It's Valentine's Day today, but I'm not thinking about romance. Oh here we go, you think, another anti-romantic diatribe against Valentine's Day written by some guy who hasn't gotten any in six months and wants to inflict his deep inner pain upon the rest of the world. Nope, I hate listening to those just as much as you do. My stomach is churning, however, for the simple reason that I have the nastiest case of stomach flu you've ever seen.
I've been throwing up for days and the memory of solid food is somewhat distant. And frankly, I miss my mommy. You remember being sick at home? It was, in its own way, a beautiful experience. I mean, nobody likes to get sick, but it definitely had its fringe benefits: no school, TV all day, comfy couch to lie on, no school, Mom pampers you to no end, did I mention no school?
I was always tempted to fake a couple extra days of discomfort just so I could stay on that heavy JellO-and-worry regimen that my mom enforced with the utmost strictness. I never could, though, because I knew I'd feel guilty. After all, I was infringing on what was probably her most relaxing part of the day. She'd iron and watch reruns of Murder She Wrote, or those Agatha Christie mysteries we used to tape for her. I'm sure the last thing she wanted to deal with was a snot-nosed brat demanding obscure ice-cream flavors. If she minded, though, she never let on.
Flash forward to now, two weeks into second semester of freshman year. I'm feeling pretty self-reliant at this point. I live on my own (with a roommate), do all my work without anybody nagging me, deal with bills, laundry, even tax returns. I can go out and have a few drinks and come home at two in the morning, and it's my choice.
A few days ago, I was talking to my dad on the phone, and he remarked how mature I sounded. I thought to myself, "Yeah! I am mature! I can deal with anything!" The next day, there I am outside the dining hall, dropping my tray next to the stairs and running full-tilt into the nearest bathroom. By the middle of the day, I was incapacitated, lying in my bed and wondering how to cope.
I started reeling off all the problems with being sick at school: I have no painkillers. I have no clean socks, and no detergent or fabric softener with which to wash anything. I am starving, and no one is around to make me JellO, soup or even put out some flat ginger ale for me. My roommate has his own life, and short of making a 'Wa run for apple juice, doesn't seem eager to mother me. I am thirsty and sore and I need help.
The biggest wake up call, however, occurred at 2:30 a.m. yesterday morning, when I bolted from the room to go throw up and inadvertently locked myself out. I couldn't wake up my roommate by knocking, so I had to run outdoors in my boxers and call Public Safety from a blue phone.
I realized at that moment that I am about as self-reliant as a wounded parasite. I may have come a long way from lying on the couch in the third grade, but this isn't quite the real world, and if it were, I still wouldn't be totally ready for it. Perhaps you, too, have found yourself feeling similarly humbled.
So, on this Valentine's Day, while you spend some quality time with that significant other, I will be calling my mom and begging for attention. Does UPS have a no-Jell-O policy? David Morris is from Oakville, Ontario. He can be reached at dmorris@princeton.edu.
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