102: Don't admit you're going back

Life can be a hell of a thing.

Wednesdays, on paper, should be hell. But you know, more often than not, I come home on days like this happy and relaxed. I might have some weird psychomasochistic tendancies that cause me to gravitate toward situations where I might suffer. I'm cool with misery, so long as I'm not inconvenienced, discomforted, or physically harmed. After all, that's Truth #1, dukkha, life is suffering.

It's been a helluvaday, anyhow. Got up early from a beautiful sleep. Fed the dog, showered, then caught the bus for the first time for school. Knowing I was spending the entire day there, I decided, now way in hell am I riding my bike there and back. I'll be exhausted enough getting off the train, and it'll be late.

So we pulled into the station at the expected time of 7:40 and I headed to the platform. There seems an inordinate number of people waiting, but then again, it's always fuggin' crowded. I paid it no mind. But when the 7:45 express pulled in, it was loaded up like those cattle cars depicted in the second book of Maus (a graphic novel about the holocaust.) "I don't need this shyte," I told myself, turning to track 3 to expect the 7:58, which has broken my heart more than once.

The guy on the PA reminds us a westbound train will be pulling into track 1 any minute now, and that an eastbound express is on it's way, too. So the 7:58, or something like it, shows up on Track 3 and we all get set to board. As the previous passengers disembark, the conductor of that train announces, "This train is westbound for Burlington." What? Okay, whatever. He's the conductor, he oughtta know which way his train is going. Apparently, there had been an "early fatality" (what I heard, some dude fell asleep on the tracks and got ground up by the VIA train.) Maybe they were making up for lost time. So we're all congregated idly around this train, when the Westbound peeps start to emerge from the pathway and board that train. As they sit waiting, another train roars through onto track 1, which is boarded by about 20 people, and then set off for the west. It's around this time that the PA guy announces basically, "I don't know what you guys heard, but the train on track 3 will be Eastbound to Toronto Union, stopping at Clarkson and express from there." Mwerf! Man, those poor sullen passengers getting off and going back to track 1. I felt sympathetic. A girl next to me remarked, "no wonder people commit suicide on these trains." Hrm.

The day proceeded according to whatevers. I kinda zoned in and out in Philosophy and Narrative. My feeling is, those classes aren't there to teach so much as guide, so as long as I'm there my actual consciousness isn't required. It's the tutorials that's money. After a quick lunch (during which I may have gotten noticed shovelling lettuce into my mouth like a savage for lack of utensils,) it was Film Study, where we watched a 1904 silent french film and a Harold Lloyd silent comedy, The Kid Brother, which seemed to drag somewhat. As for the former, it kinda looked like everyone on screen was having a seizure the entire time. I'm not sure what either was supposed to teach us about mise-en-scene but once again, I suppose that's what the tutorial is for.

Last up was Poetry. We discussed revisions and then did some group feedback of our own. We broke off into small sections and went around complimenting and critiquing each other. By the time we got to mine, the punchline I'd agonized over some weeks ago, there wasn't much time left. The opinion I gleaned, in brief, was expected but relieving. The joke went off really well. I told them I didn't think anyone else would be "bringing the funny," so I might as well. My second poem certainly wasn't along the same lines, but that's for later. Someone asked how I got the idea. I explained it wasn't autobiographical, that I got the first line and then had to decide where I wanted to go with it (it'll be posted eventually.) Given the ending, I chalked that up as summing up my kinda warped view of romance. I also joked that it was about me, not narrated by me. Ha. (For the record, the poem's title is "For a Stalker.") One girl actually reacted to it on a kinda personal level, having apparently had a stalker once. The ending really struck her, and I was a bit sorry and a bit glad, because it's meant to strike you as much as make you laugh. I like causing people to re-examine who they love and why (although hopefully not if it brings up painful memories. Hrm.)

Class ended along those lines, with more feedback for other poems. One girl dared to use abstractions in her last stanza and Reibetanz called her on it a bit. I'm all for concrete language - my recent work has mostly been objects and actions and much the better for it - but I thought it worked for her in that particular poem. It was about growing old, how physically we deteriorate, but those intangibles remain. I'd say the context justifies the use of that language, but then again, I'm not the one teaching the course. Also, sure, I would have said it, but we were pressed for time. Maybe I'll remember that thought a week from now. Hardly looks likely.

I headed down to the subway station. Along the way, I met up with a few classmates, who I guess knew each other from high school and still live in their neighbourhood. We rode along together to Union, mostly in palpable silence with some polite chatter here and there. No insult to them, but I was tired and at a loss for conversation. I waved them goodbye as I headed to stand and wait for my train.

Expectedly, I met up with Ryan Lai. We went to the end of the platform and managed to get 4 seats for outselves. Shoes off, feet up on the Express westbound, I told him the anecdote that began this entry. He told me he'd heard the guy fell asleep on the tracks and got "turned into Zoodles." This caused me to laugh for about 10 minutes. Maybe less. Talk about great concrete imagery. We talked school, New York, weekend plans (no great coincidence, he and I have the same basic plan for Saturday) and Risk.

I came home and had dinner, relaxed and watched bad TV for the evening. I didn't work on the story I want to do, but I did get one other item off the agenda.

A good song is "Possum Kingdom" by Toadies. Kershaw recommended I download it years ago and it's been sitting unlistened on my harddrive ever since. Part of my 90's kick, although a little earlier than my recent timeline. It's hard to get nostolgic for the 90's. As far as eras go, it's ill-defined compared to the prior four decades. It's like western culture was in a coccoon for the whole decade and ultimately emerged in the disgusting state we currently have. I can't believe, given the last 8 years, anyone would have any resentment toward the Clinton administration. I long for the days when America's biggest problem was a BJ.

It's getting easier every day.

Bad credit? No credit? No problem. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto