January 1993--Irish Writers Class and Insurance Mix-Ups
Now I started my second year of reading My Utmost for His Highest, in totally different circumstances now, but still desperately needing the messages it and the Bible had for me.
Pearl got a present from a relative which inspired Rachel to make up this tune:
"Some little Christmas thing
Sitting on my mantel
I don't know what it is
I got it from some corny relative
It killed my cat
What do you think about that
As the world blows up"
As far as I can explain a tune in words, it was a simple, alto melody sung mostly in low notes. The line "I don't know what it is" sounded similar to the beginning of the Aerosmith song "Living on the Edge," which, incidentally, came out soon after Rachel made up this song. (I always jokingly wondered if Aerosmith stole it from her.) "It killed my cat" ended on a higher note, "What do you think about that" on an even higher one, and "As the world blows up" even higher.
Pat Robertson actually predicted the spring/summer Flood of 1993 on or around January 5, according to my diary.
My Winterim class, Irish Writers, taught by a tall, thin teacher named Todd, was a lot of fun. It was held from 9 to 12 each day. We learned not only about Irish Writers, but about the Irish people. I had no idea just how colorful they are. Todd had been to Ireland, and showed us pictures of a man he met there. He said the man tended to walk with his arms behind his back and his hands clasped, an Irish thing. Todd passed around a brick of peat, which is dug out of bogs and used for fuel. We learned about Irish history, and that the Irish are passionate about everything (including freedom, and in such a way that, until 2000, it seemed impossible to stop the fighting over it). The Brits looked down on them, at least in previous centuries, for loving sex and alcohol so much. We learned about stout (no, we didn't drink it). We read books, plays and stories by Irish writers.
James Joyce said he was no good at making things up, so his stories were based on things that really happened. As far as I was concerned, he had little sense of plot and most of his stories were dull. We read A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man--the second time for me. I had to trudge through that novel in high school. It was just as bad the second time. (What is the point of that 42-page Hellfire Sermon, anyway?) The only part I liked was the beginning, with the stream-of-consciousness stuff about a moocow and some bird plucking out the kid's eyes if he didn't apologize for something: "Pull out his eyes, apologize, apologize, pull out his eyes!" We read his collection The Dubliners, and the only stories I liked were "The Dead" and "Araby" (which I had also read in high school). "Araby" would show up again in a Lit class junior year. We saw My Left Foot, a filmed version of “The Dead” with Colm Meaney (from Star Trek: TNG), and a John Wayne movie, The Quiet Man, set in Ireland. Though we didn't like Foot, and I think we liked the movie Dead, we loved The Quiet Man.
I loved the very end of The Dead, focusing on snow falling on tombstones in a graveyard. It reminded me of my own musings at that time whenever we passed cemeteries in a car: that the people in those graves were fortunate to not have to feel the snow or the cold, or have heartaches, or go through any more of life's many problems. I just hoped their souls were in Heaven.
Our first day of class, we chose or were assigned partners and days to do presentations. I ended up with Clarissa, and we had to do the next day's presentation on "Araby."
Clarissa and I had no examples of past presentations to go on, and had to just make everything up, not knowing what would work and what wouldn't. We thought we did all right, and certainly our best from what he'd told us to do. But afterwards, Todd told the class with a grin,
"Maybe tomorrow's presentation will be better."
He often did this, ripping on people and grinning at the same time. It was the only fault in an otherwise pleasant guy who actually loved Jane Austen and wasn't gay.
One day, I brought in some of my Irish pen pal's letters. I said she would talk about the noise of bombs going off and helicopters constantly flying overhead, and about the constant violence in Belfast, where she lived.
Shawn had Irish ancestry, so one day I said to him with a grin, "I understand you now." I explained what I had learned about the Irish. I told him I had Scottish ancestry, which I thought meant we had a lot in common. But I forgot that the Scots and Irish fought each other. Shawn said, "That must be our problem, then."
I talked to Steve about what Peter told Memadmin. I asked if I needed to apologize to Peter for anything I did freshman year.
He said, "No, you did nothing wrong. It would be good to let him know you never meant to hurt him. But Peter probably won't listen to you, so I'd better tell him."
He did this, but got no response. To describe Peter's reaction, Steve thought a moment, then said, "indifference."
Once, Shawn said to me, "You should marry a lawyer." He thought a lawyer would be well-read and my intellectual equal, unlike Shawn, who would be an engineer. Yet, years later, I married an engineer.
