I'm out of bed about half the time, but I'm taking my six finals this week, ready or not. I'm taking them in a dean's office so that I can take a break and rest on a sofa if necessary. I didn't take a break today, by the way. Tomorrow I have two finals, then one on Wednesday , then two on Thursday. Then I'm finished until January, at which time I will return to school full-time with no health restrictions. I'll only take eighteen units for the winter quarter. That's still not a pittance of a load, but it's lighter than what I've done this quarter.
My dad thinks I'm too young to have a boyfriend even though I'm seventeen. I'm trying to determine when he'll think I'm officially old enough for a boyfriend. I assume the age will be somewhere around the onset of menopause. He can think what he wants, though, because I turn eighteen in about fifty-one weeks, and could technically become not just someone's girlfriend but a bona fide slut at that time if I so desired. I won't, but from a legal standpoint, there would be little to nothing standing in my way.
Anyway, to keep an already-too-long-account from turning into even more of a saga, I'll attempt to cut to the chase. Because I'm not allowed to have a boyfriend, my friend who happens to be a boy is visiting later this week from Utah with his humongous family. To make dwelling in a hotel slightly more comfortable for the remaining members (I've lost count; there are more than six of them but fewere than forty-eight) of his immediate family, or at least to deter the hotel staff from alerting the health department in regard to the number of humans inhabiting one or two rooms, he will dwell with my family instead of in the hotel for the five days or so that they are here. My father has things arranged so that he, otherwise known as Jared, will sleep in the bedroom on the far side of my parents' room, while my room is on the nearer side. The alarm system in my parents' home is so sophisticated that if Jared were to pass a certain point in the hall just before reaching my parents' room, the klaxon wail of an alarm would sound, waking everyone within a quarter-mile radius,. I tried to tell my dad that Jared is a nice Mormon boy and that he and my mom need not worry about any impropriety between the two of us, but my dad's answer is that he, too, [my dad] was once a nice Mormon boy, and that nice Mormon boys have just has many hormones running amok in their systems as do any other boys. My parents aren't taking into account that I scarcely have the energy to talk to Jared, much less to engage in any sort of physical activity. Furthermore, the Epstein-Barr virus may still be present in my system. I wouldn't kiss my worst enemy. None of this ironclad evidence convinces my father in any way that he must be less vigilant than was Rapunzel's father. I gave my dad a link to a kinky web site that sells chastity belts. I did so jokingly, but facetiousness notwithstanding, it was probably a mistake to have given him the link. It would not surprise me in the least to learn that a chastity belt is already on a UPS truck headed in the direction of my house.
[Basque translation for "until tomorrow"]