Tuesday, December 30, 2008

ThePeach has a run; revelation

Hi Sexies.

I know. I’m behind.

I’ve neglected you.

In a nutshell, here is what has gone on in the past 2 or so weeks: internship, writing, internship, no sleep, internship, COFFEE, 6 cover stories, around 12 clippings, one massive editor-made typo in my lede on the Saturday cover, one homicidal urge, one 8 hour train ride to my mom’s, zero available washrooms during said ride thanks to frozen pipes, one episode of kidney failure, one week in close proximity with mother, ten pounds gained (feels like), one entire giant bottle of chardonnay chugged between me and TigerCat on the couch Christmas day, one loud mentally disturbed person in the seat across from me on the 8 hour train ride home, three grunts emitted from aforementioned crazy, one failed attempt to stand up to editor, zero days off before I have to go back to school.

Ok. You’re caught up.

I had a bad day today. I was only supposed to work for 2 weeks at Universitytown Newspaper, but on my last day before xmas my editor made a subtle suggestion that I should show up on Monday.

ThePeach: Yippee! My last day!
Editor: COME BACK MONDAY IF YOU VALUE YOUR JOURNALISTIC FUTURE.
ThePeach: *screams*

So I came back, but I was going to put my foot down. Today would be my last day. Or tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday. But I was definitely not going to work past Thursday, bitches! FOOT! DOWN!

Fail.

I stammered with fear as I made my suggestion to the editor this morning over a large Starbucks breakfast blend. He didn’t say a word, but just fixed his piercing eyes onto me over his wire-rimmed glasses. The gaze burned. He waited while I gulped and tried to reword.

ThePeach: *sweats* Um, well, I…um…I guess if you’re stuck…I mean…I was going to go back to CapitalCity early and try to get settled before school starts…maybe sleep for the first time this break…but…um…*cries*…I guess….
Editor: YOUR LAST DAY WILL BE FRIDAY.
ThePeach: *screams* ok.

So I guess I’m working another week. Including New Years Day. This could seriously infringe on my plans to drink all the tequila in Universitytown and smoke all the pot IN THE WORLD and then dance in the streets at 4am to the music of my own making.

So, I was upset.

To make matters worse, there is literally no news to report in Universitytown right now, so I spent my day writing community briefs, aka no byline.

I was fuming when I got back to FauxHawk’s. He suggested a run would blow off some steam. I grudgingly squeezed my Christmas-enhanced ass into my new lulus and trudged after the hawk to the gym. I perked up when I got there. Maybe a nice, relaxing run would indeed make life less achingly depressing.

I stripped off my hooded sweatshirt, put my headphones in my wee ears, and pranced onto the nearest treadmill. I turned my head to the right: skinny poptart in designer workout gear. I turned my head to the left:

Editor: HELLO, PEACH.
ThePeach: *SCREAMS!!!*

WHAT THE FUCK. WHY, GOD. FUCK YOU, LIFE. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME.

I just don’t get it. My life is so tragically hilarious, it’s not even funny anymore. It’s predictable. Why shouldn’t my editor be working out on the treadmill RIGHT NEXT TO ME at the EXACT SAME GYM at the EXACT SAME TIME as me? Makes perfect sense.

FUCK.

At first I was shocked. Then scared. Then mad.

And then…something happened. He became just the middle-aged, balding man huffing and sweating on the treadmill next to me. He was just the old man in sweat pants, trying to get into shape by slowly walking hills.

And me? I was the motherfucking fit-ass bitch kicking his treadmill ASS!

Maybe the nice thing would have been to slow my pace out of respect for his obvious struggle with fitness. But I wasn’t feeling nice. I sprinted for 45 minutes, long after his 20 minute walk ended. I pranced along with my ipod, my ponytail bouncing, singing (mentally) to Journey. Don’t stop believin’.

He is my treadmill bitch.

I’m going to pay for it tomorrow.

