I woke up this morning with my shoulders in so much pain that I could barely get up and a sharp throbbing in my head. I went back to sleep and tried to sleep it off. By one o clock, it was clear that no amount of sleep would get rid of it, so I finally got up. Eight ibuprofen and three cups of coffee later, I am still in an incredible amount of pain.
Ow.
I did get something in the mail from UM-D. They received my GED transcripts and are just waiting on my college transcripts. I am really, really hoping that I get in there. Of course, I just want this whole process to be over with so I know what I'm doing. But also, since they really are where I'd like to go, it would make me infinitely happy if I could go there.
I was supposed to sit in on that Madonna U class on Wednesday, but I don't think I'll go. Part of the reason is that I don't think I want to go to Madonna. I'd rather go to UM-D or Wayne. But the other part is the bus schedule. Now, Madonna is only twenty minutes by car, but this is what I would have to do to get there by 4 PM:

1:50 PM-leave the house and walk to the bus terminal
2:20 PM-catch bus #22
3:01-Catch bus #295
3:40 arrive at my destination

Whee, how fun.
Um, yeah, I think I'll pass.
So, last night I decided to look up something from my childhood. See, we were watching a Stephen King movie on Saturday, The Langoliers.
Now, maybe it's because it was four hours instead of eight, or maybe it's just that after The Stand, I wasn't expecting as much. But it didn't enrage me the way The Stand did. Sure, it was mindless and predictable, but what do you expect out of the sci fi channel on a Saturday afternoon?
Anyhow, so it got me thinking of this little girl I knew, because she was from Bangor, Maine. See, my mother had thought about marrying this guy that she met from the single booklovers' club. He came to visit, as did his daughter. This guy lived in Illinois, but his daughter lived with her mother in Maine. And she wouldn't shut up about it.
Maybe it was the fact that her name was Hedda, which was very distinctive. Maybe it was the way she hit me relentlessly and I could never do anything about it since she was a few years younger than I was. Maybe it was the fact she wouldn't give me a few seconds of peace, even when I built a fortress out of chairs and sheets to get away from her, which she just kicked her way through. Maybe it was the way she scammed my rather gullible mother into buying her expensive toys that we really couldn't afford. (We often went without things like milk and bread for a couple days between paychecks, that was how poor we were.)
But I remembered this girl's name.
I also remembered Bangor, Maine because she would sit around all day long, going " I want to go to Bangor Mall! Bangor Mall! Bangor Mall!"
My mother found it adorable, but I found it so annoying that I had to build fortresses to get away from it for a few minutes. Well, my mom decided not to marry this fellow and his charming daughter. But I remembered her and after seeing a couple hours of supposed terror in the Bangor airport, it got me to wondering what had ever become of her.
So I did a google search. Her name came up on a few searches. One was some uber feminist site out of Maine, for having scribbled some "down with the patriarchy" type graffitti. I also found her college website, with pictures that looked remarkably like what would be her, fifteen years later, and the rather dull man that my mother decided not to marry. Another was a schedule of presentations for all the students in an environmental studies class at said all womens college.
I find it funny that Hedda grew up to be an uber feminist. Not just your garden variety feminist that thinks fashion magazines give women complexes. No, I'm talking about the type that think all women will be feminists when they're shown "the light". (Sorry, but I have a hard time with any belief system that dismisses contradictory opinions as "deluded".)
What is so funny about this is the notion of men keeping us down while we have a bond of sisterhood from a little kid whose father spoiled her rotten and who used to hit and kick and shmooze her way into getting whatever she wanted. Hell, if she was half the terror as an adult as she was when she was 8, then the only thing I can imagine men doing to her is cowering fearfully and perhaps building their own fortresses to escape her.
Of course, she could have grown up quite a bit since then, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't go around hitting everyone she comes in contact with, but I rather like the idea of her sitting on a bed somewhere, yelling "I'm oppressed! oppressed! oppressed" repeatedly.