Day 151
Alright I just realized how boring my existence is which makes it fascinating that I can sit down and write about it every day (well, it's either fascinating or disturbing). Here is a run down of what happened: facebook, write, eat, facebook, facebook, gmail, yahoo, phonecall, facebook, read, facebook, write--repeat. It would be so easy to write this effing thing if I just told the truth like that. The truth, ha. Whoever said, "the truth shall set you free" should've modified it to, "the truth shall put you on prozac."
As I was writing and re-working the short story I have due tomorrow I realized something about my writing: I write ugly characters. Not just flawed characters, but the people I am seeing in my mind are quite hideous. If I were to psycho-analyze that quality about my writing and see what it says about me what would it mean? Would it mean that I am lying when I give people bullshit lines about how I write to capture the beauty of the human experience (okay, so that's clearly a lie)? Would it mean that I think all human beings are hideous or I find myself hideous? Then one could analyze why I write in the first place. Is it to play God to a world where I am glorified? Do I have no real friends? Shit, who cares. Wait, what does it mean if I lose interest in learning about myself?
When I was doing laundry earlier today I threw my clothes from washer to dryer and peeped in before closing the door. Inside I saw a mountain of underwear. I marveled for a moment and went back to my room imagining someone in my building opening the dryer door and underwear flying out at them by the dozen. What's worse is that I imagine walking in on the culprit just after this scene and making a big to do about how perverted they are for looking into dryers in the first place until they felt bad (if it were a Canadian it wouldn't take long, they always feel bad: damn, politeness). All the while knowing full well that I have looked before. I always look.
Roller Derby Training Day 3:
So, I spent most of the day off the skates. I finally put them on and buzzed around my room a bit. My knee still dull with the pain of injury. I saw an earring my friend just down the hall had left on my desk and decided that I was to venture out and give it to her. Being too lazy to put on my pads made for a terrifying journey. Plus, some nitwit had put a box of her junk in the hallway for me to navigate around. I made it down there, just a touch wobbly and hung her earring on her door. I turned around and felt slightly more confident on the trek back. Until I nearly reached my door and someone, possibly a friend, was in the hallway. They said something to me and I skated faster and thus more awkwardly and into my door. Not looking back. When I got inside I realized, how could I be a derby player if I can't even let my neighbors see me on skates and then I drank wine.
You know you've been in your room too long when you hear the same neighbor in the hallway 6 times and think to yourself, "Gee, don't they ever stay in."
I think I have found my new calling: a fortune cookie fortune writer. Here are a few samples from my portfolio:
Stay inside for a week.
You will be surrounded by idiots and freaks.
Don't eat this part.
You are only half as horrible as you seem to others.
You will have a depressing day.
Career opportunities increase after you fuck the boss.
Happiness is having mute friends.
Find something better to do with your time.
You will not win the lottery.
Love will come to you, maybe.
The cookie tastes like shit, doesn't it?
Your brother is actually your father
Tip of the Day: If you see a creepy guy by the dumpster, start growling.
-Canadian Castaway
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