All Quiet on the Weekend Front

No news today. Go back to bed; everything is ok. It's just Sunday, son.

Actually, I'm sure there is news, I just haven't bothered to check yet. Somehow I've managed to avoid all my primary news aggregators in favour of just drinking a cup of coffee and going over a bit of sleepy political commentary and my friends' blogs.

It's a Sunday, but it doesn't really feel like a Sunday, not yet. Yesterday, the day of the Postmodernist Literature exam, was the worst case of mistaken identity for a weekday I've ever experienced - rather than feel like the beginning of a weekend I thought we were smack-dab in middle of a busy school week.

Of course confusing a weekday with another is only ever a small step away from the moment you realize that time is slipping by pretty quickly. I'm reaching the end of my third year of university, with less than a week to go until I jet back to dear old Aurora and my dear old summer job. This leaves me one full year left at Brock, assuming I can fulfill all the required credits and get into a decent post-grad school once I finish.

And I'm still only 20. I dislike facing the fact of my youth sometimes, especially when so many of my friends are older than I am. The joy of university, and I'm sure I'm not the only person to have found this, is that age is no longer as powerful an identifier as it once was. Of course, there are a number of aspects of university that set it apart from where we've been before. By the time I graduate, I'll be a middle-aged 21. Which, I guess, is only young comparitively speaking. 50 years ago I would have been making plans to get married in a year or two, have myself set up with a job.

None of this is really new. It's a favourite discussion amoungst all my friends because I think it's a universal worry. If not a worry, at least a universal tickling-thought that never quite goes away. We're concerned with having the next step planned, and although our world is much more flexible than it used to be, the nerve to toy with that flexibility, I think, has weakened.

Now I'm starting to get all self-reflective and I don't want that. Bring it back.

A big thank you, by the way, to everyone who came out for the Thai dinner last night. I'm sorry that we missed a few of our other classmates and friends, but it's to be expected at such a busy time of the year. You missed some delicious Gang Dang Chicken though, I'll have you know.

The word on the grapevine is also that there may be a Writer's Guild starting up? I like this idea as much as I fear it. I will say, though, that I would probably not shy away from sharing anything I write with the friends that I've made here, which is a pretty big deal considering how short a time I've really been good friends with everyone. I often get prickly when it comes to accepting even the slightest constructive criticism and I need to stop. I have a few poems that I could share, and I need to finish at least one short story by New Years. My problem is that I have trouble thinking in narrative arcs. I would even considering posting a few of the poems here but I'm not sure it would fit the tone of the blog. Don't even mention the Facebook-posting option.

So that's me today. It's a quiet Sunday, son, and I've been left alone with my thoughts. Only one of my housemates is awake and he pretty much keeps to himself. I can hear him banging around in the hall and listening to his daily dose of hip-hop. I'll read over my African History notes once and then probably start to think about refilling my coffee cup. Maybe I'll even go for a run, if my iPod batteries aren't dead yet. Oh yeah, and it's my sister's 18th birthday. I need to call her, then call HMV to see if her CD has come in yet. My copy of Dubliners that I bought with Kari on our used book-shopping day is staring me in the face, because it just seems so perfect for a Sunday morning (and it would be if I didn't have to study).

Of course the tease of it all is that the summer months are perfect for this kind of mellowing out, but I always get bored so quickly when I'm in Aurora. I love my days off but I can never find anything to do with them.

At least in St. Catharines, there are always notes to go over.