ThePeach

Monday, December 15, 2008

Sigh; Meow.

Oh christ.

So, remember the day I realized that I dress like the homeless? The day I realized once and for all that god really only put me on this earth to entertain him? The day I realized that my future self might involve pan-handling and all the discount clothes a bitch can wear?

Well, today I had to cover a story at a soup kitchen, and who should I run into but my favourite homeless street-hag/future self? Only in Universitytown is one able to keep in the same social circles as the homeless. She was drunk and dancing around on the sidewalk like a feisty, garbagey-smelling sprite. Of course I interviewed her. I needed, nay, craved to know how my future life would pan out.

ThePeach: So, how long have you been coming to the soup kitchen?
StreetHag: Well, I been pan-ing for gone about 10 years...and I took to the streets in 2006...so...a long time, yas.
ThePeach: And how would you say the current economic crisis has affected your...pan-ing?
StreetHag: Well, I worrys about my cats.
ThePeach: You...have cats?
ThePeach'sBrain: *screams*
StreetHag: Oh yas. I have six cats. I worrys about how I'm gonna feed 'em, what with the economy n' all.
ThePeach: Six...cats?
StreetHag: Oh ya, yas. I started with just one but yous knows how it goes.
ThePeach'sBrain: *screams*

So. She also has cats. Of course she does.

I dress like the homeless and soon I will have a fleet of cats like the homeless.

Future self = not too far off, apparently.

Hold me. Meow.

ThePeach

Sunday, December 14, 2008

ThePeach and Universitytown: Like Gin and my Mouth

Hi, bitches.

It is exactly 1 week since I arrived back in Universitytown, and I have to say that it's going swimmingly. Universitytown and I go together like Britney and cheetohs. Like Gin and my mouth. Like Stephanie Nolen and South Africa (I might rip off your blog, MC, but I will always cite my sources. Heart.).

I'm sorry I haven't had time to update my blarg this week. I have literally been dying of stress and exhaustion, my laptop is still in the crapper, and I tend to pass out as soon as I get home from work. So...ya. Shorry.

But!! Work has been going really well! I really like it at Universitytown newspaper! They work me like an asian child in a boot factory, but I've been told this is what internships are. And luckily for me the paper just had a round of layoffs before I got there, lost about half of their newsroom staff, and yours truly gets to reap the benefits. I have had 8 articles published in my 5 days of work, and 3 of them have been feature cover stories. This isn't so much a reflection of my talent as it is a reflection of the decimated staff at the paper, but hey it works out for me. Clippings! Fame! *or not

But it comes at a price. I show up at 9am (I DO Fauxhawk! Fuck you! There was ONE morning where I was late and Hawk now likes to tell everyone that I don't show up before 10. Bastard). Anyway, I show up at 9. I drink at least 6 cups of coffee throughout my day. If I'm lucky I have time for a cup-o-soup at noon, otherwise I suck down a granola bar at lunch at hope it sustains me. It doesn't. I run all over the city to get interviews and cover events. On Thursday I had 3 events in the same day. I was at the paper until 9pm getting them filed. I go to the bathroom to lean my head against the toilet paper roller and take deep breaths at least twice/day. I read my words out loud as I type them. I'm not the only one. Journalists are a weird bunch. I work through dinner. I answer the angry emails and phone messages that disgruntled readers leave for me. I read the positive comments and weep gently. If I have time, I reheat my coffee. If not, I chug it cold and pray for journalistic brilliance. I file my stories, meet my editor to go through them and see just how many typos I made, and then fix the typos and refile. I stumble home anywhere between 7pm or 9pm. I am fed by TigerCat, otherwise I put on pjs and lie on the couch in a state of delirium until I can no longer stand consciousness.

But I like it. I like being a reporter. Here are some highlights from my week, good and bad.

