Chapter 15: She makes the demands

Yesterday was one of those days that I like to come home and blog about. Except I didn't because I was flippin' tired. Remember back in high school when I'd get home at a reasonable time, hop on the computer and type away? Man, those were the days.

Actually, they weren't - a lot of high school sucked and the proof is in this blog, because I did a lot of complaining in grade 12 and that was by and large my best year. Amongst the bad there was some good, but I took the bad pretty hard in those days. Nowadays, if something sucks I can usually feel zen about it - yesterday was a good example.

I had a lot to feel anxious about on that cold gray day. I had an essay due at 4:00 I had only written about half of, to say nothing of citing resources. I've been seeing my enthusiasm for life dwindle some and my creative satisfaction shrivel to nearly none. Long story short, I've been low on zeal and verve. Two words I don't use often enough.

So yeah I was bummed and I took it hard when there were no computers available at the Innis Lab so I had to pore through all these books that I could not remove from the library and manually transcribe the quotes I wanted the old-timey way (with a pen.) Then I had to truck all the way to Pratt, muttering bitterly to myself the entire time because there's almost never a computer at Pratt when you need one. Well I was in luck because there it was, and it was one of the ones with Word, too, so go me. Now all I had to do was accomplish the gargantuan task of fleshing out my arguments with quotes from other peoples' ramblings and I'd be set. So I procrastinated a while and was dismayed to find that thanks to an error on my part, my side lost one of the Mafia games I was in. So... boo. Anyway I typed furiously away and wound up with a relatively coherent, somewhat respectable 2100 words on Dark City and the Matrix (specifically the heroes thereof.) With a whole half hour to spare. I printed it out (for the low, low price of $1.50) and headed back to Innis, where I sleepwaked my way through a tutorial on Stalker, the Russian film we'd watched. For my mental state, I found it impenetrable, and although I generally like him, my TA Adam was not particularly helpful with his questions ("What about trust, and whether they went into the room?" Well, what about trust?) But anyway.

I was back to festering with bitterness by the time I got to Tim Hortons. Wednesday nights I stop off for a BLT, because it's somewhat healthy compared to some of my other meal options these days. Besides I like sandwiches and could eat one for every meal. But I was waiting in line and feeling miserable and there was this... couple? ...that caught my eye, sitting off and chatting happily. The girl was Asian and gorgeous, the guy, I found out when I passed them in line and look back, was... well he was better-looking than me, which made me feel a little bad since I like seeing hot girls with guys who are like me. And before you ask, yes, I stare at and examine virtually every random stranger I encounter in the city and on the train. I have to amuse myself somehow.

So after forever, I got my sandwich and strolled down to Alumni Hall. Actually, I took the subway, because Metropass enables you to be a dick and take the subway for one stop.

I was mentlaly debating, whilst in line, whether I actually wanted to go to AmLit. Like I said, I was down and felt that maybe skipping a class would let me relax some. I opted not to, because the lecture was to be on William Carlos Williams, and that felt like it would be of some value. So I went and enjoyed myself.

"I don't want to stay too late," Rayter said, so we looked at a few of the W.C.W. (that's amusing only to me) poems in the Norton, including The Young Houswife, The Portrait of a Lady, Spring and All and, most valuably, The Red Wheelbarrow. It was fun and enlightening, just the pick-me-up I needed before heading home. We finished at about 7:25 and I trekked to Museum station, where the subway took forever to pull in. Remember these details. As I stepped off the train I suddenly felt the universe wash over me, all calm and at peace with everything. It's a good thing to because given the events of the night I may have flipped my lid otherwise.

I got to Union just in time to be late, at 7:44. Prior to catching the subway I'd mentally debated whether I had time to get coffee, concluded I didn't, and missed the train anyway. With an hour to kill, I brandished my Metropass (damn I'll miss that guy in my last week) and hopped back on the TTC.

Maybe there are closer Tim Hortons than the one at Queens Park - and maybe they'd have made the coffee better - but I wanted to kill time, not get coffee immediately. So I got my double double and went back to Union and wandered aimlessly. I considered going to the arcade, but I didn't have the change to waste quite frankly. So I did some light reading and did a crossword puzzle (I feel somewhat sharper since getting back into them.)

So anyway. It gets to be 7:33 and we're all holding our breath waiting for the train, whose status is "PLEASE WAIT." So we wait please. Then a minute or two before the train was scheduled to arrive it switched to a big red bold "CANCELED." Say what! "My lucky day," I had been grumbling all day at every inconvenience, until I'd become one with the universe. Because although I had been put out here and there, I had still nabbed that computer when I needed it/didn't think I would, class had still been good, as had my BLT. So I just sat and awaited instructions while all around me a mob of commuters called their loved ones on their cells. I considered phoning home, but didn't really think anyone would care, unless I knew I was going to be really late.

Eventually, in fact before very long at all, we were directed to the bus platform. As it turned out, there had been a fatality somewhere between Exhibition and Port Credit (depending on whom you believe.) Let this be a lesson - if you want to kill yourself, jump off a bridge or slice open your wrists or gulp down a shitload of pills. Jumping in front of a GO train is just such an inconvenience.

So we all went out and stood in a long line as I marveled at the architecture of Toronto I never get to see, between the Royal York and this very nice wedge-shaped building that looks like something Daniel Burnham may have done, all lit up in the velvet November evening. Meanwhile, businessmen inquired whether anyone would share a cab. I considered it, but had no cash on me, nor the desire to spend it, nor any real rush. So I waited, laughing privately to myself. Two minutes earlier on the subway and I'd have been home already. Life.

At just about 9:00 the bus, direct to Oakville showed up and we all loaded up. I sat comfortably next to the window (several people were standing. I'd have offered my seat, but I'm not all that generous by nature.) About a half hour later I was home, not all that much later than I would've been anyway. Yay.

So I've been running errands this morning before having to work at 3:30, possibly until midnight but maybe not so late. Dropping off books and Blockbuster movies, picking up others. I was taking a shortcut through Sheridan when I passed, in the forest, a group of high schoolers, some guys and girls. I was talking about high school earlier in this entry, and seeing those kids made me think of something I missed out on. I spent a lot of my teen years being awkward, and while I wouldn't go back and change it, even the shitty parts, if I could, I would've liked to have a group of friends like that. Hang out on the weekends and do stupid stuff, have a shitload of in-jokes, and there be that one girl in the group I have sexual tension with, like maybe, just maybe she likes me... and then we'd date and it wouldn't go so well and there'd be some awkwardness amongst the group until eventually we got over it and went back to being friends. I never had that, and by the time I had the kinds of friends I could actually comfortably hang out with a lot, the time had long since passed.

But incidentally, in writing that, I just realized that's the scenario of my 2004 screenplay Summer at Sixteen. Hah. I re-read it recently - it's not all that bad, except for the parts that are. I'd consider re-writing it if I had time and a reason. I wonder if Ana would ever actually use it, or if it was just a frivolous activity. I got no complaints either way - she paid me like she said she would, and gave good notes, generally.

This has been a good entry. I don't say that often.

I had this dream last night. RyLai was there, telling me how tired he was of life and society and everything. So he and I went down to Antarctica - the coast, the part that's kind of in danger, but not in my dream - and met this pretty research scientist. Ryan kind dug her, so I played wingman for him. It was....... an odd thing to dream about.

On that note, keep on rockin'
~Scott W.