good morning little schoolgirl

There’s nothing a little Jonny Lang can’t fix.

That said, I’m going to have a talk with my alarm clock, that or my half-awake self, but I can’t seem to get ahold of her, she’s in a bit of a daze…

This morning’s plan was that I would get out of bed at 6:30, do a bit of studying, eat a healthy breakfast, and walk to school with plenty of time to write my psychology mid-term at 8:30. What happened was:

“Oh shit! It’s 8:45! Michelle!” – madly putting on my pants, shoving bobby pins into my unruly mess of hair—“Michelle, would you do me a huge favor and drive me to school?” Grabbing bookbag, water bottle, keys, shoes—maybe shoes—yes, shoes—an apple, run into Michelle’s car—do I have my textbook? Yes, OK, it’s there, let’s look over some of the major parts of the brain along Kings College, and then up Pacey review—oh, god knows what, we’re there, “Thanks Michelle!” Run to class, give Professor Korotkov a breathless excuse, point to my hair as proof. Thank goodness he let me write the exam. I had a half an hour, so I put my best superfastreading skills to work and actually finished all 50 multiple choice in time for the clock. Managed a smile for Korotkov on the way out.

There’s something about today (I wasn’t craving chocolate the past 5 days for nothing, let’s put it that way)…last night I made a list of all the reasons why I’m incredibly happy*, and I realize that all those things are still with me. But today is just…one of those days. It’s a sultry fall evening, a certain dampness in the air that says it will most likely rain later, and I wish idly I had someone to run through rainy streets with. Instead, I went to the store for supplies and bought myself the new Vogue in consolation. I will make it through this next week, even though there are 2 papers to write and lots of reading to do. They were right when they told me it would be hard to settle back into schoolwork. They were right when they said it would take a new frame of mind, when they said I would have to nail my feet to the floor. But I will prove that I can do it. (Maybe without the nails bit. That’s a bit gruesome, and messy.)

Well, Jonny Lang is working his magic. (There’s something about music where you can almost taste the grit on your tongue.) So, I’ll finish with a nice memory—this past weekend’s glamourous fête, the wine-and-cheese night at 610 Reid (home of Janice and her 4 darling friends). We were celebrating nothing, really—except maybe being young and happy. Half of the partygoers dressed up**, I was in a little black dress and some high-heeled shoes, my hair in pincurls, a glass of Soave in one hand. Oh the wine! Oh the cheeses! I don’t even know which vintages we had, even though I played sommelier at the time, opening bottles and pouring everyone’s drinks (because I’m handy with a corkscrew and I really do love doing it), but in the “cheesy comestible” department we had: Stilton, Swiss, Gouda, Camembert, Borgonzola, a French Port Salut, Havarti, Cheddar and Danish Bleu, as well as the fondue. And just to prove we weren’t that grown up, we even played spin-the-bottle.

*They include: my awesome room, my awesome flatmates, all the folks who love and care for me, the beautiful clean city I live in, all the great wholesome food in my cupboards…
**The other half were some guys from the army base, who unapologetically showed up in manly jeans-and-tee ensembles and hefting cases of beer. But we didn’t care—they were fun, and let me tell you it takes way more than a slight violation of a dress code to make a good party go down.