Fame and Fact Errors

- I had 3 cover stories. I made a major factual error in one of them, received a series of complaints from readers, and had to issue my very first apology in the next paper. I spent most of that day convinced that my career was over and was ready to throw myself in the river. MC and Spaz helped talk me away from the knife drawer. The staff at the news room were sympathetic, bought me multiples coffees, and regaled me with their own tales of woe.


Technology FAIL
- On my second day I tried to file my story without help. I was very proud of myself. I managed to locate the group "For Wednesday" file in the communal e-files. I dragged and dropped my slain cop story into it. I leaned back and awaited my due praise.

Editor: WHERE IS THE INTERN??!
ThePeach: *screams*
Editor: I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU FILED YOUR STORY, BUT NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!
ThePeach: *screams*

Turns out that I had somehow dragged the "for Wednesday" file into my own personal files, which meant that no one else in the news room could access it. At deadline time, not a single other person in the news room could file their stories, and editors couldn't access the stories that had previously been filed. The IT guy had to be called in to fix it. We're getting to know each other pretty well.


Evil Presents itself as Elmo
- On Tuesday I got sent to do a story at the Zellers. At 7:30pm. I was supposed to wait to do an interview with the president of zellers. At 7:30 I met him and he told me to wait for him by the service counter while he did a tour of the store. This tour took him 90 minutes. The service desk had a "dancing, singing, talking Elmo!" doll turned on for the entire time. After 10 minutes of "Elmo will tell you a story!! Elmo is a monster! Elmo likes to stretch his little legs like THIS!" I was homicidal. After 90 minutes I was delirous. It was like being in Dante's 7th circle of hell. And, after all my waiting, the president literally ran away from me after his tour. Literally ran. I never got my interview.
Fireman Story Does Not go as Hoped
- I had a story about firemen on Friday. Firemen who posed for a fireman calendar. Hello, best story ever?? I wore my sexiest high heels that day and a low cut shirt in preparation for my interview. I pictured myself sauntering around the fire house, a line of beefy firemens following me around like baby ducks, and maybe we could all take turns sliding down the pole. In reality, when I showed up at the firehouse all I saw was a mentally retarded man washing one of the fire trucks with a hose. The fire chief informed me that all of the firemen were away at training that day. I was welcome to interview the mentally retarded guy. I left him to his hose and went back to work, head hung low with disappointment.


Editor Drugs Me
- By the time Friday rolled around I was pretty much dead. As usual, I was working late. All I had consumed that day was 7 cups of coffee and 3 timbits, so at 7pm I wasn't feeling too wonderful. I had a massive, awful headache. My brain was literally splitting. This is a problem when you have to write two more stories before you leave. I got the feeling that this was a common work hazard when my editor walked over and asked me why I was being so slow.

Editor: WHY ARE YOU SLOW??
ThePeach: *screams* I'm sorry...I have such a bad headache.
Editor: COME TO MY OFFICE.
ThePeach: *screams* Ok.

In the office, the editor opened a desk drawer and rummaged through about 10 bottles of pills before he selected one, popped off the lid, and handed me 2 white capsules.

Editor: TAKE THESE. THEY'RE CODEINE. THEY'RE STRONG.
ThePeach: You're offering me...codeine?
Editor: TAKE THEM AND GET BACK TO WORK.
ThePeach: *screams, swallows pills*
Editor: DON'T PASS OUT. WE NEED THOSE STORIES IN AN HOUR.
ThePeach: *screams*

The pills worked beautifully. I wrote my stories, edited them, and skipped to the car when Fauxhawk picked me up. Only in a newsroom would a drawer full of narcs be normal.


