sleep, just the way your parents did in a time you can almost remember.

I love my girlfriends.  Really.  I am so lucky to have them.  We have done a great many things together, including (but not limited to) sleepovers, movie nights, skipping school, feeding ducks, traveling to Europe, taking classes, laughing, smiling, dancing, orchestra, hiking, and a good many other things.

Here we are together:

From left to right are: Laura, me, Liz, and Karen. The picture was taken in Paris, France near Les Invalides.

I miss them quite a lot now we are all in college. I miss Liz’s quiet sarcasm and the way she is always right. I miss Laura’s constant smile and enthusiasm. I miss the way Karen lives her art and the way her hair looks in the sunshine.

 Then there is Ashera. Ashera who periodically re-invents herself, Ashera the activist, Ashera who I have known since we were born. There are two forms of her which can be easily described. One is the wild and crazy Ashera that is so often the one presented to the world:

The other is the artistic girl inside. The woman who wants to be heard and understood. As she calls herself, “Ashera the classy lady”:

Chelsea Eck is a friend of mine from first grade up to the present. She is gorgeous and smart and popular and kind. I call her Chelseabird or Bird. No one is quite sure why. Even me. It’s just habit at this point. And I love her forever.

Here is Nikki, who I admire for her spirit and her forwardness. She is vibrant and smiling and new.

I love and miss them all so much. This is my ode to my friends.

Here is my first post as a blogger.  I am just a college kid experimenting with computers.  My mom is an avid blogger, so she got me into it.  You might think it would be the other way ’round, but you’d be wrong.  I am not nearly so computer savvy as she is.  My sister has amazing skills with a computer, so we won’t even talk about her.

Here is a picture of me:

Wow.  That picture turned out huge, and now I seem really self-centered.  Sorry about that.  I’ll work on my skills.

Here is my Peculiar Aristocratic Name:

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Viscountess Emily the Sardonic of Bismorton Shropcake Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title