Dear Drew,Of course, the real email wasn't nearly as funny. But don't you like this one better?
Idaho is not what I expected. The tent we're staying in is smaller than I expected, so I'll be sleeping outside, I'm told. It rains a lot here, so they gave me a tarp to keep dry. Unfortunately, the tarp is roughly the size of a washcloth, and I must decide between keeping my face dry or wrapping it around my waist in order mask my natural feminine smells, as my TA tells me that the timberwolves are "drawn to cooch."
Yes, timberwolves. They tell me that timberwolves got their name from their ability to chew through wood. There's been a lot of timberwolf attacks in the area lately, but my TA says that it's not because they're hungry. Instead, the apparently wily timberwolves are doing it "just to fuck around." I don't like that. Additionally, the presence of the wolves has driven the bears into a "frenzy" mode, so I'm told if I see any that I should act like a timberwolf and chew through the nearest tree trunk in a last-ditch effort to frighten the bear away.
Thanks so much for lending my your Game Boy and those books. They were really handy the first two nights, but then one of the other birdwatchers took them because she said I was "a baby" and that "babies don't get nice things." Then she pushed me. Her name is Joanie and I don't think she likes me. She pushes me a lot.
Honestly, though, those books and games wouldn't have been much good for me, because of my accident and all. I finally saw the bird we've been looking for, a Montana reticulated starling, and I was really excited, until it attacked me. The doctor said he'd never seen a bird's beak inserted so far into a person's head before. Joanie said I must have made it mad by getting too close to its nest. I'm okay, but I'm gonna have a soft spot where the bird poked me and when they pulled the bird out, they had to kill it, since it had tasted blood once and probably would want to again.
Worst of all, the accident punctured the part of my brain that allows me to read, so I can't do that anymore. I can write, but I'm not sure what I'm writing or if it even makes any sense. If it doesn't, please know why. Please pray for me. I hope I can send off this email before my brain's entire language center dissolves. Coco! Coco!
Friday, May 20, 2005
Old roommate Meghan has been gone for about a week now. She's off on a two-month birdwatching expedition in the wilds of Idaho, near the Montana border. She called me from Missoula, during one of her weekly opportunities to use a phone and a computer, but I wasn't there to pick up. But I did get an email.