Weekends = Gin, Pot, Rape
- After work on Friday I decided I needed to make up for my week of stress and hermit-ing. The night started with a bottle of wine at dinner. Then it progressed to the gin at the bar, the vodka at TheCrazy's house as we sang karaoke, and the intensely strong pot at CockDoc's until 5am. At one point TigerCat changed out of her bar clothes and into a grey sweatsuit. She looked like a hobo. We made fun of her. 5 minutes later she ran out of the bedroom in a hockey jersey and sweatpants and screamed "I IMPROVED!!" TheCrazy and I also wanted to improve. I spent the rest of my night dancing around the house in a pair of man's gym shorts, a jean-shirt, a tie, and a cowboy hat. TheCrazy wore a lumberjack shirt, rugby shorts, one rugby sock, and a pair of control-top pantyhose on her head. At one point we managed to squeeze TheCrazy's entire torso into the pantyhose. We literally pulled them down to about her hips. She had to walk around with one of her arms stuck straight up, and we tore a hole around her mouth so that she could drink. I'm not sure why or how this happened.

TheCrazy took my boobs out. I saw TOP's tits, which are truly tits of power. At 5am FauxHawk took me home, where we ate an entire pizza and then raped each other until sunrise.

That was week 1.

ThePeach

Monday, December 08, 2008

ThePeach is an Intern Now: Day 1

I show up 20 minutes early. I am wearing high heels and dress pants. I have a large stabucks coffee in one hand and a copy of Universitytown newspaper in the other. The obese secretary in the leopard-print pant-suit tells me that my editor isn't here yet. I sit in the lobby and jitter with caffeine-energies.

45 minutes later the editor comes to get me. He is gruff and pompous, just like editors in movies about journalists such as Superman. He even has the thick-rimmed glasses and balding head. He shows me my desk. He gives me my pass-card. He gives me 6 press releases and tells me to turn them into stories. I turn around to ask him how to file stories but he is gone.

I poop my pants a little.

I file my first story. I try to print it but I jam the communal printer. It takes 3 people to figure out how to fix it.

I write my second story. I call my contact - a senior citizen named Myrtle - and she invites me on a senior citizen hike. I politely decline. Why do old people love me? I file my second story. Jam printer.

I locate the coffee cart. Highlight of day.

I locate the women's washroom. Second-most highlight of day.

I almost forget pass-card in bathroom and lock myself in weird hallway. Low-point of day.

I file my third story. It is about charity christmas ornaments. I chuckle as I write the sentence "to order a set of balls, contact the Rotary club..." Heh. Balls.

Realize I am only female reporter. Vow to be professional and competent and not fall back on feminine stereotypes.

Jam printer again. Fail.

File fourth story.

Editor: WHEN DOES ONE USE A PREPOSITION?!
ThePeach: Um.
Editor: DO YOU KNOW WHAT A PREPOSITION IS??
ThePeach: *sweats*
Editor: AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE AN ENGLISH MAJOR?!
ThePeach: I...don't...I...me...gin?
Editor: I'M GOING FOR A SMOKE!
ThePeach: *poops*

File fifth story. Succesfully use printer. Victory for feminism!

Editor walks in as I apply lip gloss. Setback for feminism.

File sixth story. Exhale for first time in 8 hours. Meet editor to edit stories.

Editor: WHEN DOES ONE USE STREET vs ST.??
ThePeach: Um.
Editor: WHEN DOES ONE USE HYPHENS??
ThePeach: Tuesdays?
Editor: WHEN DO WE USE THE WORD "YOUTH"?
ThePeach: *screams*
Editor: HEY, THESE STORIES ARE PRETTY GOOD. CONGRATS. WE'LL GIVE YOU A REAL ASSIGNMENT TOMORROW.
ThePeach:...what?

Finally leave buiding at 7:30. Get lost trying to find the exit. Accidentally go through emergency exit and walk into a snow-covered field, facing a lake, behind the building. Door is locked behind me. Treck through shin-deep snow in high heels. Curse world.

ThePeach

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Return to Universitytown: Part 1

Hi kids.

You have 1 day left to vote: http://cdnba.wordpress.com/vote-2008/best-personal-blog/

I've been back in Universitytown for 11 hours and I'm already fucking gunned. I love this city.

