the pieces of my life

Why doesn’t Blogger’s spell-check recognize “blogger” as a word?

I received a phone call this afternoon from Adam. “I just want you to know,” he said, “that Eugenia brought her baby to class, and it just made me realize how excited I am to be a parent, and I can’t wait to have this baby with you,” to which, of course, the only reply I could think of was, “How drunk are you?” “Not that much,” he said. That’s what I thought. Last day of classes for HBSers is not all that different from last day of classes for high school seniors.

Apparently they spent their day drinking and reflecting on the past year. I have to say, the HBS reputation may be for arrogance and greed, but really, I haven’t seen so much of that. Self-congratulatory is more like it. Every event is a chance to celebrate the joy that is them, with songs and speeches and loud cheers. I’ll admit, I’ve grown fond of Adam’s section, although he asked me tonight if I felt like I was part of the section and the answer is a definite “no.” It’s been tough going getting to know them. I remember back to the beginning of the year when 99 percent of them would give me no more than a cursory “hello” and a once-over when they realized I wasn’t a student. I know that some of you out there reading this are just preparing to enter b-school and my warning to you guys would be be nice to the partners. You never know when one of them will be a blogger who will write nasty things about you.

Would I have done it again, had I the choice? Probably, but I would have come more prepared. Has it been fun? Sure. I’ve gotten more material from these guys this past year, and there’s still the Newport Ball and all of next year to come. Am I going to keep asking myself questions? Yeah, because Adam’s already passed out so there’s no one else for me to have a conversation with.

I am absolutely hurting, I want to go back to Seattle for Tatonka 2003 so badly. As the reigning female champion and the queen of all trash talking, I belong at that contest. But it’s a friggin’ midweek contest and I need every vacation day I can get for Brown Brown. What’s a wing eater to do? Must ponder this….

I went scrapbooking tonight with the partners. And I had fun. But then Carly saved me a seat (as I sat down she whispered to me, “I got us seats far away from the CWITs,” so it’s not just me, people!) and kept giving me helpful hints. This scrapbooking thing goes hand-in-hand with the urge to purge. I’m determined to take the piles of photos and mementos from our wedding and put them in something that can actually be seen rather than shoving them all in an old Amazon box where everything is a great big jumble. Speaking of that jumble, you Jews out there, what the heck did you do with the leftover yarmulkes from your wedding? I can’t bear the idea of throwing them out, but do I really need twenty lavender (yes, lavender! oh, shut up) kippahs? Anyway, I have to say, some of the women at that group scare me, and I just can’t ooh and ahh at the ways that you can conserve papers and make elaborate layouts. And I will shoot myself if this woman is a reader of this blog, and I apologize in advance, but it has to be said: Does anyone really need two scrapbooks about her cats? In my world, even one is excessive, but two? Two is right out. And the dedication of some of these women is intense! Looking at their books–wow! Sends me running back to the Amazon box full of crap. But any excuse to hang out with Carly and Stef is a good one and I found it immensely satisfying to file away my memories. Carly’s a great help and she doesn’t seem to mind that I scrapbook the way I paint (you know–fast. Just get it up and move on). I feel kind of silly when I’m doing it, but it was a fun night.

Steffanie and Carly brought me up to speed on what’s going on with the Partner’s steering committee, and I’m just kicking myself for not joining. I could work magic with this group. Or at least make a lot of noise. I am so good with the noise. Anyway, they mentioned that for next year’s orientation they were thinking about having cute T-shirts with capped sleeves that read “Section P” in glitter (and Carly, I am so sorry I embarrassed you when I said, “That would be cool if only it stood for ‘Pussy Power.’ This is why I’ll never qualify for CWITdom. No tact on my part). Must…keep…comments…to…self. Ah, if only I ruled the world. Or at least HBS.

But no binge. Doesn’t that take away all the fun? No, no, not me. Actually, I stayed home from work today, because I have a nasty cold and when you can’t take Nyquil (thanks, Brown Brown), the coughing won’t stop for you to sleep (first person to tell me it’s just preparation for having a baby gets kneed). But watching daytime TV makes my mind turn to mush, so I sat there with boxes of papers that have piled up over the years. I have three boxes just of photos, most of which are either duplicates or really blurry. Out those went. I have letters from people who I barely remember. Gone. Keeping them just makes me sad, remembering all those people I was close to that are no longer in my life. A couple of have passed away. Most have just drifted from my sight. Some of the names were jolts, people who haven’t even crossed my mind in almost a decade. I feel this need, though, to pare down, to get all this stuff in order before the baby comes and I have a new pile of photos and papers to deal with. Ridding myself of these things–which I held onto just for the sake of holding onto–feels almost purifying. But not purifying enough to clear the phlegm from my chest.