September 13-14, 2000 — Fragments

I think we're both getting sick of my boring life at university and the complaining that goes along with it. So enough of that; here are some random thoughts and events from two days of life.

1. A lack of common sense

I was having a shower and I remembered that I'd run out of soap the day before, and that the only available bar of soap in the washroom was one I'd left on top of the toilet. The way our washroom is designed, the toilet is basically a foot or two from the toilet, but there is a dividing wall between it and the shower.

I didn't want to dry off, get out of the shower, grab the soap, and start again, so I tried to reach for it. I pretended I was Indiana Jones reaching for the Holy Grail at the end of "The Last Crusade." Indy, of course, had the common sense to leave it behind and grab Sean Connery's hand to allow him to lift him to safety; I tried to reach that last millimeter.

By the time the force of gravity had taken its toll, I was on the floor, having banged my head above my left and right ears. I know one point of contact was with the radiator, judging by the noise, but I'm not sure about the other -- I can only assume it was the floor.

So I lay on the floor, wallowing in stupidity, dirt, and cold water, until I was sure I didn't have a concussion. Too tired to really notice the pain, I finished my shower and went to breakfast.

2. Pavlovian psychology

Johnston usually sets his alarm to go off after mine. But if he always were to set his alarm to go off after mine, I wouldn't be able to discuss the exception to the rule in my journal, so it's a lucky thing he was inconsistent yesterday morning.

When his clock struck 7:45AM and began to buzz, I immediately bolted awake, turned off my alarm, jumped out of my bunk bed, and went to check anti-greg. Then I tried to figure out how I'd woken up before my alarm, and how I had been completely convinced that my alarm had gone off. I checked three clocks during the course of my investigation, only to hear Johnston's alarm go off again (he'd hit snooze, and continued to hit snooze for about half an hour), thus solving the mystery for me. Still slightly annoyed with my body for being so quick to react to any old buzzing noise, I went to have a shower. (And promptly fell out.)

3. Tactile support

I've found that lately I've become too used to my body. Do you remember the first time you jumped off a swingset after an hour or two of swinging, and your legs felt like jelly? Or the first time you were caught in the rain, and the drops slowly crept through your hair and gave you shivers when they reached the nerves of your scalp? Maybe these things are only meaningful to me, but I'm sure you can something that used to feel incredible to you, but that you've since become numbed to.

I think I've become numb to too many things; walking in the rain today, I didn't get the same feeling that walking around Richmond in the rain used to give me. It used to make me so happy and do such a good job of proving to me that I still exist, but now it just seems... dirty and inconvenient.

Feeling sad by the time I got back to residence, I tried to think of things I could do to combat this numbness and to give me some sort of connection with the world. My hands and arms hurt most of the time from typing, my eyes are blurring more and more with each passing year, my ears never worked all that well (I was at least 30% deaf, last time my ears were checked), and years of allergies have numbed my nose. But I did settle on something, remembering my plan from one of my last nights in Richmond: spending more time without shoes.

I can't really explain the desire I have to walk around in bare feet. And I mean on city streets and to and from classes, not just in my residence building. I think it will be a nice experiment, even if I can't do it all the time. I'm going to pick a day next week and spend the entire day without shoes or socks. I need something to remind me that I'm here, and I think stepping on a few pebbles just might do that. At least superficially.

4. Voyeurism

I don't know how people like Ana Voog and that Jennifer person can do it. I start to feel self-conscious after all of 20 minutes with the anti-greg camera pointed at me, which makes typing feel so awkward. I've only turned the camera completely away from me once (to face my "Greg is a loser" nametag), but it's really difficult to know that it's there all the time. I wish I didn't know. In the same way that the people in the apartment building I'm growing fond of watching don't know.

I already know and acknowledge that most of what you see on anti-greg tv will seem contrived; in contrast, the people who live in that apartment building seem so much more real than me. And they're so tiny now, even with Kim's binoculars, that it's like watching ants running about. I need a telescope, to be sure, but I already am convinced that they're the best pets I've ever had.

5. Smiles

Back when I had long hair, I was invisible. I could look at people's faces as I walked around downtown Ottawa, and no one would look back at me. I'd mostly stopped doing that lately, as it seemed kind of rude, and there were people I could talk to, and not just look at. But this week, I've been feeling almost as lost as I did back then, and I found myself doing it again.

Only now people look back at me, or I catch them looking at me, and they sometimes smile.

This is unnerving and very frustrating. I feel guilty and awkward when it happens, and unhappy because I wonder where the kindness of strangers was back when it could've made so much larger a difference.

6. Censorship.

I had typed out a very personal story here, but I worried at the end that the person it was about might visit the site, so I erased it. Now you'll never know how I ended up this way.

7. Pavlovian psychology, part two.

I was wondering in a grocery store today what else I've been programmed into reacting to, beyond alarm clocks. I'm scared that I'll find something that makes me react without thinking, and that I'll find I'm racist or homophobic or otherwise intolerant and I never knew it. I wonder what society has done to me that I can't see in myself no matter how hard I look.

8. Teardrops.

I'm due to cry again. I can feel it coming. It's a strange feeling, and I don't really mind it anymore. It's a good release, and no one has seen me cry since that day on OC Transpo in 1997. I've become very good at hiding it and needn't worry about it. Of course, all I really need to do is rent "Iron Giant," since I'll no doubt cry at the end again -- I must have a sentimental bone or two left -- and be done with it. But I feel far less manufactured if my life can trigger my emotions, instead of a movie by someone I've never met.

9. Leaving.

I don't think I'll ever feel at home with my life the way it is now. And I'm glad, because I'll never have to say goodbye once I move on.

10. Dying.

There was talk of pulsars (dead stars with a huge density) in physics class today, and it made me think (as any talk of stars will do) about the statement that I can never remember the source of that says that every atom in us was once part of a star. This always makes me wonder about whether or not I'm making good use of these atoms. It makes me feel like a thief for having them, and I wish I could give them back.