I start my internship at Universitytown newspaper on Monday, so I left CapitalCity and my darlings Spaz and MC early so that I could start my fucking job. It was very traumatizing to cut the cord and leave all of my j-school bitches behind. I might have cried in the street when I said goodbye to MC, and I may or may not have smelled Spaz's hair when we hugged goodbye for a month. A month!!

But. But! Universitytown is fun. I rolled in at 1pm. I hadn't slept in 3 days. I had been wearing the same clothes for 5 days. I hadn't eaten a real meal in a week. I'm not kidding. Yesterday I ate the following: a piece of bread (donated by MC), 4 cups of coffee, and half of a starbucks zesty turkey sandwich. I couldn't afford the whole thing, so I split it with TerribleInfluence.

In the 11 hours that I have been in Universitytown, I have done the following:
- been fed a real meal by TigerCat
- been invited for fancy "happy new job" dinner by TigerCat
- been lent a functioning laptop by TigerCat
- worked for 4 hours on take-home law exam (ew)
- consumed a vegetable
- slept for 45 minutes
- bathed my person
- put on real pants
- consumed 3 gins
- consumed 2 free rounds of shots courtesy of bar manager friend
- been offered free NHL tickets by bar manager friend
- consumed nacho serving the size of a beluga

And now I am going to saunter my drunk, nachoed ass into the boudoire and attempt to rape FauxHawk. My sexy "too welfare to eat" body should help that mission. So will the plaid thong.

Wish me luck.

ThePeach

Friday, December 05, 2008

Update: Library is Scary at Night

I'm still here. It's awful.

TerribleInfluence left about half an hour ago and now I'm on my own. I moved upstairs to "the learning commons," or the holding area for cracked-out students. I'm surrounded by weepy, crazy, caffeine-addicted youths like myself. It's like I stumbled into the netherworld. I don't like it.

At 11:30 I decided I needed dinner. I asked the chick at the circulation desk where I should go to find sustenance. She told me the only thing open was the basement, and that I would have my choice of several fine vending machines. Dinner became a bag of Miss Vickie's and a Rock Star. Shit-fuck.

There's a female janitor milling around, cleaning up other empty chip bags and abandoned energy drink cans. Someone is sleeping in the desk next to me. A black man just turned a pirouette behind me. I'm not sure why. This place is weird. I'm really glad I brought my ipod.

I have so much work left to do. The library closes at 2am and then I'm computerless again. I'll probably wind up wandering the campus in a caffeine stupor and wake up at 3pm tomorrow afternoon in a dumpster.

Interesting: the female janitor just tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had anything that I needed to throw out. I lowered my head in shame and pushed 2 empty coffee cups, a chip bag, and an empty rock-star towards her. She patted my shoulder and smiled sympathetically. Maybe this place isn't so bad.

Come back, female janitor with bad perm! I need you to hold me.

ThePeach

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Suicide Mission

Hi kids.

I don't have much time to update tonight. I'm busy having a nervous breakdown.

I'm just finishing off my first term of Journalism grad school, I have to complete two massive essays by tomorrow, I move back to UniversityTown Saturday morning - for a month! - because I start my apprenticeship at UniversityTown Newspaper on Monday, I haven't packed yet, I don't actually own any appropriate office-wear clothing, I haven't figured out how to pay my January rent yet, I'm out of food and all I've eaten today is a lean cuisine frozen pizza, I'm now officially completely nocturnal, and - pleasant surprise! - my laptop just officially off'd itself.

Seriously. It's dead. Moved on to laptop heaven. Or maybe hell, since it was full of lesbian porn. Right before it died it flashed that it now had 460 Trojan viruses - that's a lot of STDs, man. I'd kill myself, too. Anyway, it flashed the 460 viruses, was inundated with popups for about 4 hours, and then turned off and I haven't been able to revive it. I even gave it CPR. If I had a set of defib paddles I'd try those, too. I think the problem is that the laptop wants to be dead. You can't help something that doesn't want to be helped.

