1.8: Dreadful things done by girls

Handsome though I am, these are not the eyes of a man who sleeps properly.

I got some shocking news on Monday, news that I have withheld from my family members because I'm not totally certain what they'd make of it. The news was that I did exceedingly poorly on my philosophy midterm. I failed it, let's not get into it. Now, I didn't take this as harshly as I did when I got my mark on my shot-by-shot analysis several weeks (months?) ago, even though it was a less important project where I did better. The weird thing is I just didn't take this philosophy thing badly at all. I mean yeah, it sucks and I don't feel good about it at all, and it certainly doesn't get me off to a good start on my New Year's resolution of being a better student. I didn't expect to do very well, but I encountered more difficulty than I anticipated. It wasn't even the dreaded see of red pen and criticism... just the stark words "no" (once) and "not good" under my final mark, which is an understatement. I mean, I really effin' blew it. Anyway, here's where I'm going with this.

Several months (weeks?) ago, I received a notice saying that given my two transfer credits I am supposed to receive from Sheridan, I was enrolled in too many first-year classes and would not receive credit for one of them. This concerned me, because all you'd have to do is chop of 1/2 credit - the one I earned for Astronomy - and I'd be under the wire. The problem of course is that I'd then be out a half a science credit and that would suck unimaginably. Not passing one class and thus not earning a credit would really solve this dilemma. Is it shameful to fail? Yes. But I look at it as taking a dive. Worst comes to worst, I'll try to pass and make sure I negotiate which course does not count toward my diploma.

That was the first of two realizations. It is contingent upon the fact that I need to get my transcript to an office on U of T's campus, and I recently received an e-mail to the effect that it had not yet arrived. So I tug at my collar. This led to my second little epiphany.

This was the unkind if relieving reminder that I do not need to be at U of T. On some level, I do not need to put myself through the bullshit, the bureaucracy, the debt, the guilt, the stress, the insomnia, the burden. I'm glad I went there, at least to say I'd stepped foot inside a University classroom and found out what it was like. But it's not like I don't have a future and that I couldn't seek it elsewhere. I've got a good credential, some good experience, and talent (right?) If nothing else, I could ditch University (this idea has been inside me since approximately the second day, but has faded out amidst the ruckus of life and routine.) If I'm miserable, I could launch myself into the world of careers and prosperity and forget the other nonsense. Sure, it would be a whole new world of nonsense, but one in which I am earning, not paying, to exist.

Never be without an exit strategy.

I considered all of this while sitting in English. I'm enjoying Devil in the White City extremely much, but am finding it hard as ever to concentrate in the lectures. This inability to focus is hurting me more, obviously, in Philosophy.

This led, last night, to my finally following through on Mansoor's advice and searching Craigslist, idly, for opportunities, to maybe earn some cash on the side while I attempt to learn. What I found is that there are a ton of opportunities. Nothing that jumps out as a career, but plenty of potential for cash-earning and experience. The only thing I had time for was a contest looking for readers to evaluate submissions of short stories and screenplays. Now I'd much rather be entering such a contest than judging it, but it's a payday and I really gave the hard sell on my application. ("I was a journalism student, I love films of all genres, I've taken courses in filmmaking and creative writing nearly obsessively and oh yeah, I'm the reviews editor at ComiXtreme... la la la." Yeah, I'm so perfect.) Who knows. If I can make some money in 2008, it'd have an advantage over 2007.

My dog's been on a really weird schedule lately. This ties partly into what I said at the beginning about not sleeping. I had one of those naps on the couch you get when you're too comfortable watching TV and just nod off around 11:30. Well after that I decided, time for bed. Except now I was refreshed, so I just tossed and turned. Meanwhile Max sleeps all afternoon and then by 10 or 11 gets really pumped and by the time everyone (on the main floor) is in bed, he's restlessly pacing, his little feet beating a circle around the hardwood floor.

I was having a hard time sleeping because of the stress of my potential life-alternating realization, and also it seemed I ate something that disagreed with me. I woke up a few times out of a dreamless half-sleep and had to go to the toilet. And I'm sitting there and he's outside the bathroom door, pawing back and forth like he's on crank or something.

Today was an ordinary day. I was utterly absorbed in my own thoughts all morning until I got off the subway. Then I dilligently took notes on the studio system and then went home, to be further engrossed in my own dreamy thoughts. At Union, I was plenty early. I decided to shell out a buck to play a "police training" game, which is basically just target shooting. I did well too, acing all but two of the exercises (although some after two tries) before losing my credit. Kinda rewarding to know I'm not a bad shooter of a fake lightray gun.

The evening passed in typical fashion... dinner at dad's as he and Deb regled us with stories of their Las Vegas trip, including showing us the hundreds of card-sized ads for prostitutes they collected along the way (??!) I've been writing and tinkering and my usual distractions, avoiding doing reading.

A guy stopped me at Union the other day. He had an ice pack to his shoulder. He said "Hey man, I was just riding my bike out there and I wiped out. I busted my collarbone," he revealed his shoulder, which looked bony and flesh-coloured (not bruised or displaced to my eye.) He said he wanted a couple bucks for a ticket to the hospital. I hesitated, given this is a classic con, to big cash of hayseeds at Union who don't know there's always someone asking for a ticket to the hospital, or Barrie, or Guelph. And he usually looks sketchy. This guy, with his ice pack, looked convincing though. I was trying to worm out of it when a dude comes up, obviously someone already contacted by this guy, saying "Are you sure you don't want me to call the security guards or something and get you a ride to the hospital?" He insisted, "No! It's okay...!" I shrugged, "I got nothin' man," and walked off. Points for creativity, though, with the ice pack.

I've got a future unfolding in front of me, but nobody knows how long it'll be.

I really like the piece I composed the other night for poetry. I might publish a book someday. Self-publish I mean... there's no money in poetry.

Your little club seems more like a cult.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott