Black in College

Earlier this afternoon, I thought my precalculus class was supposed to meet at 1:55. After my morning ecology class, I spent the remainder of the late morning and early afternoon doing math homework to catch up with the assignments after my horrible stomach virus. For some reason, it felt like time was going in my favor for once. I finished some homework and even began to fully understand some concepts–until I walked over to the lecture hall at 1:35 (intending to catch my usual seat) to see the auditorium filled with students already. I initially thought the previous class hadn’t yet let out, until I remembered that my precalc class meets at 12:35. I am an idiot. I don’t know where my head has been at, but I seem to be making a number of different blunders like this lately. I figure I’ll e-mail the professor, explain to him what happened, and then just ask him my intended question through the mail. If I have to bring it up after class again next Thursday, then I’ll do that. Other than that, I’m just going to have to make sure I don’t keep pulling crap like this. Usually, I catch myself before a major blunder, but this semester has really gotten to about four different bad starts. Blah.

On my way back home on the Ride of Defeat, I grabbed a copy of the Targum. It appears that some intelligent young women with the student council on Douglass have been taking issues with the staff shortage and mismanagement at Rutgers. Obviously, it’s a product of the budget cuts, and the budget cuts are a product of the recession, but the last thing that should be cut after Rutgers has been admitting at least 70% of its applicants is the health services available to all of those kids. All the doctors and nurses I meet have a chip on their shoulder because they can’t catch a break. It’s ridiculous.

Another great point the ladies of the council made to the Health Center Director Lady is that there has been a lot of misdiagnoses on the part of the doctors and nurses. Apparently it’s happened to them personally–and you know it’s happened to me. It’s boiled down to me trying to solve my own health problems, and that shouldn’t be the case. As far as my yeast infection goes, I have no idea if it’s the same one or if it’s been just one yeast infection. I have no idea if the Boyfriend is a carrier and we’ve just been passing it back and forth. Who knows. I just know that I want it over and done with once and for all, and for some reason, Hurtado can’t seem to give me any reasons why it either keeps coming back or hasn’t gone away.

Since there are only seven blogs (including my own) in the African American subcategory of the Living category, and the other six don’t seem to post very often, it is no wonder that my blog, Black in College, should be the featured blog of that subcategory. I suppose I’m not surprised that there aren’t too many other black bloggers on Today.com. It takes a while to really start getting hits on one’s blog–not to mention that Today.com doesn’t pay out until the blogger reaches $50. I, for one, feel very encouraged to be blogging with Today.com. I can track my progress up to the minute with the VIP Statistics, to see how people are getting here. With the increased traffic, I haven’t felt as guilty for not posting everyday.

In housing news, the boyfriend and I have been having some problems trying to find apartments with our flaky friends. We can’t condense houses, because Rai doesn’t want to live with The Poet and The Poet doesn’t want to live with Rai, so attempting to force these people to live with each other would just create even more problems. I went on a housing tour with the boyfriend and The Poet yesterday and one of the houses seemed like a decent option. It’s strangely labyrinthine in structure, with narrow corridors and boarded up walls here and there. Some of the walls looked like they had been plastered haphazardly. I can’t understand why he would rent out such a shabby place without offering to fix it up before the new tenants move in. The nice thing about the place is that there’s a finished basement with an additional kitchen. So if the boyfriend and I wanted to cook, there wouldn’t be a conflict with other people in the house. There are two bedrooms in the basement, so there could potentially be a bedroom, an office, and a living room-type area down there all for the boyfriend. He would have to pay a little more than the others, but it would be about what he’s paying now to share a disgusting bathroom and a disgusting kitchen with self-loathing loners. The major downside of the house is its location. It’s about a twenty minute walk from the College Avenue campus, and it’s nowhere near the Douglass campus. If the boyfriend gets a car from his parents then he could potentially drive to class, but I hate kids who do that.

In terms of housemates, my situation is less confusing. I already know who I’m going to be living with. The problem is where. Besides the bar, I haven’t been able to find a place that includes utilities and is a fair price. I just don’t see the point in moving into a three bedroom apartment, paying $550 a month, and then having to pay utilities for a room that won’t be able to hold any of my stuff. If the guys in the upstairs apartment decide they want to move out for the 2009-2010 academic year, then Rai and I will move up there. It’s only $25 more a month, and if M decides to stay at the bar, then we could all share the internet bill as long as we find a couple more people to take the remaining rooms. If the housing for the boyfriend falls through, then we’ve considered moving up there ourselves, although that may cause additional strain on our relationship. It’s close to College Avenue, but it’s not very close to where my classes are actually going to be, so that means taking the bus to and from class. Meh. I should purchase a bike anyway…

To add insult to injury, the boyfriend’s parents have been giving him a hard time with the housing situation. They think that if he moves out of his current house, then they’re going to have to help him move all of his stuff to his new abode. I told him to reassure them that he could do it himself if necessary; they’re warming up to the idea of his moving bit by bit, but it’s taking some convincing. In fact, he’s on the phone with them right now trying to talk some sense to them.

