Wednesday, October 04, 2006

"Tuberculosic" is a Word

This is a restaurant.
Sorry for making you puke.

It’s hard, you know, to shake this feeling. It clings to you like a putrid stench, knowing that you cannot stand to be where you are in life at the moment. Every conscious thought I have is devoted to counting down the days between now and late June, when I will finally be free of the godforsaken hellhole that is Sandy Bay.

It’s very odd, you know, when even at your happiest moments (in Sandy Bay, “happy moments” are confined to: catching a fish, downloading a Colbert, and waking up to find that your car’s window has not been smashed), a significant portion of your brain is reminding you that every single atom in your body desperately wants to be anywhere else in the universe than here. Even the subatomic strings that vibrate as 11-dimensional branes pass through them that make up your very being are starting to get annoyed. So annoyed, are they that they have made up a list of places you would rather be:

- The stagnant, malaria-infested slums of Calcutta
- The Barren, frozen tundra of Siberia
- The crushing depths of the Marianas Trench
- The muddy, labyrinthine, scorched landscape of Ypr
ès, circa 1915
- East St. Louis
- The very centre of a gravitational singularity
- A Lebanese wedding held on a picturesque beach in Sydney
- Kingston
- The upper atmosphere of Venus
- A Turkish bathhouse, covered in paprika
- The 17th annual German Festival of Black Homosexual Retarded Communists Who Are Also Jews (held in 1936)
- The setting of “The Stone Angel”

This is a nice picture, in spite of what I think

The one thing that keeps me going is the knowledge, secreted in the back of my brain under lock and key, that next week is convention week. Every fantasy I have had for the past 5 weeks has revolved around this convention. Note that “fantasy” in this case can involve me walking down a public street, seeing a stoplight (or even sign; I’m not too picky).

I guess I can’t really go into this expecting sex. Let’s say that anything above an anal raping by a gang of tuberculosic gulag prisoners will be a bonus. Also, if they don’t cut my stomach open and fuck the wound, that will also be a bonus. Yeah, let’s set that as my level of expectation, and see what else I can achieve.

5 Comments:

Blogger Beth said...

awwwwwwwhahahahahaha
you poor thing
just wait you'll be home for christmas and when you get here I'll give you a big hug lol
you think it's bad now - just wait til it snows - saskatchewan winters are the most disgustingly cold days you will never be more cold - get your touque and scarf ready my friend

1:00 am  
Blogger sare said...

Poor unfortunate soul... I just laughed so hard I have tears in my eyes... (and puke in my mouth - ya, that restraunt is hideous). Only 200 some odd days left, heh?

Just know that your friends are thinking of you...!

10:57 pm  
Blogger Cameron McKay said...

Sounds like a blast, man. You should request an extension.

12:58 am  
Blogger Brian said...

Can I come visit? That must only be about a 12 hour drive from Regina. Maybe we can eat at that favorite restaurant of yours.

11:20 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Maybe I'll come open a Boston Pizza Up there and you can be my bartender (Greg). Why not run for mayor of that town?

4:50 pm  

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