September 09, 2004

He forgot to sign my form. Motherfucker. So after running across the campus three times and wasting two hours in a line-up I eventually managed to replace my cancelled courses. And with all that running, an uneasy sensation started to sink in: school is starting again.

Part of me just wants to fly away towards Toronto and my Martha. After a summer filled with intense spasms of delight, I’m back in an unreal city, forced to play strange games that come with strange props:
WLUSU, that Kafkaesque nightmare, wants me to play at being a director so they’ve given me 100 business cards.
WLUSP wants me to play golf and has given me a blue shirt with my role written on the sleeve.
Laurier wants me to go away, so it keeps expiring my student card.
The Writing Centre wants me to engage in strange role play from 9 to 12 and 1 to 4.
And the students want to see my naked ass which appeared in this week’s Cord along with a feature article on my bike trip.

But I just want to hold my love, and walk with her down Spadina to the poets’ corner where we’ll play hopscotch for an hour to see if we still can.