Chapter 15: Footsweat, footsweat, footsweat, freeze.

And then she told me she was 24, and I didn't know what to say.

I spoke briefly - okay, at considerable length - last week about some girl and whether it was important to mention my age compared to hers (provided she was 18 going on 19.) I concluded it probably was, and tonight I found out why.

Today was going along swimmingly for a Wednesday. I'd stopped for coffee before Philosophy, which I'm usually too lazy to do, and was awake and alive for the entirety of it, even nearly to the point of following the lecture. The pattern of consciousness continued through English and into film study. I was indeed, alert and cognizant throughout the entirety of the day. Although some of the short avant-garde films we watched were decidedly disturbing (one, "TOUCHING," consisting primarily of strobed images of a man holding scissors to his tonuge, and a robotic voice chanting "destroydestroydestroydestroyestroyestroyestroystroystroystroy") we also got to watch the stirring animated short "Ryan" and the classic "Duck Amuck." It was a pretty good day.

Prior to the poetry class, I sat around with some classmates. There's this girl, she's Persian, and she wanted input on her latest piece. Much as I hate helping people, how can I say no to a girl who barely has command of the English language? I tried to coach her around the subtleties of word-choice and why plucking random words out of the dictionary wasn't likely the best way to learn. It's been suggested she write in Persian and work toward translating so she can better express herself, but she's reluctant to do so.

After talking similie and metaphor, we did some workshopping. I seemed to be on a roll all afternoon as, since the pre-class gathering, I'd been verbally sharp and eloquent, perhaps unusually so. Not just when giving feedback, but in bantering, in conversing. I don't know, amyb eit was annoying to other people, but I was surprisingly verbal for a day when I often might be dead on my feet. I gave the somewhat startling suggestion that one girl start her poem with her third stanza. The suggestion came on her like a bright light. More workshopping followed this, not always as tactfully.

I walked to the subway with my friend from that class (Admittedly, I've buddied up to a few people, but this has become routine.) We were talking poetry, as you might imagine, when we came to a Tim hortons and she asked if we might make a stop. I said sure, although I'd already been in (twice) that day, so I won't get anything. I explained that coffee's become a necessary addiction given my level of tiredness most mornings, and I was going to have to note this in my schedule for next year since it didn't look like I was moving out. She said she had lived in rez once in B.C. and didn't care for it. I asked when, and she said "Ages ago." If this were a comic, a giant "?" might have appeared over my head. I explained that was my very subtle way of trying to estimate her age, and she said, "I'm 24, didn't you know that?" I shrugged. She hadn't told me, and as you might imagine, unless told otherwise (and there have been a few,) I expected most of the people I met to be in the realm of 18. I spent most of the last two years around people in their mid-20's but didn't take her for it. Although she had a more wisened tone to her voice (in a friendly, hopeful way,) I hadn't figured. I tried not to seem too put off about it, and I wasn't, but it did shift the way I see her. not in any significant way, but a way nonetheless. She said she had already figured my age, and I then asked whether or not I mentioned Sheridan. I hadn't.

Then again, one of my best friends turned 26 today. It happens.

Due in part to the Tim's Stop, I had about 5 minutes to get to the train. I picked the wrong corridor and ended up at the front of the train, where, well, everybody is. I actually traversed more than half the cars in search of an open spot. I waited, as per usual, approximately 7 hours for a bus (okay, more like a half hour, but it's all the same by this point of the day,) came home, ate, and wrote this.

I have no other thoughts to tonight. I must rest my wrists for ten minutes and commit many, many words to paper (well, a .doc) before bed.

Jai guru deva, om. Nothin's gonna change my world. Keep on rockin'
-Scotto