Alright, I've finished my paper. It's actually crap with buttons stitched into it, but it's over.
I had a massage today, which I haven't done since I was in high school. Or rather, I have had massages since then, but they were "therapeutic massages" recommended by my GP, meant apparently to break my bones so that I'd have more places to bend. I considered those massages "women hurting me", but this massage was the very relaxing, healing kind, with me drooling through the head rest and drippy music playing.
It's amazing how great the most terrible music starts to sound during a massage. Stuff with whale noises and chanting, even the ever-subtle heart beat effect in the background. By the end of it, all I wanted was to get some Enya going and really rock out.
The neat thing was, when I stood up from the table I felt like that metal goo the governor of California was made out of in Terminator 2. Or was that the guy trying to kill the governor of California? In any case, I've ruined it now with hunching and wheezing at the computer all evening, but it was nice while it lasted.
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I miss massages. Particularily head massages. I need a vibrating spider here, in Montreal. Although you really need someone else to manipulate the spider, or else it's Just Not The Same.
What was your paper about?
There were actually two "mini-essays" which I've been calling my paper, because who wants to keep saying "mini-essays"? One of them was on Sky Lee's inclusion of a family tree in Disappearing Moon Cafe. Specifically, why she did that. The other was a general, more informal response to Ravensong by Lee Maracle. Between them I now feel like I'm living in a previous, much more racist incarnation of British Columbia.
Ugh. Is that for Asian North American lit with Deer? That fucker gave me the only B+ of my upper level English experience. Not that I'm bitter, still, and reliving the shame every night. Not at all.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm........massage. Where did you get it? I need more tasty details.
Congratulations on the completion..."crap with button stitched into it" reminds me of that scene in Cinderella when the mice have some buttons and ribbons ("leave the sewin to the women!...good God that's just plain awful! I never thought about it until this very moment) and claim they are going to make some fancy schmancy dress. But then some how, they miraculously do and Cinderella gets her man. That seemed more relevant in my head. Damnit! Echo is going after my tea bag again. Ain't nobody gonna stop him.
The class is WmSt Lit with Seaton. I don't mind her lectures but the assignments are less than thrilling, mini as they may be.
Hmm. Massage details... I went to the "Wellness Centre", on Yukon and 8th. The masseuse is the husband of a family friend. And he is a magical man. Actually, both my parents had appointments with him on the same day, which was odd. Yes.
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