october 26, 2000. I'm bagged. Totally wiped out. I'd like to start an exercise program to raise my energy level and increase my strength (decreasing my waistline wouldn't be too bad either), but I can't think of a comfortable way to integrate myself into the possibilities. I suck at sports, so I don't want to humiliate myself. Exercising at home tends to lose its fascination before it makes any difference. And the athletic facilities here are geared towards a school that actually wins matches & tourneys - far too much chance of humiliation there. I just don't know what to do. What I really need, of course, is a mentor. Someone fun, to keep me at it, to gently encourage my efforts and to encourage regularity. I want a strong heart and strong bones. I want the energy to go-go-go past 6 p.m. every day. And not to be too superficial, I want upper arms that don't squish and a tiny little wraith waist. But what I really want is a friend to ease me into the whole thing with gentleness. I'm a weak little nerd, trying not to look foolish. Please nurture my dreams of sinewy athletic proficiency. This is turning into a strange little ride here in the department of ed. Classes end in 2 ½ weeks, so all the final summative projects are soon coming due. I find myself having conversations that include the phrase, "we're doing the what now?" with alarming frequency. "Return to High School, featuring that headbanger hit: Didja study for the test? (what test?)" Petra is coping by not doing any of the assigned reading. I, on the other hand, am doing my last-minute best to keep up with things. I'm doing alright, too. Yesterday I was shocked to discover that a resource for an assignment due this morning was unavailable online. Horror! But at 10:30 p.m., one can't run to the library & make it all better. I resigned myself to brutal honesty, no matter what manner of arcane punishments I might be forced to endure at the hands of my education instructor. Fortunately, most ed professors care more for honesty & effort than for strict adherence to due dates. Weirdos. I'm still pretty damn lonely, but it helps when my peers profess love for Richard Marx & the theme from the Facts of Life (sorry, Amy, but it really shouldn't be presented as a great song). I remain intrigued by a few contemporaries, despite 8 weeks of class (I've been compared to a box turtle in terms of general sociability. Miss Congeniality I ain't.) The Anti-Stephen is still a puzzle, although I learned today that he likes reading Chaucer while drunk. Definite social possibilities there. And there's a chap from Ottawa that seems disarmingly kooky: plays drums, wears lots of corduroy, rants about Wal-hyphen-Mart. Again, I see something there that might happen. But as of now it's all hope & mirrors - no, I mean smoke & fears. Whatever. Both. God I miss the happy days when I was firmly woven into a social fabric. "I'd vote for the Conservatives if they'd change their name to the PVC Party of Canada." "Hey, I could be a candidate...wear the pants...come out to Suede's 'My Insatiable One.' " "I don't think Canadian politics is ready for something like that." "No, probably not." - election talk in the rockethome Tangent: I love my PVC pants. I don't get to wear them anywhere anymore, but I still love them. I love the way they stick to my legs, making every night an event. (No matter what kind of night I've actually had, the fact that I have to peel my PVC pants off my body always makes me feel like I've done something borderline orgiastic.) I love their oil slick shine. I love the way they make the Boy blend into the crowd during fetish nights. I just love everything about them. It's too bad that I can't wear them to class - that would really help my fledgling social life. (Ha.)