Day 54
This morning I went to breakfast and discovered it was tater tot day AND the guy who wears a purple sweater sometimes was there, wearing a purple sweater. I smiled to myself thinking, it's gonna be a great day. Then I read my horoscope and it went on and on about how I was going to meet someone today that I would have a profound connection with. Hmm...
So, I dumped my tray, well, accidentally all over the floor, but nothing could stop my good mood. I cheerfully picked up bits of cold eggy mess and tossed them into the hippie compost bin. I popped out the door, slapped on my old school shitphones and turned on my I-pod to the sounds of The Spice Girls. I was all, If you wanna be my lover... I was ecstatic I would've skipped down the sidewalk had I thought my ankles could take it. The music switched to "ABC" and I danced up the four flights of stairs to my department. (Don't worry, I'm not psychotic or on crack yet the snarkiness is coming)
I breezed through the first class of the day actually giving my insights and they (for once) didn't sound like a fourth grader on Skittles. Then, I had a meeting with my professor and she asked me what was the story that I wanted to tell. I looked at her and said, "I don't know." I told her that I was afraid I wouldn't find that story. She told me that I might not. I dragged a little out of the office even though our subject had turned to bookstore chatter, I will never forget not knowing my story. Boo hoo, right?
So, I was all pissy for my next class and my editorial partner looked at me like I had all of sudden acquired Charles Manson's face. I told her what had happened, getting myself all worked up like the main character at the breaking point in a Lifetime movie. She then looked into my eyes, held up her arms and said, "Just relax." I whipped a look at her and instead of grasping her neck like a hard to open jar of pickles I said, "Don't tell me to relax right now, it's just gonna make me more pissed."
Then, she went into this long story about how she had been working, years ago, as a hotel clerk and one night some property was stolen because she had been distracted and yada, yada, blah. And, apparently, the manager showed up and told her, "Just relax, it's kind of funny." She told me that's how I should look at the situation today. What is that a torture tactic? Not only did she reiterate what I had told her not to say she said that my situation was funny. I should really have a screening process for friendships. I wonder if I called the Canadian Authorities (whatever clowns they could be) if they'd let me put a restraining order on myself to stay away from her because next time she says "relax" I don't want to go to prison. What am I saying? This is Canada, they probably don't even have prisons.
My day picked itself back up in the second half of the most boring class ever created, not because of content, but because I happened to look at the bookshelves surrounding the room. The bookshelves contained an odd assortment of books from poetry, to literature, to classics, to criticism--you get the point. Anyhow, I read the titles while the instructor was lecturing and discovered that they would be perfect titles for high brow porno flicks. I made a list of the titles which was awesome because it looked like I was taking a whole bunch of notes, at least I think that's what it looked like. Here's a few of the titles I wrote down, think of the possible plot lines:
After Nora Slammed the Door
Celebrations and Attacks
Felicity's Fool
The Great Railway Bazaar
The Rim of the Park
The Last White Man in Panama
Green Beginning Black Ending
Forever, For Now
Medieval Hour
Where Whales Love to Boogie
A Wizard of Earthsea
Double Danish
The Mennonite Poets
Lindsey and Natasha
*18*
Behind the Door
Women of Smoke
Ritual Slaughter
The Scorched Wood People
Anyway, I finished up my excellent day by watching The Gilmore Girls (yeah, fuck you it's a kick ass show). I guess I found out what I was put here to write about, high brow porn scripts (duh!). But, I am still wondering who it is that I had a special connection with, maybe it was a young and alive version of Michael Jackson...oh, abc easy as one, two, three...
-Canadian Castaway
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