I remember watching American sitcoms when I was in highschool (Friends!) and thinking about how cool it was going to be when I was old enough to party it up on spring break. I had these images of myself going to Mexico with my crazy cool friends and we’d all wear bikinis and go to dance parties and be on TV. This, after all, was what university was all about right? Parties! And being on TV!
Right. So I’m on “spring break” right now. Have been for a few days. And I am not writing to you from some posh resort in Mexico and I am not sipping a fruity beverage from a hollowed out coconut. I am, instead, sitting in my cold apartment in Ottawa, land of the never-ending snow, sipping cold twig tea and sifting through a stack of articles concerning women’s movements from around the world. What the hell? And I know people who are in Acapulco right now having the time of their lives. I know others who are in New York shopping and drinking and eating and BAH! I’d like to know where people, especially people in GRAD school, get the bloody time. Because I sure don’t have it. I mean money aside (which I don’t have either), how do these people do it?! In between researching for other people, reading, writing papers, reading, marking, reading, coming up with discussion questions, and of course reading, I can’t even find the time to make-out with my boyfriend for crying out loud. God.
In other news, I’m on a sugar-free, alcohol-free, exercise kick right now. The goal of this is threefold: 1) to identify the source of my ulcer-like stomach aches, 2) to prove to myself that I do in fact possess will power and 3) to become a goddess-like picture of health. Ha. Every now and then I go through one of these phases; they usually last about one week and are generally kicked off by some sort of social event I feel I need to prepare for (my sister’s wedding, xmas holidays away, etc). This time, it’s my highschool reunion. Which is funny because I don’t actually think I’m going to go. I hated highschool with the passion of a thousand burning suns so why the hell I would want to go back for a fun-filled night of “reminiscing” about this time of my life is beyond me. But if I do go back, I want to look hot. Which is shallow and stupid and I don’t care. I’m able to justify it with goals 1) and 2) so there.