Chapter 8: Consider the ground beneath your shoes

Per my usual idiocy, I'm loaded with caffeine and will be up late tonight, not sleeping, and thus miserable tomorrow morning. I suck sometimes.

It happened Wednesday, when I was just plain dead in philosophy. The person next to me didn't seem to mind, she was reading Metro. That said, I seemed to be up and at 'em by the screening, which is good, since it was Psycho and I was very interested in seeing it.

Tuesdays, they used to sell Pizza Pizza in the subway for the United Way. I liked it was a reliable and cheap way to get a lunch. However, I was dismayed this past Tuesday to find they had gone. Moreover, Wednesday, United Way people were just hanging around asking for change. What a cocktease. No way.

After the screening, as I was walking up to Old Vic, I spotted a girl with short brown hair and glasses. Now, short-haired brunettes aren't uncommon around campus. They're almost as common to see as Asians - hell, there's some overlap. But I gave a yell anyway:

"Alyssa?"

She turned. It was indeed her. Though I'd met up with her a few times this year (not since September,) this was the first time we'd run into each other. As it was a gorgeous, temperate day (about 14 degrees, possibly for the last time this year,) we sat on the steps on Old Vic and talked, mostly her about her burdensome academic career. Well, it happens, don't it?

After that, and poetry, I went to Union and waited for my train home. I got a seat on the train, alone, when into the car came Ryan, who mentioned he would be there after a few weeks of not. I was beginning to feel like I'd been stood up. We sat and talked, and his dad gave me a lift home. Nice guy.

Today I slept good and late, got well rested (my sleep is becoming more and more extreme,) and did some reading before going to school where I had an unusual encounter. I was sitting in Astronomy before class with some friends (well, a friend and her friend. Well, I had just met her the week before.) Scattered around were flyers for some event, written all in some Asian language, which I referred to as "Korean." Friend asks, "How do you know it's Korean?" I said, "Well, I don't... it's that or Chinese." After a pause, the girl in front of us, a fine studious-looking young woman with a nose-ring and a laptop, turns and says "It's Chinese." My attention piqued, she elaborated by showing the sponsors on the back, "Chinese Restaurant" and so forth. Dismayed that she couldn't explain the actual meaning of the card, I asked, "So you can't actually read it?" She rolls her eyes and replies, very sarcastically, "Yeah, because I'm Chinese." (She obviously wasn't.) With that, having put me in my place, she turned around, and I sat there, twiddling my thumbs.

I'm not sure where I went wrong, it's been a while since any conversation I've had, even one so minor, has gone so far off the rails. Rather than pay close attention to the lecture, I spent a lot of the remainder of time trying to think if there was any way I could salvage the situation and let it roll off. For once, my faculties failed me and I had nothing. What was I going to do? Irk her further by putting another lame remark out there? Apologize for thinking she read Chinese? Apologize for her not being Chinese? I don't like leaving conversations like that.

When I got back to Oakville, I decided to go for comics. As not unexpected, it took a long while, and I didn't get back until nearly 6, as I had to walk home from the bus station, lacking quarters. On the way, I stopped off to see Amanda (and get more coffee. Time was, I couldn't stand more than one a day. The addiction grows.)

After grocery shopping and some TV, and a quick paper-writing, here we are.

And here we are.

We sure are.

If nothin' else, keep on rockin
-Scott