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Survivor Journals

Bob of If I Die Before I Wake has invited nine journallers to participate in a Cyber Survivor Adventure.

Every couple of weeks, the group will be issued a "challenge entry". The site will post a excerpt from the challenge entries, as well as the link to the complete entry found on the journaller's own journal site.

After the challenge entry is posted, the nine journallers will vote one of the writers off the site.

The "ousted" journaller will actually remain on the site, but rather than posting further challenge entries, they will act as a judge and commentator.

The first challenge entry has been issued, and can be found at the Survivor Journal website. The actual entries should be completed by
October 1, 2000.

Please take the time to visit, especially once the challenge entries are posted. There is a message board to post your thoughts/comments and also a instant poll where visitors can vote for who they would want to see kicked off the site.

The reasons behind Survivor Journals are simple.

1. To try something new.
2. Increase the interaction of the journal community.
3. The challenge.
4. Increased exposure to all journals involved.

So take a look around, explore all the journals involved.

If you would like to take part in Survivor Journals, Year Two (around Nov/Dec 2000), let Bob know!


November 19, 2000

Oh, it’s not anything serious. It’s one of those winter colds that starts with a tentative scratch at your throat, goes away when you douse it with vitamin C, but then shows up in a sneeze here and there, and then a lot of sneezes, and finally the drippy nose, cough, fevered brow, and a body that’s crying out for rest.

Being sick used to be fun when I was a kid. It was a way to assure you’d be pampered. First you’d get out of bed and my mother would change the sheets, giving you fresh, white, ironed sheets. I still remember how good they felt and smelled. There would be pillows to snuggle down into and a paper bag pinned to the side of the bed, where you could deposit used Kleenex. Meals were served on a special bed tray and orange juice and water would be brought at various points throughout the day. Best of all, my mother was there with her infallible hand to feel my forehead and decide if I had a fever or not. In the middle of the night, if I woke up coughing, someone would soon come into the room with a glass of warm milk with a dollop of butter floating around on the top of it. (To tell you the truth, I never really liked the butter-milk, but it was such a loving act that I drank it and felt loved because of it.)

If I was very sick, I’d sleep a lot, but the best times were when I was getting better. My mother had a rule that you couldn’t get out of bed for at least 24 hours after you had a fever, so I would spend at least one day in bed when I was feeling just fine, but couldn’t get out of bed because of the 24 hour rule. So there would be things to do. My mother would go to the library and bring books home for me. I was an avid reader and she would bring me the books I loved to read (anything about horses or dogs), but occasionally slip in one of her own childhood favorites. I really wanted to love Kipling’s Kim, which had been a favorite of my mother’s, but I just couldn’t get into it.

Sick times were also the only time I remember getting comic books. My mother would come home from the store with an armload of comics for me. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Archie... not the superhero comics that my kids later loved, but the Disney type. I would read them over and over again. I always tried to fake it just a day longer when I was sick. It was also so nice not only to miss an extra day of school, but to have an extra day of feeling even more special.

I remember the day I finally knew I was an adult (or whatever passes for my being an “adult” these days). It wasn’t getting a job, or getting an apartment or paying my own bills or any of those wonderful rite of passage things that we go through. It was the first day I got sick enough to go to bed. I was in a studio apartment with a Murphy bed (the kind that folded down and were stored inside a closet). I realized I had a fever and felt awful. And there was nobody to tell me to go to bed. Nobody to change my sheets. Nobody to bring me orange juice or butter-milk, nobody to feel my forehead and tell me if I was sick or not. I climbed into bed and then had to get out again to get my own water and my own aspirin.

For all the excitement that a young girl can have about finally being on her own and her own person, I realized that being an adult isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. I wanted my Mommy.

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created 11/5/00 by Bev Sykes