Day 174
I actually woke up and went to breakfast today, due to the hacking cough I now have. This not only made me wide awake but also hoarse, and crabby. But, I learned a very important lesson: never go to breakfast when you are hoarse and crabby, especially if that breakfast has to be eaten with your frigging neighbors because you are ridiculous enough to be living in a residence hall. Even if you sit at a faraway table with someone you've just had an awkward fight with and bury yourself in a newspaper that you don't even want to read the annoying guy will find you and all other forms of nerdy creatures will acknowledge your presence.
Sometimes I wonder if I had to start over again would I chose to be the loud American girl or would I be like the mysterious tall man who always sits alone, never says anything to anyone and goes unnoticed (except short and not a man). But, I know the truth: I am a drama whore. Seriously, drama has been the only love of my life (along with cigarettes, coffee, and Johnny Depp circa Gilbert Grape). But to you tall mystery man who is smart enough to keep to himself, I will always think of you and secretly hate you for being who I cannot be.
So I suck at being sick. Seriously the only time I have been good at it is when I had Influenza A two years ago and was quarantined to my apartment to watch copious amounts of television, do edits, and drink gallons of liquorice tea. This current ailment has not proven to be nearly as fun, if anything it is proving how much of an old skag I have become. It used to be that when I drank cough syrup it was mildly to insanely enjoyable (okay, gotta admit, did it while driving once, amazing and stupid, don't remember a single traffic light luckily it was 4:30 am). Now when I drink it I get no effect at all. This could be due to how instead of tossing the measuring cap away (in Canada they don't even include the measuring cap) I cautiously fill a spoon and choke it down whilst whining. Now not only I am I just plain sick I am sick and old. Good grief.
I have come to the point in my life where I have to make a very important decision and I've decided to keep the baby but give it up for ad--wait a minute, I am not pregnant. No, the decision right now is whether or not to write a book. This is not such a big choice I've done it twice before (btw, if anyone wants to buy those books and publish them please let me know I am not picky and would give them away for a shiny bag of nickels and a movie deal). The choice is that this book's central characters are morally reprehensible in nasty ways, not the I cheat on my wife type ways, more the I cheat on my wife with a pregnant goat sort of way. I am not afraid of getting bored with writing this book, I am more so afraid of losing even more of my own morals in the process as I will be thinking terrible things. The even more frightening thing is that when you write a novel it all comes from you, parts of you, or what you are curious about. Hmm...
The Olympic games are still on. Today Canada beat Norway in hockey 8 to 0. I watched the game in shock and horror. Every goal the fans went wild. EVERY goal. And, they played out the game to the final seconds. I find this wrong for two reasons: 1. Come on fans don't you think it's a little sad? If you saw a huge kid beating up a small kid it may be funny at first but after the small kid has both his arms and legs broken it's time to stop laughing and cheering and cut it short or him losing his eye. 2. Okay so I realize that it's cool to win on your own turf and I am supposed to be cheering for Canada (which, I was, secretly) but they came all the way from Norway to be here. Can't you throw away even just one goal to them? Maybe I am way off base here, afterall I am always the girl saying, "No, I want you to win," when playing games, but the morals in this country conveyed through athletic competition are terrifying. I miss my polite Canadians who apologize. What the hell happened?
The other events I watched today were curling and men's short program figure skating. Curling, with all that moving of brooms or whatever the hell they were was just plain dull. And, the figure skating was mostly just a bunch of men twirling around and around and not taking jumps or having any huge falls. I did enjoy all of the sparkly weird costumes, though. One commentator went on and on about men dressing in skeleton outfits for Olympic games was too much. "This isn't the icecapades," he said. No fucking kidding man, if this were the icecapades I wouldn't be able to search for snacks or steal jugs of coffee during it. But, I would still flirt with my robotics friend even though he is probably gay in which case he would love the icecapades.
The most exciting part of my day just occurred thanks to yahoo.ca. The headline: DNA studies reveal a frail King Tut who died at 19 from a broken leg complicated by malaria should have read: King Tut: Club Footed Tiny King Whose Parents Were Brother and Sister. Sure the actual article mentions that he died from complications due to a broken leg and malaria, but most of it talks about how incestuous everyone was back then. It even goes into detail about the weird ailments one can get as a result of this sibling loving like clubbed feet and feminine features. So it was pretty much an informative piece about how you shouldn't marry your brother. Unless of course you are a man then you can marry your brother because you can't reproduce. Well, you can marry him if you live somewhere where they have gay marriage and no laws about inter-family marriage. Damn it's a complicated world out there.
Tip of the Day: If your shitty Valentines Day date is now always on chat do not chat with him, instead go think up all the hateful things you want to do to him and all the reasons why he is a jerk and write them on a piece of paper and shove it under his door, or just sit in your room and cough and watch TV.
-Canadian Castaway
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