Day 224
So, today I went in for round two at my new post office job. It was hell. Seriously, I could get paid the same amount of money doing dishes in this country, what am I thinking? I don't even know what a gram or a centimeter is and I am supposed to weigh and measure important mail. The craziest part about it is that my boss gets into fights with Pakistani men who say to her, "You know you are being unprofessional right now, right?" Then she goes off to frantically clean. Usually I would revel in the excitement of this whole thing and be glad I don't have to sweep the floor. But the truth of it all is that the Pakistani men were right and I want to sweep the floor. Sweeping the floor is the only thing I am competent at in this job. Maybe I oughta just go do me some dishes. But shit am I addicted to the creepoid stamp collectors that come by. Today there was a collector that looked freakier than Edgar Allan Poe oogling the stamps. He looked for 20 minutes and didn't buy anything.
I used to be a master at the art of calling in sick. I love it. I love coming up with unique, believable stories. I love the scared, nervous energy that washes over you during rehearsals (yes, I fucking rehearse it). I love the moment right after you hang up the phone and you know you got away with it. I even love the feeling slightly guilty and the, I-deserve-a-day-off attitude of it. Tomorrow I will test my skills yet again. I deserve a day off.
There is some sort of tradition in the fancy dorm-type grad housing I live in. This tradition is called: Formal Dinner. I guess it's about people getting all gussied up to eat food that is stacked to look fancy and listen to someone talk about something while they sip free wine. This is all speculation as I have never attended a Formal Dinner. This guy who used to live here and hangs around here as though he still lives here told me last week that tonight's formal dinner would be his 34th Consecutive Formal Dinner. He said this like he had just gotten completed the final service project before Eagle Scout. I think I was supposed to be impressed. Instead, I told him I wasn't going to Formal Dinner, ever. I haven't heard from him since.
Tonight I went to a festival of plays. Some of these plays were written by people I know in my writing program. All were pretty good. I especially liked the one with a guy who played a wolf pretending to wear a dress. Then there was the one with the woman who was delivering a bitchy monologue while doing a ridiculous stairs workout. Then I looked over and I am pretty sure the grad advisor in the audience was asleep. Then there was the depressing show closer that involved a grisly post office turned crime scene. I should've read that play before I decided to take the post office gig. Anyway, my favorite part of the evening was during the reception afterward. At this party I learned that mystery meat and cake go quite well together. And, I had the most hilarious tidbit of conversation with my friend who normally mumbles. It went like this:
Me: Quite a party here huh?
Him: (inaudible mumble)
Me: You should've brought your guitar.
Him: That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard!
Me: Did you just yell at me?
Him: (inaudible mumble)
For the past half an hour I was looking up photos, articles, and youtube videos of Jason Ritter. The only thing is, is that now I can't seem to remember why I started looking at this stuff in the first place. I had never even heard of him before tonight and here I am looking up stuff about him on the internet. Geez, I have finally lost it. Eh, who cares, he's hot.
Here is a tiny kernel of wisdom to be passed on to anyone who is thinking about starting an MFA program in Creative Writing: it's all whiskey shots and hippie parties until you realize that you have to write a thesis. Translation: You have to do something, for real and this WILL cut into your hippie party time. Don't get discouraged. You will remember that you originally applied to school in order to learn how to write not to go to hippie parties and get drunk. But, the funny part is, is that you will realize you have completely forgotten about the whole writing part. The best thing to do when you remember that you must write a thesis is to drink whiskey with the second year students. They will tell you all about how they had no idea what they were going to write about for their thesis at this time last year. Then, take another shot of whiskey, why the hell not.
Tip of the Day: The girl in the bathroom scrubing the red wine stains out of her teeth is a reminder of who you don't want to be.
-Canadian Castaway
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