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by beginningstoendings

Good I get a seat.

Back on track and enjoying the morning.  What a great day today is!  Thursdays are always good:  warm, friendly, weekend right around the corner.

Essay due Monday, which isn’t really a surprise seeing as how Mondays are terrible to begin with so you might as well tack an essay on.  However, Sundays are in a way worse than Mondays since the entire week is ahead of you and Monday is clawing at your door saying ‘let me in!’  Yep, Mondays are at least one day down in the week.

The bus vibrates down Broadway and I’m going over in my head the list of things I need to do today.  I really should look at doing something for my Art History paper because I managed a ‘C’ on the last one.  Eternally average—I’m such a champion.  I think it’s because I’m such a remarkably exciting person and I haven’t time to commit to studying.  I have a busy social life that needs maintenance.  All those late nights watching many artsy, poorly translated foreign films till 1:00 a.m.  Countless gin martini’s on my own while reading The World According to Garp or Confessions of a Shopaholic or More Tales from the City or Hey Nostradamus (which I hated).  I would stir the martinis (embarrassingly) ‘til I bought a shaker and I would say out loud to myself that each was so dry that you could hang your wet towels near it. Pure sophistication.

The wheels bump and grind as we continue towards the university, hiccupping at the occasional stop and everyone onboard sways back and forth, holding the dirty handlebars and listening to their IPods or talking obnoxiously on miniscule cell phones.  Today though is Thursday, a “nearly weekend” day.  I start thinking about some of the art we’ve been looking at in class: the ink illustrations that were included in early copies of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.  We’ve been discussing proportion in the images and have noted that Alice always appears to be set in a different scale than the rest of the characters.  I default to fantasizing once again. I’m Alice in Through the Looking Glass.  I’m about to publish my memoir on my experience in wonderland and I’m an alcoholic.  Drink Me, I’m going to get much, much bigger.


Memorize 30 slides of Roman art.  A mathematical equation for silt.  The genetic make-up of the Australian Sugar Glider monkey.  What the hell is a Sugar Glider?  University is tedious and futile.

I have a feeling that I am definitely going to fail out of school but I’m not overly concerned with that.  Actually flunking out of school will make me seem like more of a genius once I get something published and readers love that sort of thing—the underdog that comes out on top and who wasn’t appreciated in the beginning.  The best thing to do is to keep working on my manuscripts and publish.  Publish something, anything I think.  Get out there, get connected and get exposed.  You have to expose yourself, but be polite.  This could be all together an exercise in frustration and delusion but for now, I’m pretending that everything is going to work out just fine.  The ambry of stories and poems that I’ve written is bordering on extensive so something in there must be worthy of a readership—maybe even award winning.