The Deeper Well

(or Things That Crawled Out of My Backpack)



No, not this. Also, I want my mommy now.

Rather than bore people with the details surrounding my sortie into higher higher education (and since pretty much anyone reading this has already heard me talk about grad school a whole lot), I thought I would take this blogging opportunity to step away from the primary storyline (Kathleen Gets a Masters) and dig into one of the more interesting subplots of this ongoing saga: My Backpack.

Friends- for starters, I have had this backpack since high school. Yes, Hutchison girls (and hey- MUS boys, too)- I still have the L.L. Bean backpack with my initials embroidered on the front. It has crossed oceans with me (as we are about to find out), and it now accompanies me on my journey towards shaping the minds of the L.L. Bean backpack-toting children of tomorrow's future etc.

More importantly, though, this red satchel of old contains many things of which I should have disposed long ago, for I am a pack rat and prone to not cleaning out bags. Thus, I recently took a little tour of the myriad pockets and sub-pockets of my trusty backpack to see what little gems might be hiding in the depths. This is what I found:

1) An index card that has "Rosemary" and "(901)" written on it. Also the beginning of her name spelled "Roes" with lots of scribbles over it.

I'm pretty sure this was supposed to be Rosemary's phone number. Unfortunately, I only have the area code. I mean, she did live in Memphis for 4 years of college and 3 years of law school, and I'm certain I called her at some point during those 7 years, so somewhere along the way I must have gotten the rest of the number. For the fans at home, Rosemary is now a lawyerperson in Springfield, TN, and has a house and a dog named Tippie. I miss her.

2) Drugs. From the Emory Student Health Center. Anyone else remember the blue pills they gave you for everything? I'm pretty sure they don't go bad because they appear to be glorified Flintstones vitamins.

3) An index card outlining the "6 Stages of Aboriginal Policy." Clearly from my University of Sydney days. For those who care, they are (allegedly):

• Denied the Existence
• Segregation
• Dispersal
• Assimilation
• Integration
• Self-Determination

Well, the last one sounds sort of nice . . . ?

4) A note passed between Ellen Gaydos and me during what could only have been a sorority chapter meeting. The short version:

Ellen: Did you take Ryan to semi-formal?!
KQ: No! I took Jon Robinson! [Sorry, Ryan!]
Ellen: Cool. Do I have to make more than 15 sandwiches to get my philanthropy credit for this year?
KQ: I have no idea. I don't help people unless forced to.
Ellen: That's cool. Come see my play!
KQ: Totes! TTYL!

5) No less than 7 Rolling Rock bottle caps. Of course, I don't remember drinking in class, but I guess the two sort of go hand in hand, right?

Honorable mention goes to a CVS receipt I found from the late 90's for a late night cranberry juice, orange juice, and Sunlight Dishwashing Detergent run. I'm not sure how delicious or not that was, but I'm betting I would still rather drink that concoction than SoCo and . . . anything. Stupid college . . .