by Sylvia Plath
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Friday 1 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Friday night
Dear Mum –
It is now eight o’clock, so this will be a brief note before I hop off for a 2 hour stint of history at the library. We got our mid-semester marks today – understand that they are only tentative, and that surely History & possibly French may go down by midyears, they were: Botany: A, French A-, History A-, English B, and Art B-. I just hope I can keep up. The secretary who gave me my card told me I should by “very proud,” Ah, well! Tonight I went to supper at Wiggins with Anne Davidow, her parents, and two other girls from the house. We had a lovely meal – all beautiful people – and Mrs. Davidow is a strikingly lovely woman – very lovely & intelligent. It developed that none of us four girls have got a date for House Dance, so we decided to get together & resolved to dig ourselves up four Amherst males by hook or crook. Well, four brains are better than one, so wish us luck –
Au revoir
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 3 December 1950*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Sunday 3 P.M.
Dear Mother –
It was so nice to get your little card today – mail on Sundays is a treat. (I agree with your sentiments about Tooky completely!)
I am rather weary, as I didn’t get to bed till 2:30 this morning, and as a result am rather groggy – sad state to study history in, I fear. But no matter how much I don’t accomplish I’m going to take two little pills and be asleep by nine o’clock. I am convinced that even if you don’t know quite all you should, a clear rested mind can put things together better and make the most of what you do know.
So I had to write you about everything before I began to work. I really think I should see Fran* about my periods when I come home at Christmas. I haven’t had one yet, just a sort of watery secretion which is rather uncomfortable.
I am learning a lot. There is the sort of person who has problems and never tells them to anyone and thus no one ever knows them; there is the sort of person who has problems and tells them to one understanding person, and there is the sort of person who fools everyone, even herself, in to thinking there are no problems except those shallow material ones which can be overcome.
All this, as you may have gathered leads up to my date last night. As I said, I doubled with Patsy. It was ordinary enough driving over with the couples – my date* looked rather old – (in fact his hair was somewhat reminiscent of Mr. Crockett’s) and he had a rather good-looking face. It developed that he and I liked English, and that he was majoring in Political Science. So as we all sat around the fire, I decided to stab in the dark and see if I could get to know him better. I told him how I liked to write and draw and know people more than just on the surface, and I said I’d like him to tell me all about the things that ever had hurt him or bothered him so I’d be able to understand him better. Well, it was just a try, but evidently he was rather overwhelmed by the fact that I could be so “intelligent” and yet not be ugly or something, and as we danced after cooking our supper over the fireplace in their room at the Fraternity House, he told me that he was twenty-five, disabled in the last war. Naturally that bowled me over, so I asked if he could tell me at all about it.
Pat said that his roommates don’t really know him because he keeps everything to himself, so I was rather amazed that he would confide in me.
At his suggestion we went for a walk so we could talk better, and he told me a little about fighting in the Mariana’s, and about what its like to have to kill someone or be killed. Then he asked when my father died, and when I told him, he said his died two weeks ago, and that he had been with him for the last days. It seems his father* was the best patent attorney in Missouri – clients from England even, and this guy idolized him rather a lot. So he told me how he felt about him, and said that the other girls he’d been out with since didn’t give a damn, etc.
Naturally nothing like that had ever happened to me before – and I guess he was so overwhelmed with the idea that at last someone was interested in him as a person, not just as a date, that he seemed to think we should have intercourse. Of course, I was in rather a bad position having gaily gone on a walk but I told him quite forcibly that I wouldn’t oblige. All of which made a scene, and I asked him how many other girls he had known, and he said he would tell me the truth, that the marine core wasn’t the place to be a gentleman, and that ideals didn’t quite matter when you slept and lived in the mud. So I learned about the girl in Hawaii and about the English nurse when he was in the hospital for two years.
Naturally I came back home in rather a fog. I don’t know just how things will work out, or whether I should see him again. I am just beginning to realize that you can’t ostracize a person for having relations with alot of others. That doesn’t automatically cancel out their worth as a human being as I once thought. One thing – don’t worry about me . . . I am able to take care of myself, but I would like your opinion on the matter, as I don’t quite know what to make of it, never having run into anyone quite so determined before.
It’s sickening to see all the uniforms on campus and hear that Amherst won’t even be here next year – I am so tired, and I’m looking forward to being with the family this Christmas.
Keep smiling – (why do I always inspire males to pour out their life story on my shoulder? I guess I just ask for it.)
