Chapter 9: Where you think you'll find me...

Would you believe I was in all night doing homework?

Erk. University. Go figure. It's November, and of course I'm swamped, well why the hell wouldn't I be. Many of you are in school, those of you who aren't have at least been. I used to fret over a few articles and projects. 4 papers of 2000 words apiece in two weeks is nothing to sneeze at neither.

But I ain't complaining, I'm just setting the scene. It's a rainy November evening. I'd been out earlier for coffee and then later to have dinner with dad. I have the house to myself. Mom's in Erie and B's in Kingston to watch the fight (Lesnar-Couture) at his friend's place. If it'd been a nicer evening, maybe I'd have gone to Monaghan's and seen the fight myself. I don't hate going out by myself, it's just weird. I'm sure I would've run into a few people I knew, but would they have been people I wanted to see? Who knows. All I know is that with weather like this, it was the kind of day that made you wanna stay in and write an essay about Measure for Measure.

I'd been pacing around the house all day trying to stimulate my braincells and get cracking on it. I'd gotten the germ of the idea on Thursday but hadn't managed to make it work for me on paper. I was distracted, with movies and Guitar Hero. I'd gone out, in a fit of temptation, and rented GH: World Tour, for the Wii. I was out anyway, and thought, 'Hey, I'll stop by Blockbuster and if they have it they have it, but I bet they won't.' And they did. And it was kinda expensive, but I've got it for a week so it evens out. And so I worked myself into a distraction. You know you're procrastinating when you find yourself working on the NEXT paper when you haven't started this one - I got onto researching my paper about Buster Keaton for Film History. One thing at a time, kid. I've not got a lot of time tomorrow, better use Saturday.

So I got home from Dad's around seven and got determined. So I was pacing around, talking to myself, when my thesis suddenly emerged from the tip of my tongue. Way to go, lack of internal monologue! By 8, I was sitting down writing. I had most of four paragraphs (I still abide by the classic high school 5-paragraph format, nobody's told me not to) by 11:30, when I took a 90-minute break for Saturday Night Live. So sue me, I think Paul Rudd's funny. I got back to work shortly afterward and settled on being 100 words short. I'm not a stickler, as everyone knows.

The outcome of the fight, incidentally, was that Lesnar got an accidental cheapshot at Couture that enabled him a TKO victory in the 2nd round. It's controversial, and RyLai is really really pissed. Frankly I'm not pleased either, and I was pulling for Lesnar.

I was thinking about something I said to RyLai when I was hanging out with him yesterday. After talking the usual hypotheticals and meeting his roommates, we walked to the Scotiabank and as he taunted my "little legs," we got to talking. I reached a conclusion that I had been struggling to word properly for a while, and I will share it with you now: Every man, in his life, should try at least one woman who is noticeably younger than him, one that is noticeably older, and one of a noticeably different race. I think that's sound advice, and something to shoot for. If nothing else, it's one of those neat little sayings that occasionally crop up on here. Like "everything sucks worse when you're hungry." Here's another one:

We are all stuck in our bodies, but we need not be stuck in our minds.

Deep, man.

So that was the story of me, spending a day on the computer writing my essay. For what it's worth, I think it's a cogent, well-structured piece that integrates quotes well and makes a convincing case. But I guess we'll find out when I get my mark back. It's certainly a better effort than my previous submission in that class.

That said, it's getting late, and I do after all have work tomorrow. I just hope I remember how to work a fuckin' till (if that's what I end up doing.) I think it should be fine, and if not, well, it's not permanent.

Good night all, and keep on rockin'
-Scott