Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

April 23, 1999

So there I was, watching Taylor close my bedroom door behind her as she went back to her own room to get ready for the day, when I realized that there was no longer any feeling in my left arm.

I picked it up with my other hand, shook it around a little bit, let go and my entire arm fell back to earth without a hint of resistance to gravity.

Then I thought about it. Taylor and I have been seeing each other for six days, and I’m already starting to lose control of my own body. I can see it now. First the left arm, then the brain, then the credit card.

Granted, I don’t use my left arm for much as it is.

I write, draw, drive and throw with my right.

If I were ever to get into a fight, I’m pretty sure I’d throw a right hook or a right jab before getting my ass kicked.

I tug on my goatee with my left quite a bit, but that’s a habit I’m trying to kick.

Nope, I don’t really need my left arm for much of anything, so if that’s the price I’ve gotta pay to get to cuddle with Taylor at night, so be it.

Although, it’s not really a good feeling to wake up with numbness over part of your body.

There was the time in high school when, somehow, I slept on my stomach with my arms crossed in front of me, therefore underneath me, for an entire night and when I woke up, I’d lost the use of both of them.

I couldn’t turn my alarm clock off. I couldn’t shake one with the other to regain circulation — hell, I couldn’t even roll over because I had no leverage.

My parents didn’t buy it, though, when I tried to get out of going to school.

“I’ll show you numbness and loss of movement,” my dad yelled from downstairs. Soon after, I was healed.

And I knew that this episode would pass in time as well.

Until then, I just thought about “the talk” that Taylor and I had last night.

It was exactly a week after that legendary lock-in and Taylor came into my room and told me we had to have a talk.

I don’t like talks so much.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I like to talk. I don’t like having “the talk.”

When Monica and I had “the talk,” it made for a long, lonely ride home thinking about how she just didn’t think it would work.

Nikki had “the talk” with me through Chelli who told me that the ex had returned to the scene.

Tina’s version of “the talk” was to tell me she’d been sleeping around and figured I’d understand.

Some talks end up just being a talk, but most talks that begin with “We need to talk” evolve into “the talk.”

I didn’t know what to think about Taylor wanting to have a talk which could turn into “the talk” just a week into our relationship.

Then again, it’s hard to say that it’s only been one week when we’ve been hanging out for the last three months, or 91 days to be exact.

Anyway, she wanted to talk.

So, we talked.

Both of us were a little nervous, and it was clear that neither of us knew what the other was thinking or exactly what the outcome of this conversation would be.

Well, to make a long story not quite as long, she likes me. She likes me a lot.

I made it clear to her that I think she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since they thawed Han Solo. She didn’t know what I meant because she’s never seen “Star Wars,” but I let it slide. I just won’t tell my roommates.

It turns out that all that stress I’ve been feeling for the last three months has been plaguing her as well. The girls have been giving her as much grief as they’ve been giving me, and she said she felt stupid even being around me.

I told her that I felt stupid even when she was nowhere near me.

So, we like each other.

It’s a good feeling in my heart.

Just not in my arm.