How to demolish an entire civilization and still feel good about yourself.

This is an email I recently wrote.
I seriously think I am so funny.
Thus, I am sharing it on my blog.

I have one thing to say to you: I am traveling through time today. Figuratively speaking, of course.

No. Really. I'm wearing a red coat, with big buttons. And tall, black boots. My hair is curly, like the way an English judge from 1776 would wear his wig.
I didn't realize it until I stepped outside, and then the realization hit me: I look like a British soldier, a redcoat, an enemy of the people, a soldier of war. This was especially apparent in the way pedestrians were eying me from the sidewalks and from inside their apartments. As I marched to class, (yes, really) with my shoulder bag strung haphazardly over my back and a loaded musket in each hand, children and puppies fled from my presence, screaming: The British are coming! The British are coming... again!
Last semester I gave a presentation on Benjamin Franklin. I tried to convince Daphne that if she joined me wearing knee-length knickerbockers and a long, white wig, we would make my presentation A+ material. She didn't buy it. I would have done it, but I wasn't nearly tall enough. Plus, I thought it would be better if Mr. Franklin simply ambled around the room, stared at various members of the class through his bifocals and occasionally touched them, creepily, on the shoulders.

Now I know why she wouldn't do it.

After I take the quiz in my next class that I'm supposed to be studying for, I am going to remove this red coat, hang it in my closet, and never speak or think about it again.

If you own a red coat with similar properties, I beg you to do the same.

Sincerely, your most loving friend,
Joslynn

So cute, but so wimpy.

My experience in college has widened my mind; I like to think my knowledge has increased, my awareness of the world is more acute, and my ability to see beyond my own perspective has improved. There is, however, a severe deficiency in the practicality department.

College has taught me to rush-- class to class, apartment to library--I push forward with complete lack of vigilance. As I made my way to Dr. Cheney's lecture this morning my mind was occupied with distractions. I walked and chanted in my head,
"The hair cells depolarize, the potassium channels open, the sodium channels close, the neuron fires and OPTIC!!! OLFACTORY!!! OCCULOMOTOR!!!!!!"
With my head down, my body bent against the wind I stepped into the street, my feet tapping to the rhythm of my internal study session.
Halfway across the road, a speedily approaching driver was quickly forced to slam on his brakes, narrowly avoiding steamrolling me under the wheels of his vehicle. He laid on his horn as I hopped, yes literally hopped, across the street to the safety of the sidewalk. I cannot convey how deeply I blushed then, or how scared I was to cross the street later that afternoon. I stood on the curb, putting one foot onto the asphalt and then quickly withdrawing it again until every possible approaching threat had passed.

For how well I claim to understand psychology and philosophy, I still seem to be fixated on my inner-childishness. I can tell you everything you could possibly want to know about Freud and Jung and Adler, but I cannot safely and properly cross a busy street by myself.
Explain that to me.