Anyway, I spent about 2 hours trying to revive the fucker before I declared it deceased and let go of its spirit so that it wouldn't haunt me with its unfinished business. I had a little cry fit over the 2 days of work I just lost, considered throwing myself in the river, but decided that I couldn't deprive the world of my new bangs. So I put on pants and left my apartment to face the world.

I'm currently using a loaner laptop in the library with TerribleInfluence. Although he might not be so terrible since he talked me off the bridge and bought me a large starbucks coffee, and is now supervising me to make sure I get my work done. He might be mad if he knew I was using the last remaining hour of my laptop loan to update my blog, but from across the table it just looks like I'm carefully typing my essay. I even have my book open on my lap. Maybe I'm the terrible influence. Life is a mystery.

Back to work. I promise to steer clear of the knife drawer.

ThePeach

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

She Bangs, She Bangs

This is what my head looks like now.
Am I a freak? Should I invest in some kind of knitted hat until they grow out? Or should I embrace my inner-emo? Start wearing lots of black eyeliner, pout a lot, and take a sculpting class to direct my inner angst into art? Cut myself? Keep a diary? Help me decide.

By the way, I'm not naked. There are tank top straps hidden under that mane.
On the bright side, I never have to pluck my eyebrows again.

Unibrow, here I come.

ThePeach
ps - vote for your favourite crazy whore - now with bangs: http://cdnba.wordpress.com/vote-2008/best-personal-blog/

TheHippie Contemplates Major Life Decisions; To Whore or to Mate?

Dear friends and strangers,

I’m not the best writer, but ThePeach has allowed me to guest blog because I need some serious help. I’m sucky at making decisions, so instead I’m going to let you all vote on my major life decision. I promise to abide by your democratic vote.

Lately being all grown up is on my mind. I’m starting a job that won’t involve me procrastinating all day in sweats and then madly write reports til 4 am. My mom is pushing the idea of me buying a house since I’m working while the rest of Canada is going bankrupt. I now listen to the CBC regularly.

My friends are also growing up. Sure, they have jobs and responsibilities and RRSPs, but mostly I’m noticing that they’re all in love. QueenB is nesting with her boyfriend. Tallfriend casually asked me what kind of bridesmaid’s dresses I like. Cleavage and TheCorporate have flown across the ocean to be with their significant others. So when I’m with my wonderful friends I think wow, I’m so happy my friends are happy! I love love! Growing up is awesome! Maybe I should look for a boyfriend so I can be as happy! Then I go straight back to wearing sweatpants and stained shirts in public. Unless of course I’m at the bar, where I sport the biggest push up bra and low cut shirt.

Last Saturday I was listening to Quirks and Quarks on the CBC while patiently waiting for my favourite program, The National Time Check, when something caught my attention. I immediately panicked and went straight to Google to find the most reliable source of information on this subject. A rip off version of ‘The View’ of course.

http://abclocal.go.com/kgo/story?section=view_from_the_bay/sex_relationships&id=6420862

So basically birth control is making me less attractive to guys in general ‘cause I’m fake preggers, and its also making me want to fuck guys that are similar to my relatives. And then I’ll marry said guy. And then I’m going to have sickly little MiniHippies with reduced immune systems. WHAT THE FUCK. If you’ve ever met me even once I’m sure you’ve heard my rant on how I’m going to force feed my children dirt and never wash their vegetables so that they have the strongest immune systems of life. Survival of the fittest suckas! But now I’m going to have pansy-assed little children with allergies and a constant cold. And then after all the birth control is flushed out of my system and is working its way into our lakes and rivers to fuck with the fishes reproductive systems, I’m going to not want to fuck my husband, but instead fuck the guys I should have been fucking in the first place. AHHHHH. This has been consuming my soul for the past 3 days!

With this new information I’m now also really concerned about my little sister and all of her fellow rap group members. Listen to their recent release entitled “Crush”:

http://www.myspace.com/therhythmmethodispregnant

Birth control is clearly messing with their smelling systems as well! We’re all doomed!! I’m so fucking freaked out right now!!! Our civilization is going to collapse in on itself!!!!