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 4 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Monday 3:30
Dear Mum—
I wish this card could have gotten off in the same mail as my rather thoughtless letter. I have to laugh at that situation on Sat. night which bothered me. I talked it over with some of the girls, and most of them had something similar happen to them. The general concensus was that my date needed security of some sort, and the idea that someone was sympathetic and would hear him out sort of threw him off balance. Well, we shall see. Your letter sure gave my ego a shot in the arm – when I think of what a skimpy basis they have to judge me on! But anyway, I think my talk with Miss Mensel may have had something to do with it! I’d love to go to John Hancock any time. Our history written was queer – the question was very superficial which annoyed me no end. Perhaps I was foolish, but I said in my exam how the question was only a half-truth. At any rate, I found out who got the other A- & invited her to supper tomorrow. Our section teacher told us in passing after the exam that she hated to give A- as a first mark because the second mark was usually a discouraging shock – but to realize that we could bring it up next time. Oh – well – on to basketball.
Love
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 5 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Tuesday A.M.
Dear Mum –
Well, another day has dawned, and I’m ready to face the world once more. I got a B+ on my third English paper, which is rather annoying – staying in the same spot. I’m determined to do a better paper for next Monday – even if I will only have the weekend to do it in. Last night was one of those rare nights that I stay up till after twelve . . . but I got talking with one of the girls and didn’t start my history till rather late. I honestly hope the Wellesley Club doesn’t take my marks as an indication of my future grades. I know I went down rather a lot in History – – my first grade was more a matter of luck than of understanding, I fear. Oh, well, I’ll study like mad for midyears! Just think! In two short weeks from today I will be home at last – how time flies etc –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 5 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Tuesday
Dear Mum –
Well my mail today had a nice little shot of diversion to it – a note from Charlie Sullivan,* Bradford Editor--- a shot in my ego about Mr. Crockett, which made me think again what a dear man he is. (We must drop over to see him this vacation.) The best, however, was a rather terse typewritten note from guess where – Troy, N.Y.!! Seems Bob Humphrey didn’t have such a bad time after all, and amidst a discreet discussion of the weather, he mentioned that he looked forward to seeing me this Xmas! Tooky just doesn’t happen to be tall enough to dance with a 6'4" male (hoh-hoh!) Nothing definite – understand, but even so! I feel that my appeal has not quite vanished completely. The girl I had over to supper tonight was lovely – she wants to be an actress and played “Emily” in “Our Town”* at a summer theater this summer – she’s English, and very sweet, with long black hair and a shining face. Now that she’s gone, I face a dull evening of homework.
XX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Thursday 7 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Thursday
Dear Mum –
Your letter & one from Olive Higgins Prouty* came in the same mail. It was so nice to hear you “chat” with me about my last date – and remember that dream you had years ago about a tidal wave coming, and all of us watching from a hilltop and me being an old grandmother telling my children about it? Well, you may laugh, but there might have been something to it after all.
I was thrilled to see Mrs. Prouty’s scratchy, almost illegible hand. Her letter is one I will always keep. -- She thinks I have “a gift for creative writing” and wants me to send her some of my poems and drop in to have a cup of tea when I come home on vacation. She even said she’s having my letter typed up with carbons to send to some of her alumnae friends. It makes me feel so wonderful that I could even partly express to her how I felt about Smith -- and as Miss Mensel said, it’s nice to have a scholarship mean more than a grant of money –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Thursday 7 December 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Thursday
Dear Mum –
After four hours this afternoon trying vainly to carve a “hand sculpture” out of an obstinate block of wood which turned out very untouchable & ugly, I have decided that my life has no purpose to it. So, in the midst of my black despair I decided to throw over all my nagging assignments for the evening and go to a life class – my first (tra la la.) She was a Smith girl (the model) and it was fun trying to sketch her – piles of talented art majors were there. So here I sit in house meeting, hoping that I can make it to Xmas vacation without going completely insane – you know that sort of morbid depression I sink into – Well, if I can only get through till my Botany written next Friday, I should be O.K.
Love
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Friday 8 December 1950*
ALS, Indiana University
Dear Mum –
It is now Friday night, 11:30, and I don’t feel the least bit tired. Today has been one of the most peculiar since I have been to college. It all began this morning when I awoke to a dark, soggy, warm grey dawn and trudged sleepily down to breakfast. A girl at my table casually remarked that her room mate was sick and didn’t want to come down. Well, that was natural enough, until another girl came up and mentioned the same thing. We put two & two together and arrived at the brilliant conclusion that something was wrong with Haven House food. But when we went to classes, we discovered that the whole college was hit. All through the day girls became siezed with violent vomiting & diarreha (sp?) spells, and even tonight they are still groaning and rushing back & forth from the John. It seems that the whole Connecticut Valley is seized with this germ – and it may either come from water or milk – I can’t quite figure out how I was one of the very few to be spared – especially since I’m usually so susceptible. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I don’t have a delayed reaction.
