Day 243
My neighbor is officially doing something strange with her wall. It sounds like she is polishing it with a giant chair that is moving across her wall horizontally in broad strokes. It's always the quiet ones who do the strangest things. Hell, if that's true then I would be the gray crayon. Wait! She has finally stopped, just as I was getting used to it. Damn, now I kinda miss it. Couldn't she just be getting laid, so I won't have to guess what's going on over there. Wait--it's been to long, I probably don't know what that sounds like anymore. Damnit, oh well, I love this guessing game she has me playing.
I did a few things today and one of them was make a list of goals that I want to accomplish this summer. On this list were things like, "exercise" and "read at least 5 non-writing craft books," and "organize papers." Now that I look over it I don't see things like, "brush your teeth more" or "don't become a drunk." I guess they are the misfit, not cute/inspired sounding goals. Perhaps I could blanket list them as, "Do all of the unglamourous things that don't sound as wonderful as exercising."
So, today I got my period. Don't go all "TMI!" on me just yet, there is a story. Not a story about blood flow, though I would be happy to talk about the dropping of the unused egg, but this is a of supper. At supper I sat a table that was incredibly dull for conversation. I was pretty hateful and thought I'd explain myself for my stark, snarky comments that stood out from the boring pleasantries. "I have my period, okay!" Someone actually did say, "TMI!" But, if anyone approached me after that or was shocked at my bitchery the guy sitting next to me would say, "She's got her period." It was like a warning flare. I commanded that he follow me everywhere AND get a t-shirt that reads, "She has her period" with an arrow pointing to me, or he could just get a bullhorn.
Tonight I watched a movie that I found at the library. The movie was called, Souvenir of Canada. It was made about Douglas Coupland's take on Canada and the creation of his art project, Canada House. I learned a few things about Canada while watching this film. Here are few of the knowledge niblets:
-An ookpik is a fuzzy, ugly little haystack-looking creature that was popular in Canada awhile back and is supposed to look like an owl. And, I want one for my next birthday.
-Douglas Coupland is EXTREMELY ugly. I am no beauty queen, but when I read, Girlfriend in a Coma so many years ago I never expected him to look like someone arrested on child pornography possession charges. I know that may be a terrible thing to say, and I really do love him, but damn he's more than a little scary.
-You can fit three Frances in one Quebec. I don't know why this is important, but maybe that's because I am not Canadian.
-The person I should've known about Canada but didn't was, Terry Fox. I had no idea he even existed. What an inspiring man. After hearing his story I would stand up and thump my chest and declare how proud I am to be Canadian, but I am not Canadian...yet. (tee hee hee) Alright, I never will be I am too strangely patriotic and as much as I love their anthem I don't think I could ever learn all the words to the verses.
-I must say though, that my favorite part was when Dougie's mother says that she really doesn't want to read the books that he writes. My mother is not the only one who doesn't want to read what her offspring writes. I wonder if every writers parents have been the same way throughout history. What about Marquis de Sade's parents?
Status of Hank (the plant): So, Hank's flowers keep wilting and dying off. I am going to assume that the drag queens who overwatered him are responsible for this death, not nature.
My job at the Post Office is now referred to by my friend as, The Job That Shall Not Be Named, as I told her that I could not hear "your Post office job" without a wave of hatred and deep depression striking me. Seriously, the job is so bad that everywhere I go like dollar stores and bubble tea shops and drugstores I wonder if working at them would be as bad as working at The Job That Shall Not Be Named. Everytime I compare these places of commerce and employ I always think, "Nope, working here would be better." This evening my friend and I entered some kind of underground food court with paneling everywhere and florescent lights and no windows. Immediately I thought, "Better than the post office?" I looked around at the dank space full of Chinese people slurping greasy noodles and thought, "Umm, yeah."
Tip of the Day: Talking to your cousin about crochet hook size is not getting anything done, including your afghan.
-Canadian Castaway
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