Amidst all of this stress, the boyfriend and I have managed to enjoy some minor copulations. The excitement initiated, because we thought his landlord would be arriving within minutes to give a tour of the house. We engaged in a passionate quickie–and the landlord never showed up.

Last night I hung out with Rai, a friend from my old dorm and a prospective apartment-mate for the 2009-2010 school year. I showed her the list of available (although not affordable) apartments in the area. So far, not so good. She seems to think that one way or another we’ll find an apartment. What she doesn’t know is that I’m just about ready to start looking for a place on my own - for the right price, of course.

The rent around here is getting more expensive for the same crappy houses and apartments and everyone I know is looking to graduate soon. Even a couple of the girls I’m supposed to be living with haven’t given me concrete answers as to were they’re going to be at any given point. It depends on their job prospects, of course. The only thing I can do is look for something cheap and small. The boyfriend and I have considered moving in together, but we’re still a new couple and we’ve agreed it’s probably not the best idea. On the other hand, if the people we know disappear, we may not have a choice.

I found a listing for a studio recently and I sent the landlord an e-mail, but he didn’t respond. Then I tried to call him earlier this morning and he didn’t pick up what I’m assuming is his cellphone. The listing says it’s available immediately, but because of my lease, I’m not going to be able to move in until June of ‘09. I figure I’ll try to set up an appointment to see the place and if it’s decent, and the landlord doesn’t seem shady then I’ll try to see if I can sign a lease for June. Then all he’ll have to do is find someone to live in it for six months (if he hasn’t already).

I have considered just losing my security deposit and moving out no matter what happens, but I really would like that security deposit back.

Also, with the addition of an individualized major and the prospect of spending three more years in school ahead of me, I’ve been trying to find a job. With no success, of course. I may be able to work with NJ Community Water Watch this summer if they’d allow it, and there are some internship opportunities I’m interested in, but nothing concrete. I’m going to have to make blogging and freelance writing my part-time jobs–and perhaps I’ll actually make some decent money selling out my life. The problem is finding the damn time.

Lastly, I have decided that every Wednesday is going to be “White Wednesday,” where I share something I’ve learned about white people (in particular white men) from the week.

Today, I realize that white people seem to think they have all the time in the world.

This past weekend into early this week I haven’t wanted to do anything but sit in front of the boyfriend’s computer and watch detective shows of one type or another. Today, however, I’m going to have to make it to at least two of my classes for two reasons: 1. I enjoy one of them and 2. We’re going to be reviewing information for the final exam in the second one. Right now, I have a B+ average in the second one (Geology) and because I missed a couple quizzes, I probably have a B+ in the first one (Human Evolution) as well. I did so well on the midterm and then there were some quizzes that I missed/choked on because I was too busy studying for other things. I’ve already missed three weeks of Sanskrit, so I know I’m on really this ice over there. For the remainder of the semester, I’m going to have to play on the fact that he likes me and probably at least somewhat believes my sob story. I should have just told him about my health problems, but maybe I’ll tell him about them in person–make myself look about as sad as I am.

So, news. I’m getting off birth control for three months, because apparently that’s how long it takes for birth control to clear one’s system. I think right now, birth control is the cause of at least half of my problems. When I first started, I wasn’t having any problems whatsoever. I started taking the pills through my period and then every couple/few months I would have a period just to bleed, get it over with, and then go another few months without my period. It was pretty good. But once I got my first yeast infection, the doctors gave me this medication that probably lowered the effectiveness of my birth control (as it warns on the outside cover), and I’ve been going through sporadic, terrible bleeding and either a residual yeast infection that just hasn’t gone away, or they’ve just been coming back. After I took the first yeast infection medication, my birth control just wasn’t working and in response to the breakthrough bleeding, the health clinic increased my dosage twice and then had my doubling up to stop the bleeding, possibly getting my uterine lining back to normal. It worked, but it couldn’t last, because it just wasn’t healthy. So I dropped to taking one pill a day after bleeding out again, but the dosage was still double of my first batch of birth control pills. This has been going on for over a year now, and this birth control business is becoming more trouble than it’s worth. The complications are ruining intimacy with the boyfriend, and putting me into depressions that just have to pass. I’m hoping that once I’m off birth control for three months, I can just bleed out, clear my system, and go back to the dosage I was on when I first started.

I recently went to see a doctor about going back to a lower dosage, but she was resistant to the idea, telling me that if I go back to a lower dosage then I may have breakthrough bleeding and if I have breakthrough bleeding, then that may mean that I’m not protected against pregnancy. Because I have insurance, I can at least afford to try it out, but she decided that instead of giving me one dose of yeast infection medication, she would give me two doses taken four days apart. Well, now I’m bleeding again and I don’t know if that had something to do with it, but this is the last time I let these doctors tell me what to do with my body. Over the past year and some change, they’ve just been flat out wrong, and now I’m going to treat myself and make my own decisions. I’ve been thinking about switching to “extended regimen” birth control pills instead of taking the traditional active pills all the way through. I’m sure insurance would cover it, since my birth control is covered this time around. And I’m not going to let those doctors talk me out of it. I’ve already made my decision.