Naturally I didn’t feel much like working this evening, so I talked with Lisa, who was feeling pretty miserable, and then with another girl. I then took a bath in the scummy brown water (they say it’s too much rainfall) and here I am . . . feeling a bit queer – it’s like the Black Plague or something----you wonder why you escape.
Oh yes, Dot came for lunch. Although I only had an hour with her, I felt I got to know her better in that time than I have in all the years of my life. She’s really the sweetest, most intelligent person. And thanks for the cake & apples. I’m sending home some party dresses via Dot which will make my packing easier come Xmas vac.
I was amused to get your note about Tony.* Although I have suspicions that he is plotting long-term revenge, I shall surely accept if I get his letter. How about shopping for a formal the day after I get back? The dance, I guess, is that Friday night. Also I have 2 history assignments, an English novel & an art notebook to do over vac. (ugh!)
By for now – here’s hoping I don’t drop dead in the next 12 hours –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 10 December 1950*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Sunday A.M.
Dear Mother –
It may amuse you to see how our class elections are held. Girls are elected from each house in proportion to the number in the house. Haven could put up three for each office, so getting to be one in a group of twelve out of eighteen was not in the least an honor. However, it is amusing to see how many Wellesley girls showed their faces as we marched across the stage. I have never been so impressed with our class. Clad in dungarees and shirts, about 400 paraded across – all of them appealing in individual ways. Some beautiful, some friendly, some too cocky, some shy – but without exception a fine group. I always feel so lucky to be a part of this wonderful place! Needless to say, I, (in fact none of us from Wellesley) was not among the finalists, but evenso, I had my fun.
I have not felt too much like working lately, and as today is a bright crisp sunfrozen day, I would like nothing better than to take a bike ride off into the mountains . . . but no, I shall work and work. At last the end is in sight---one more week, really.
I have been rather worried about that friend of mine---Anne Davidow. Her usual gaiety has been getting brighter & more artificial as the days go by. So yesterday, after lunch, I made her come up to my room. At first she was very light & evasive, but at last her face gave way & melted. It seems that since Thanksgiving she hasn’t been able to do her work, and now, having let it slide, she can only reiterate “I can never do it, never.” She hasn’t been getting enough sleep, but has been waking up early in the morning, obsessed by the feeling she has to do her work, even if she is in such a state that she can only go through the motions. She also is in our small annex house which is very cliquey, and the girls think she is insincere and ignore her, which of course makes things worse. She finally told me that she had realized she was not intelligent enough for Smith that if she could do the work nothing would matter, but her parents were either deceiving her into thinking she was creative, or really didn’t know how incapable she was. The girl was in such a state of numbness that she didn’t feel any emotion, I guess, except this panic. I got scared when she told me how she had been saving sleeping pills and razor blades and could think of nothing better than to commit suicide. Oh, mother, you don’t know how inadequate I felt! I talked to her all afternoon, but then some girls came & she went back to the house. If only I could make her sleep & personally supervise her for a few days! I can’t say anything to Mrs. Shakespeare or anyone here, because Anne would only put up a mental barrier, thinking they wouldn’t understand. But I have been thinking of writing a note to her parents – (she admitted that it would be more convenient if she took the car & killed herself at home in Chicago.) telling them a bit of how tired she is, & how sh
e needs rest before she can do her work. For her mother kept telling her she was foolish & could do it all. But her mother really couldn’t see how incapable the poor girl is of thinking in this state.
Oh, well. Maybe it’s none of my business, but I love the girl, and feel very inadequate & responsible. If you were her mother, she would be all right.
Love
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 11 December 1950*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Dear Mother –
Another one of those broken fragments of monday afternoon from 5:15 to 6:00 when all I can do is wash up from basketball and drag myself down to supper. So I have a few letters to write. So I write them. I am just glad vacation is coming, because I am so saturated with work that I have no capacity to put anything more into my little head.
I am rather exhausted, having gone to bed late every night this weekend, contrary to my best resolutions. Friday, as I said, I stayed up and talked to various sick friends. Saturday afternoon I talked to Anne (who seems much better) and at four a girl came over to ask me out on a blind date. I have to hand it to myself how I handled a nasty situation. This girl was a lovely (bleached) blonde with shoulder length hair & black eyes – very sultry. Her date was a sweet Yale man who adored the ground she set her conquering foot on. My date was the perfect Joe College. When he was quiet, he looked a great deal like Dick Norton,* only much handsomer. Bu when he opened his foolish mouth the illusion was destroyed completely. –