suburban problems

Today was the first day of 3rd year (!), and I was starved on the 13th (yesterday), but today, I was famished in that kind of “Oh, I only get to eat a rubber boot today?” sort of way, like maybe not eating is better than getting de-starved.

My first class was called “A Writer’s Guide to Research”, and well, my bus ran late and I was late to my first class of 3rd year.  That should tell you something, if me running in to the class panting off my tomato face and sweating like a warthog didn’t tip you off.

The second class (3 tedious hours putting stickers in my ‘big girl agenda’ later) was my social science class, that, if I don’t change, will consume my entire year with “this building on Toronto’s east end is totally middle-class housing, but from a Victorian style, perhaps suggesting that the people living here were pompous assholes.”  Instead, I want to be reading lit-rature!

I missed the ‘e’ on purpose, I say.

Speaking of which, I finally finished “The Sun Also Rises” by Hemingway and boy oh boy, if my description of social science above didn’t paint a clear enough picture of you of Hemingway’s bullfighting (how could it not?), well here’s one.

“Pompous snooty rich-gone-broke Englishpeople go to the bull races and are strangely undisturbed by blood and gore and instead sexually re-awakened into sluttery, while getting bloody shit faced and acting like they’re better than the Germans AND the Jews.”

But I mean, it’s a classic, so whatever.

Also, my moms was upset tonight, because well, her and my sister don’t talk, and, as per usual, I came and fixed everything.  Seriously, in times of a family fraught with child-rearing decisions I am all a-gumbo with helpful tidbits of advice procured from “Today’s Parent” or random blogs on the internet claiming they’re “Psychology PhD Candidates” or WHATEVER.

A candidate for lunacy, perhaps? Anyone?

I feel pretty good about myself today, but seeing that I have to see a counsellor tomorrow (the very arch-enemy of an advice loader-uponer like myself, who can figure out any life issue given it’s not critically valuable or life-changing) predicts my happiness forecast as “hazy, with a chance of strangulation”.

The university better co-operate with all MY prerequisites because if not, then I’ll drop out of it and disable the university from functioning with my single payment of fees per year and become homeless and live on the street and walk around discouraging other youngsters from going to York by screaming “YORK KILLS ZEBRA BABIES” in Kensington Market.

HAH. Take that, life.

Or option B: tomorrow I am sticking my fishing pole (hot ass) in the metaphorical pool of grand-daddy bigpockets (profs? investors? presidents?) and seeing what shit-dwelling bottom feeder I can suck up from the dredges of lake lastditchattempt.

I’ve got it aaaaaallllllllllllllllllllllllllll figured out.



Gripe here!

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