6:00 a.m. is a strange time, I must admit. It doesn't have the romantic connotations of it's midnight brethren, nor is it as celebrated among the nightly restless as it's predecessor, 4 a.m., but it's an interesting hour all in it's own right. You start to see the reward for your labor; sunrise's first signs begin to creep across the sky. Oh, it's subtle, I admit, and often impossible to see. Especially when the weather is as ugly as it is now, but all the same there's something in motion.
I like the thought of that. Still, I can't help but glance at the little clock at the bottom right of my screen and think, "Is it really this early already? Where the hell did my night go?" Soon, I'll be back in classes and thinking "Man, where did the vacation go?" followed quickly by a summer break where I'll be wondering where the year went. Time is officially my enemy and I'll be laboring furiously to discover a way to pause it indefinitely. Collaborators are welcome, of course.
I think I'm becoming the ghost of myself again. I've been in auto-pilot for a long time now, which is a terrifying concept, I've never been one for routine and yet lately it's been one of the few comforting qualities. I imagine it's just so easy to fall into one and get used to it.
I have absolutely no patience for people anymore. Any little thing sets me off and I have no qualms with tearing into people, even strangers. For example, I was riding the metro and, while it wasn't that crowded there also wasn't all that much space to move about either. This was mainly due to a woman standing in front of the doors with about 10 grocery bags around her feet. Now, not only is this stupid as you force people to have to walk over it and possibly crush your stuff, but you also block the way for everyone. I'm standing next to her, waiting for the cart to stop so I can get off, and doesn't she cough right in my face? No turn away action, no covering her mouth, not even an apology. This woman just fires her illness at my face like a projectile and continues day-dreaming.
Now, I'm not usually one to care about germs or health-risks, but I am one for manners! This was downright rude and disrespectful. So, I tapped her shoulder, which seemed to surprise her since she sprang up a little. I smiled at her and, in as nice a voice as I could manage, said the following: "It's clear you were raised on a barn, but is there anything I should get treated for now that you've infected me? It better not be the plague, because I swear to god I'll burn down your house."
Now, granted she didn't understand a word of what I said, as I said it in english, but she certainly got the message that I was pissed off, because she offered me a Kleenex. Now, here I'm thinking "bitch, you have kleenex in your fucking pocket but you didn't have the presence of mind to put one in front of your mouth before you besieged my face with the black death?"
Or, as was so succintly put by Camelia, the fucking buses. We live in Canada. We get 3 feet of snow every year and have since the fucking dawn of time. Why is it that the public transit people are surprised by this fact every winter to the point that it hinders their service? Look, snow or not, people rely on your service. This isn't something you do from the kindness of your heart, nor is it a priviledge, it's something we sink millions of tax dollars into annually. Where does this money go, exactly? What about all the cash we just blew buying your ridiculous opus cards? All that and you can't afford a fucking shovel and a window-scraper like the rest of us? My mother can drive a mini hatch-back civic in two feet of snow without winter tires on and you mean to tell me you can't handle a fucking bus? What, do you live in the metros like mole people and know nothing of the seasons? What really gets to me is when the bus finally does show up and the driver looks like he's pissed at you for making him do this. Listen, Jean-Gui Lafleur or whatever the fuck your name is, you've been riding on a heated bus in this weather while I stood in the fucking snow begging for the sweet release of death so that I could at least stop shivering. Kiss my frost-bitten ass.
When I'm done with the time-machine, I'm going to start breeding my own super-disease that will be highly contagious, completely fatal and uncurable. It's going to target everyone who is below a certain intellectual standard, anyone who coughs/sneezes without covering up, cannot handle a bus in the winter and scientologists.
Now, all that being said, I want to share something with you all. It's my favorite scene ever from what I think is arguably the best movie ever made. Every time I see it, I absolutely want to fall in love or develop a split personality so persuasive that I actually believe it to be a seperate person.