Mother mother, can you hear me? Sure I'm sober, sure I'm sane!

I recently received an email from an editor friend, asking me to write a 1000 -5000 word story outlining “your strangest or most illuminating university memory – one that ended up contributing to your future, or one other students might relate to and/or learn from”.

Gak. That’s just the kind of thing I hate. First of all, I don’t exactly remember many of my university escapades, and I’m fairly sure some of you who acted as my partners in crime back in the day would agree some things are better left undisclosed. Then there’s the fact that using anything in my past as a How To manual for future students isn’t exactly going to produce a generation of kitchen-capable, mathematically-inclined rocket scientists.

This is My Letter to the World that Never Wrote to Me

Yes, I know. I owe you an email. You think I’ve forgotten, but the truth is, I’m well aware that it’s my turn to contribute to our bungee cord pattern of correspondence. In fact, I’ll confess that I’ve owed you an email for quite some time now. I’ve been meaning to write. I just can’t seem to get my act together.

I almost wrote you yesterday but then I started surfing and before long it was 3am. I can’t send email at 3am because whenever I do, some wise-ass insists on responding with ‘what the freak were you doing up at 3am!?!? I sure hope that was EST not PST! Go to BED woman!’