January 14, 2004 - 10:34 p.m.
peau cha ( a tribute)
i just realized that most of what i find funny... is only funny to me.
like singing to myself as i walk to class...
3 blind mice
3 blind mice
one a penny, two a penny
three blind mice
(to the tune of hot cross buns)
conglomerating multiple nursery rhyme/ grade one ditties to form one giant retarded (not politically correct) tune to accompany myself, like a soundtrack, as i walk alone to class through a blizzard.
It's very Canadian, as in, it's got a survival theme... how very Atwood.
my life is like a series of short stories that don't necessarily make sense but maybe do... like the illusive "beast in the jungle" by James, which is not Canadian, but IS about something that you keep expecting to happen but never does except maybe it did and you're just not sure what IT was.
Am i writing a book? the girl beside me in class asks.
am i?
i sure hope not.
what would i say, really?
a woman in the elevator last night told me that this weather makes her tired. She woke up at the uncharacteristic hour of 10 o'clock, unusually late for her. This was the extent of our conversation. This was all she had to tell me.
Life's wierd, isn't it?
That's me asking.. not her.