After my medical bill was submitted to my parents' insurance company, the insurance company declined it. Mom apparently thought the bill was submitted to the school, and just waited for them to pay it. Only later did we discover that it had never been sent to the school. So instead, Mom got another bill. On or around January 14, she asked me to see the nurse about it. On the 18th I went to the nurse, expecting to get it all resolved. I don't remember this meeting at all. I do remember Memadmin calling me into her office soon after. She said,
"I saw the maintenance crews out there salting the hill all day."
You'll recall that I saw no salt whatsoever on that hill.
She then said, "The nurse said she never told you the school would pay for the medical bills."
I had written to a friend on December 7, "The school is paying for my medical expenses, the nurse tells me. Yay!"
Did Memadmin just accuse me of lying? Peter must have given her the impression that I lied all the time, even though I've always avoided lying.
After a bit of discussing, possibly even arguing, she decided to send the bill to the school's insurance company.
Mom soon called. A representative of the insurance company called her, and said I should tell the clinic, "The insurance is pending." I used that exact wording, but to the surprise of Mom and the rep, it didn't work. The woman I spoke to was surprised I wasn't getting the bills myself. (They went to my parents in Indiana.)
Mom finally decided to pay the bill and let the insurance company give her the money for it later. For some time, I wondered if this thing beyond my control would hurt my credit rating. (Apparently, it didn't.)
One day, I got a call from another insurance representative. He said, "Will you accept a payment of $500? Will that be enough?"
Not only would that pay my bill, but it would compensate me for lost wages. I said, "Yeah, that's fine."
While working for an insurance agent several years later, I learned that such mix-ups are common with medical insurance. Many people get their bills sent to a collection agency while waiting for the insurance to pay.
As for Memadmin, some new information has come to light which may explain why she treated me the way she did, not just this time but those other times I had to deal with her and she acted like I was wrong whatever was going on, and Peter was right--no matter what I said. My friend Catherine's new husband, who used to work Security for Roanoke, once had to break up a marijuana-smoking group of students--and Memadmin was there, smoking with them. Peter smoked marijuana, and he was friends with Memadmin, so I wouldn't be surprised if he smoked it with her. Get all buddy-buddy with Memadmin, and now your side of the story is listened to, but not your ex-girlfriend's. Don't forget that he had no qualms about lying. Meanwhile, Memadmin tried to frame Catherine's husband, saying that he was making obscene phone calls to the dorm. It was soon made obvious to those in charge that he'd been framed, but the administration was afraid he'd sue them if anything else happened, so they didn't let him keep his job. He told me that Memadmin considered everybody to be as corrupt as she was, so that would explain why she thought I was lying all the time.
On or after January 28, Cindy, Jennifer, Pearl and I all sat in Pearl and Cindy's room, chatting. I said, "It's the one-year anniversary since Peter broke up with me. But it doesn't bother me, because of Shawn."
One day, Pearl and I stayed in the room while Cindy went into the hall to say good-bye to a visiting guy named Luke. I could see them from where I sat. Luke wanted a hug; Cindy simpered and gave him one. They acted shy and cute.
I asked Pearl, "Is there something going on between them?
"No," said Pearl. "They're just friends."
Apparently, my skills at reading people had improved. Soon after, Cindy and Luke started dating. They stayed together for many years, and everyone thought they would marry.
Anna told me one day that she found a bug in her green beans. She almost missed it because it was long and green. She cut into it and saw little legs.
Winterim Break was from Saturday, January 30 through Tuesday, February 2. Clarissa and I both stayed on campus. We were prepared with plenty of food, since I remembered last year and warned Clarissa. We had a restful, relaxing Break, doing whatever we wanted to, whenever we wanted to. I would go down to the Campus Center to check mail, and listen to my Walkman on the way. I loved it. Shawn and Peter were gone; few people were on campus. Some of our friends were there.
Pearl and Carol went on an educational trip to England for most of Winterim, obviously arriving back in time for us to talk on the 28th. They even got credit for it. (This is the event which I fictionalized in Bedlam Castle.) They saw "The Phantom of the Opera," and visited sites important in literature, such as Bath and Stratford-on-Avon. The advisors were Bill and Thea, who had taught my Expository Writing class. It cost a lot of money, so I couldn't join them, to my dismay. When they got back, Pearl gave me a map of Bath in the time of Jane Austen.