Day 140
So today I learned that I am a psychic. Not in the Sylvia Browne on the Montel Williams Show way but more in the I can predict my own idiocy kind of way (Note: this doesn't mean I can prevent). But if you think about it anybody who looks sort of kooky can look deep into someone's eyes and say, "I am seeing a man, a tall man who was in your life he has brown hair and is watching over you. Tell me about this man." Okay, back to me being an idiot. I went to purchase rollerskates today because for some reason (I need an outlet for aggression and don't have a boyfriend) I think I should try out for the derby next year. This may constitute an act of treason joining the Canadian derby but I am not sure that the States ever want me back.
Anyway, my friend and I walk into the store and meet the bad ass derby girls who run it. They are, as their website reviews have said, very helpful and kind. First off I told them, as a joke, (premonition) that I will probably fall on my ass or break something if I try on skates. They told me that the skates didn't have wheels on them, they were just boots when you try them on. This was excellent news until the girl building a pair of skates called, "Why doesn't she try these?" After I my huge toes didn't fit any of the other pairs I tried on. I almost declined as I saw these had wheels. I put them on and they felt better than any shoes I have ever worn plus they had wheels. I got up and didn't slip and then it happened. I started to move and started to fall backwards. Luckily I leaned forward in time to slam into the glass display counter. What a silly thing to have in a store that is so hazardous.
The ladies were still kind and helpful telling showing me ugly limited-edition colored skates (they looked like colors Steve Urkel wore) and telling me that I could probably skate better than skinny girls because I have weight, therefore I have traction. But, one can't help but wonder if when I leave the store these wonderful ladies turn rotten. If they are like the people in Witches where when the normal people leave they pull off their faces and talk shit about the normies behind their backs. At first I thought this was crazy and then I really thought about it, if I were them I'd say something. "Derby material my ass, that cow nearly smashed the glass case going just two steps and don't you just love how she didn't catch my fat joke?" Who could resist such an opportunity?
On Wednesdays a friend and I go to an area high school and talk writing with a group of kids who voluntarily come there to hear us talk. The fact that anyone shows up is amazing to me. But the fact that these kids may look up to us is terrifying. Usually I sit through the class assigning them roles in John Hughes-type movies in my head. But my friend keeps insisting that I interject a little. I have started to, a tad but am so afraid that I will string enough curse words to get me expelled. Who am I to take charge of high schoolers and be a role model? I stole a pen and a t-shirt yesterday. I brought a Coke into the high school library and felt like a bad ass for getting away with it. Shit, I even laughed the picture of the queen hanging near the doorway. Then it hit me: teaching is about pretending like you know better and trying not to think about how the girl who wrote the sci-fi story is a better writer then you will ever be.
After dinner tonight I set about writing a radio drama for my radio class. I already had an idea and an outline but then I really thought about it. Do I want to write a radio drama? The answer was, "No, I think they are boring." Automatically my mind reverted to my inner American spirit the I'll-show-them-how-to-write-a-radio-drama thing. But then I thought about the word radio which for some reason to me equates: AC DC and a freeway, not silly English accents telling me a tale whilst I sip cocoa by the fire. Then I thought, shit, I don't even have a fireplace. I went online and dropped the course. But looking back now I wonder: Did I drop the course because I really wasn't interested or because I had to whip something up by noon tomorrow? It's kind of like the chicken or the egg situation and it ends the same way: who cares.
-Canadian Castaway
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