Day 388

You know you are a writer when...you go to your favorite space to write and realize that it is completely full then you walk 13 blocks peeping your head in other, mediocre coffeeshops looking for a place you can work in. You reject seven coffee places for the size of the crowds, how they smell, the types of people that are in them and the fact that they have round NOT square-shaped tables. Then, when you finally find a spot you do everything you can think of (check emails, visit with friends, text people, Facebook) until the only thing left is for you to write.

I have never been an athlete. The closest I have gotten was when I joined the softball team. This pretty much consisted of listening to punk on a Discman and eating Ranch-flavored sunflower seeds. But today after I left the coffeeshop I went ot the drugstore to get some Gatorade and licorice ropes to share with my friend at her flag football practice. I thought I try out for team manager or maybe take the water girl position. I showed up in jeans, with a licorice rope hanging out of my mouth and chatting on my cellphone. Before long I was running plays with the team, yeah I was running. Weird, huh? Who knew it was my calling to play flag football? I wonder if this means I will have to learn what a first down means. I also wonder if I can still eat Ranch-flavored sunflower seeds while listening to Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.

Turns out the creepy guy who came up to me and my friend at dinner lives in my hallway. Perhaps I will use tell the hot Indian security guard at work that I don't feel safe alone...or, perhaps I will sit in my room and wonder if the creeper remembers which room I live in and wonder if he will one day knock and I will pretend like I am not home or fake a tough guy voice so he thinks I have a ferocious boyfriend. Gawd, I hope the Indian guy thing works out.

I am watching Camp Nowhere and wondering what the fuck is up with Christopher Lloyd. Why the fuck does he play the older creeper man who helps out young boys. Wouldn't you feel weird if you were him? Wouldn't you wonder if you were typecast?

Tip of the Day: Don't drink mate late at night.

-Canadian Castaway