I had a very strange dream last night, that had me trapped until early this morning. The setting seemed somewhere between high school and college during the spring/early summer. I may or may not have been working in some kind of office environment with the CTAAR (an acronym for my old place of employment) girls (from real life), and a former friend of mine stole some expensive piece of equipment from the workplace. I bumped into him on a an extremely crowded stairwell and he yelled some mean comment at me. I confronted him, asking him what exactly his problem was, and then telling him what my problem was. I’ll call him Schizoid Man. So, after mild confrontation, Schizoid Man became a whole lot gentler and our conversation became a pleasant one. I managed to finagle the expensive headset from him and I took it over to the office to hide. Incidentally, the headset was broken, so I hid it in some drawer, hoping someone would find it after I was long gone.

On my way out of the office, I bymped into the CTAAR girls and I was suddenly holding and drinking from a hand-sized bottle of whiskey. I guess we made idle chit-chat until one of them decided they were going to point out the obvious, “Ursula, you’re an alcoholic…” Embarrassed, ashamed, annoyed, whatever, and suddenly wearing heels and business attire, I began to ran. I ran across streets and through grass, up and down stairs trying to get away from them. I decided I would visit another CTAAR girl in her dorm who was a business major. In reality, this girl never lived in a dorm. Once I got to the building, the other CTAAR girls were already waiting for her in some lobby/lounge, so I ran past them up the stairs. I went to a resident assistant’s room and asked for a tour of the dorm, pretending I was interested in living there the following year in an attempt to wait out their presence. The corridors of this dorm were very cramped, although comfortable–kind of like being in one’s grandmother’s house. I’m pretty sure it was an single-sex dorm for women.

For whatever reason, I decided I didn’t want the tour after all, so I asked the resident assistant if I could reschedule the tour, to which she responded, “No problem.” So I began running again, perhaps into some kind of woods this time. And that’s when the dream transformed in one of my many dreams about zombies. It was very videogame-like; my only goal being to kill as many zombies possible without getting killed myself. This is the dream that I would wake up to, running through dark, creepy hallways and stairwells, at times fighting zombies with my bare hands, at others slicing their necks/faces with a machete.

In other news, this evening, I had my pregnancy test done at the health clinic and it turned out negative. While the eager medical student looked on, the doctor told me the brown goo is most likely my vagina getting rid of some old blood–and that it’s nothing she would worry about. As per procedure, she’s going to run my vaginal fluids through the STI/STD machine and give me a call if something is amiss. I’ve had a million tests done ever since my first yeast infection screwed me up, and all of them have been negative, so I’m not worried about it. Especially since the boyfriend and I have been together for over a year now. Anything that I could have gotten from my ex (The Buddhist) would have shown up a long time ago.

Once the boyfriend got back from Douglass campus, he was convinced I was pregnant. I could see it in his eyes. But once I dropped the big negative, he calmed down a bit and we were able to move on to other topics. I’m getting real tired of talking about my vagina as often as I do. And I’m gettin’ real tired of old ladies sticking their fingers where the sun don’t shine, but it doesn’t seem like things are getting much better or much worse.

After we got back from the student center (unfortunately, our home away from home), the boyfriend and I indulged in some short, but sexy love-play. For now, all is good with the world.

…finally emerges.

The View’s post-election episode was interesting, because they all praised “the youth” and thought about their children’s supposed brand new lack of limitations. But it’s just not true. People shouldn’t think that racial tensions and inequalities are now over because there will be a black president in a couple months. I do believe it’s a very important step for this country that we elect a president because of his credentials as opposed to how he can supposedly “relate” to the Joe the Plumbers out there. This doesn’t mean that we can get rid of affirmative action–that the playing field is now leveled and there’s no reason to help people (minorities, the disabled, women, etc.) who would otherwise be left to their own insufficient means. Sorry, but the existence of a black president is not the be-all and end-all of race relations. I would like to see an Asian American president, I would like to see a Hispanic president, I would like to see a Native American president, and I would like at least one of them to be a woman. Once we’ve truly reached the point of judging a candidate by qualifications, then these things will happen. And it’s going to take a long time for that.

Now, I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade, but black people aren’t the only ones who struggle. It’s just that blacks have the worst overall history in just about all countries. Anyone with dark skin around the world knows what it’s like to be discounted and discriminated against–but we’re not the only ones.

But back to Elizabeth’s white guilt… It was really annoying to see her harp on all the great things about electing a black president now that McCain has rather graciously conceded. She didn’t seem to think that his being black was that important until “The Media” suddenly decided his race was important and that black people might actually have something to say about it. She didn’t want to feel bad about McCain’s loss so she decided, “Well, at least there’s progress in this country. See? A black man has been elected president.” All the comfort that people are taking in Obama’s win is a bit annoying, because I don’t believe in progress. The questions people have to ask themselves when they talk about progress: “Progressing towards what?” What, exactly, are we trying to attain? Some kind of perfect world where everyone has the same opportunities and everyone’s on a single, equal level? That’s just not going to happen. People are always going to find some way to discriminate against one another–it could be anything.

All “progress” does is give people different ways of hating each other.