A Fine Wine

I thought that my procrastination approach to life would be something that I would grow out of, so to speak. A maturation. A cutting of teeth.
I thought that organization would be something that would dawn on me one day.
"Oh. This is how it works. You complete things on time by preparing for them. I guess I'll go buy a file cabinet, then."
You know. A celebratory one.
But it does not work that way.
Instead, procrastination is something that you develop.
Like an art. Or a cyst.
My paper will not be completed tonight.
My paper will be completed tomorrow morning. Over much coffee and exasperation.
Just the way I like it.

my parents are right about me...

Four inches. Max.
That's how close I was to walking into a telephone pole this evening, on my way to the library.
It was a parking lot. There were no cars. I didn't feel obligated to pay attention to my surroundings, necessarily.
I happened to look up cursorily.
Good thing.
The first thing my brain registered was the staples embedded in the pole. I then thought that it would be a strange pole to post postings on. Then I thought about how glad I was that I had not walked into it.
It was the last thing I expected to see.
I was picking a band to listen to.
I settled on Stars, and continued walking.
Head high.

Protege

My brother and I are vastly unalike.
He knows how to use a band saw.
He can judge whether or not an item is level by using his eyes.
I need a level.
I like to recycle.
How do we get along?
Besides the fact that the law states we have to, he says fun things like: "I'd rather have a roll of duct tape in the house than a smoke detector."
All of the pictures we hang are straight.

They seem nice. They suggest Sears.

M'eh. Not much going on.
I spent quality male time with Kirk Bussey last night.
This is always effortless fun.
I'll say more about it later. This is it for now.
I had a meeting with The Scope today. I write for these people. I'm in print again.
A morning meeting. On a Saturday. Not something I signed on for, but I want to seem proactive to these people, since I just began working 'with them'.
They'll find out what I'm actually like soon enough.
I am on time. I have not showered.
Roundtable discussions happen with a quite small group of people. Each section is brushed upon for story ideas.
I do not have ideas; I am too groggy.
I am also too embarassed to admit that I do not know what the sections are.
DIY?
I keep quiet and nod occaisonally.
In my head I resolve to buy my first-ever pair of slippers.
Today.
Then I consider how much slippers might cost.
Then I wonder where they might be purchased.
My ($10) check isn't there, but I do get a case of beer out of the deal.
Quidi Vidi.
Honey Brown.

Fire & Brimstone

I haven't the energy.
I went to a Michael's today.
I entered the store, and started laughing immediately.
Out loud.
I said, 'This place is fucked' out loud as well. At least two or three times before I left.
Then I went to Wal-Mart.
For Sarah Turpin.
I also went to a Hallmark, which was slightly more pleasant.
They asked if I'd seen the nicer items (don't wanna give away gift specifics) of the same sort over that way.
I told them I didn't care about the person that much. I was just trying to get into her pants.
They were less pleasant with me after that.
I also had to buy Mr. Clean, to be fair.
I almost drank it while waiting in line to pay for it.
The gifts are moot.
She should be happy with me for even going through the process of buying the gifts.
But if that doesn't get me into her pants, the gifts will.
If they don't work I'm back to hypnotism.

edit: I forgot to mention that Michael's had an aisle entitled Cupcake Essentials.

Dentists Would Rule

I'd like to live in a world where bake sales are as common as Bluetooth headsets.

Very necessary, those bluetooth headsets.
If you have your cell phone grafted to the side of your face, you're not paying enough attention to your children.
Call it a hunch.

Our Lady of the Weed Trimmer (don't bother reading; link's broken)

http://ca.yahoo.com/_ylh=X3oDMTFjdWUxZHJyBF9TAzE1NjI5MzQzBHBpZAMyMjA3MzYEdGVzdAMwBHRtcGwDY2FfaW5kZXhs/s/368775
Why are you all standing around! It's a garage door!
She's telling you to buy Meineke.
Fools!
Religious, redkneck zealot fools!
George Foreman was right all along!

For more, if you dare.

Sober

I'm so bored I'm considering commiting a misdemeanor in order to pass some time.
Anyone. Coffee? Anyone?
I hate it when Shandera leaves town.

"Are We On This Again?"

I have to write something.
It is only a paragraph, and yet I have to read a decent-sized article in order to concoct the article.
Poverty.
I park at Burton's Pond. True friends would already know this.
We all know how passionate I have been getting about birds lately.
Ducks are great. Here's a picture of an ostrich. *
Etc.
Well, last night was a pretty intense bird moment.
They may have been sparrows. Something small. Swallows? Do we have swallows here?
There's a wee little island/bank in the middle of Burton's Pond. There are trees. Shrubs.
It appears to be kinda...moving as I walk by.
Because the foilage on the island is consumed with birds. Of one species. And more are arriving.
They fly into the trees in groups of between 5 and 30. From different directions. They swoop.
I cannot swoop.
They move very quickly, and swerve below telephone wires and above cars. I worry one of them is going to fuck up and effectively mash his or her little bird brains.
They do not fuck up.
They're loud. They can be heard plainly within the area.
I watch approximately 200 or so add to the pile that is already tucked away in there.
I do not know the final numbers.
I think they were prepping to fly south.
It's a good meeting spot; centre of town. It's near the mall.
I stood and watched and wondered various things about animal life.
I received so many looks.
Is it that strange, really? It was very interessting.
They were a spectacle. You can watch spectacles.
People are so weird.

So am I:
After I finished, I passed the music building. Behind a window I saw a male cellist celloing.
I considered standing right outside of the window, where I would watch intently .
When he would eventually turn around, I'd start applauding enthusiastically.
But I had to buy toothpaste.

*these links (to other posts within the blog) were only added recently.

Trashed

I'm driving home between classes. Hydro is threatening to cut off our power. We have to prevent this from happening by seeing receptionists and talking to them.
I don't ask questions.
My name is on documentation, so I have to be there as well, with my brother. I feel unsettled when my name is on things.
No Paul Juniors in my future.
There is a very large truck in front of me, with a long flatbed. Those guys you see hauling around huge concrete sections of pipe? That sorta thing. It could be a swimming pool, but someone wished to move things with it instead. And it is too flat to hold water.
Anyway, there is a dumpster being moved on this truck. It is chained on.
I do not trust the integrity of said chain, and I speed around the truck as quickly as possible (beginning to sweat, driving faster than I should be on a turn).
Why?
Because.
Of the possible ways I might meet my fate, 'death-by-dumpster' is just a little too plausible for me to stay in the slow lane.

Disjoint

"'He's got it, he just doesn't know it.' That's what I told my friends after I saw you.'"
For the first time. This is what George said he said.
I get that he's an impersonator of Carlin, but he has still made his living doing this. 40 years.
I do not have the luxary of acting like I don't need advice.
I need advice.
And I'm getting it. And it will help.
So the show, then. How was the show? The set. The bit.
M'eh.
It was good. It went over as much as I expected it to, but I lost my place too many times.
We're talking make a joke, laughter, pause...where was i, make a joke, laughter, pause...
It was pretty gutwrenching.
Colin and I got home and I put on the dvd of myself from three weeks ago, since he had missed it.
He laughed.
I laughed too.
Felt alright.

In other ramblings my student loan has arrived, so if I have outstanding debts with you, now's the time to cut me some slack. Because although I have this money, my mother insists that I have no money.
She is likely correct. My mother is a very assured woman.
Shit. I have to meet a professor now.
Do any of you know where the Henrietta Harvey building is?