Shot back from Hamilton in the morning, slightly hungover but nothing unmanageable. A morning of writing difficult letters was preempted by a five-hour shift at the wage shack. I have mastered the language of peas-speak, so customer service is now a blast. After work I took a two-hour walk under the hazy streetlights of Port Credit. Really wanted to sleep on the pier or in the park but between the cold and the raccoons it wasn’t a good choice, so I dragged my melancholic self into bed.
With the morning lost to laundry, I punched out four hours of work before traveling to Hamilton (after navigating the mess that is GO transit). Meeting up with a good friend who is leaving in August to teach in Korea, we went to a huge (yet empty) Lebanese hookah lounge and restaurant. Creeped out by the lack of music and the $3 Kirkland bottled water, we continued our madness at Boston Pizza before returning home to explore a basement packed with Beatles memorabilia and records from a myriad of excellent bands.
Day 104. After staying up all Monday night, I slept until I had to go to work. Few to no peasants came through the store, and I got two new books delivered for my research thesis next year: At Odds With AIDS by Alexander Duttman and The Body of This Death by William Haver. Pizza and Simpsons followed my shift, and I caught some z’s before midnight.
**NEW BLOG MATERIAL*
An unreal Sunday, unreal because reality is rarely this relaxing lately. Sleeping until 10 left room for a breakfast burger before an outdoor art show at noon. Back at the pad, I ran three solid hour-long naps back-to-back before a 5K bike ride and a nacho dinner. A couple of decent X-Files redeemed the three or four previous bombs. I might have fallen asleep if Castiglia and Reed’s If Memory Serves hadn’t force-fed me the red pill, though it was my choice to open the book and enter the Matrix in the first place.
Oh, did I mention new blog material? My most recent post (Jumble) taught me a very important lesson about natural light. But, gotta start with mistakes, right?
I have lived 102 days without doing undergraduate coursework! I was going to write a celebratory post at 100, but I quickly remembered I have no time for asinine achievements that occur at nice neat numbers in our base-10 counting system. En lieu of a party, I worked ten hours and came home to Hilary’s unreal taco burgers. There was some X-Files involved, but the 9th season really fell off the mark. (Even the episode written and directed by David Duchovny.) Graduate school is only forty days away.
Ordered two more books for next year’s research.
Confirmed a payment agreement for graduate studies.
Lined up another publishing opportunity.
Worked seven hours.
Read fourteen pages of Castiglia and Reed’s If Memory Serves.
Day 100. Completely wasted the morning on purpose. Working at 2 was a thorn in my side since 8am, and I decided to deal with it by being totally mossy and unproductive. I did manage to eat breakfast before heading to work. While at work, a woman didn’t want her gift card so she signed it over to me. I also realized I work seven-hour shifts every day starting at 2 or 3 for a week, so I have decided not to waste EVERY morning. In non-work-related news, a few of my books were rerouted to Brampton, so I gotta get those delivered to Bulk Barn. I may as well just set up a cot in the bathroom and live among the sleeping almonds.
In the mail I received the first book on my thesis reading list, Castiglia and Reed’s If Memory Serves: Gay Men, AIDS, and the Promise of a Queer Past. I only read the first four pages but it seems like it will be a very complex book, an investigation into the purposeful unremembering of events and ideas that arose in the early years of the AIDS epidemic. I also sorted my courses for next year, which include Mindworlds Beyond the Human, Bob Dylan and American Folk Culture, Postwar Sexualities, and Global Sex. The courses are also being taught by some very intelligent and compelling professors, so the year should be very demanding yet refreshing. Saw a friend who has not been through in some time; he has been too busy with music engineering school. Watched a few 9th-season X-Files, and they were atrocious. Burt Reynolds has no place doing a corny cameo in the X-Files.
Morning errands before a 12-4 shift at the wage hut. Streams of peasants flooding the aisles. Vegetables cooking in an open flame. Cheese melting in a pan. Dreams crossing minds like wading swimmers through water. Back to work.
Train-lagged from the surprise trip home, I slept until noon. Fortunately I made up for the wasted morning by writing a few letters to important people. I try to write as many letters by hand as possible, not only because letters carry emotion that emails often cannot, but also because writing and receiving letters adds a dimension to life that struggles to exist in recent times. Five hours at the wage hut and I was back to moss status for the night.