January 9–11, 2002 — My favourite plans

I’ve just finished doing my laundry. I hadn’t done it in awhile, and I didn’t have much else to do. So it seemed like a good idea.

It was just me and a middle-aged woman who looked like a math teacher in the laundromat. I left before she did, but, after arriving home, I noticed that not all of my clothes had been given enough time in the dryer, so she might have won after all.

Every few minutes someone would come into the laundromat and use the change machine but not the washers. One person fed a fistful of bills into it and then left. He looked a lot bigger than me and I wondered what would have happened if I’d pointed out to him the sign that has “Change machine is for customers only” written on it. But I just kept reading.

After arriving home, I wasn’t very good at negotiating the stairs to the second floor while trying to balance my wash basket. I kept running into the wall, and a piece of wood trim cut a layer of skin most of the way off of my left hand. But it was still hanging onto my hand, so when the cut started to bleed, I tried to stick the layer of skin back onto my hand using the blood. It kind of worked.

But now I should put my clothes away. I want to finish cleaning my room, too. Once I’m done that, I’ll finish writing this journal.

I have been feeling sick lately, but I started to feel better on Wednesday; the last three days have been my healthiest since I visited Ottawa in December.

I started Wednesday by printing out some résumés to hand out. Then I spent the day outside of my room for the first time in awhile.

I started by going to Ikea in Etobicoke, which is twenty-five or thirty minutes away by subway and bus, followed by a bit of a walk. The store was massive and a little bit creepy. There were looped recordings of announcements that kept playing just loud enough that I kept getting the feeling that someone was talking to me. I asked a few people how to hand in a résumé, and I was directed to a shed outside of the building. I made my contribution to the résumé shed and left for downtown.

I applied at a couple of other places. My friends tell me that I need to call back and ask to speak to the manager in order to show interest, but given the wall of forms (and sheds) that managers seem to like to keep between them and me, I can’t help but feel that they’d rather I not interrupt their day by calling to ask if they’ve had a chance to look at my résumé yet.

I finished handing out résumés, but I don’t know that I should expect much to come of it. Then I ate and went to see The Royal Tenenbaums, which I enjoyed quite a bit.

And then I went home. The studded belt that I had ordered was waiting for me on the counter, which was nice.

On Thursday, I hadn’t planned to leave the house much at all. I was feeling even better than I had on Wednesday, though, and I had some things to pick up downtown and a bus pass that I could borrow. So I bought some studs to add to my new belt and a sketch book that Andrew had asked me to pick up for him.

Andrew left for the weekend. I watched Swordfish in his room because I really had nothing better to do. (While checking to see that the title was simply “Swordfish”, I stumbled across this review. An interesting excerpt in hindsight: “Is it just me, or does the threat of domestic terrorist attacks and hacker crime seem like so much millennial, apocalyptic, pre-2000 claptrap?”)

Then I went to sleep again.

I woke up on Friday and listened to the end of Kerry’s radio show. A package arrived from my parents soon after.

I found, among other things, a Chapters gift certificate from my family inside the parcel. I was a bit confused (but pleased nonetheless) by their spontaneous generosity until I read the note explaining that my Secret Santa gift from my cousin had included several bottles of imported beer. My dad kept the beer and my family replaced it with the gift certificate. Which I’m more than all right with. (I’m sort of glad that I wasn’t in Peterborough to open it at Christmas, though — the look on my face might’ve betrayed me.)

The afternoon just sort of disappeared. Then I went to do the laundry. And now it’s 10:30 pm and I don’t really know what to do with myself.

I guess I should go and put away my socks.

Actually, before I do that, some general updates: Nathan is trying to get me a job at a juice bar on Church Street, and I’m going to call the owner tomorrow to plead my case. I’m also trying to get an internship at a magazine in Toronto, and they’ve emailed me a test to finish for Monday and to return to them. So, in an ideal world, I’ll have a full-time internship to keep me busy and a part-time job to contribute towards paying the rent.

If I get the internship, my attempts at starting an e-zine will probably be delayed. If I don’t, it’ll probably launch to friends in March and then decisions will have to be made as to whether or not it’s worth launching on a larger scale.

And, either way, I’m aiming to have that story I’ve been working on finished and printed for the beginning of February.

So, how long do you figure it will be before all of this falls through? Start your timers...