So with all this panic, maybe I should just stop taking birth control. Right? I should take out my Nuva Ring (because I couldn’t be responsible enough to take a pill daily), just be responsible, not sleep with strangers, and double up on condoms. Sigh. This doesn’t sound like fun at all. I really like being slutty, and I still feel like I have some good trampages left in me.

See how tough this is? To help you out with your/my decision, here are some pros and cons of stopping my birth control:

PROS: (I’ve pretty much mentioned them all, but just to remind you)
- Will find hot husband I want to fuck for the rest of my life
- MiniHippies will kick your children’s immune systems in the ass
- Similar to the non-birth controlled Exotic Dancers, I will attract more men, or at least get more tips
- I won’t be polluting our waters with my birth-control pee
- I’ll lose the 5 lbs birth control made me gain

CONS:
- I will probably end up with an illegitimate child conceived after a night I have little memory of
- That’s a pretty major con

Please vote in the comment area. My reproductive system depends on it.

Love,
TheHippie

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Attention World

I have bangs now. And no visible forehead.

Why do I get haircuts when my uterus plainly wants me to stay home and eat cookies?

I hope I don't regret this.

ThePeach

Monday, December 01, 2008

ThePeach is Nocturnal Again; Scared

Dear TheNurse,

It’s happening again. I’m becoming a woman of the night. A mole-person. A crazy-eyed psychopath.

It’s happening again.

Remember when we lived together during undergrad and I wouldn’t emerge from my room for days at a time? Remember how my eyes adjusted to the darkness, like some kind of raccoon? Remember how you’d come downstairs for your pre-work cheerios at 5:30am to find me quietly baking a piece of chicken?

TheNurse: *shuffles into kitchen with eyes closed. Flips on light. Opens eyes to discover Peach standing 4 inches away, peering calmly into TheNurse’s face with pupils the size of quarters*
ThePeach: Hi.
TheNurse: *screams*
ThePeach: Want some chicken?
TheNurse: MOTHERFUCK! You scared the dried shit out of me!! What are you doing standing in the kitchen, in the dark, at 5:30am?? Are you a bat now?? Were you hanging upside-down from the ceiling before I got here?!
ThePeach: I’m writing my research paper. It’s on schizophrenia.
TheNurse: *sniff* Do I smell minute rice?
ThePeach: I’m making dinner. The peas should be done soon, too.
TheNurse: Do you realize it’s 5:30am?
ThePeach: Of course, silly. WAIT. WHAT MONTH IS IT??
TheNurse: December.
ThePeach: *microwave dings* Ok. Good. I’m going to eat these peas in my room. See you tomorrow. *takes bowl out of microwave, walks into room, turns off light.*
TheNurse: IT IS TOMORROW!!!

Remember how I would work until 6 or 7am every night (morning?), sleep until 5pm, and repeat x 2 weeks every year during finals? Remember how pale I would get from my only natural light being the moon? Remember how creepily calm I would remain during this mania, how I would flatly spew out 40 page papers, but then fall onto the floor incapacitated with hysterical grief if I ran out of Alphaghetti?

It’s happening again.

But now it’s worse, because I have to go to class at 9am every morning.
But now it’s worse, because coffee makes me think sleep is my little bitch.
But now it’s worse, because I discovered energy drinks. My chest hurts.

Here is a rough outline of my day.

The sun rises. I thrash around in bed like I am coming down off a bad coke binge. I have been lying down for just over 1 hour. There is a laptop on top of my abdomen, frying my fallopian tubes into infertility. There is a post-it note stuck in my hair that says "eat a vegetable today". I’m dreaming that the cat is break dancing to “Faith” by George Michael. It is partially true, as I realize the music is coming out of my radio alarm and the cat is using my scalp as a trampoline. Coffee #1-3. Shower. 6 hours of class + 4 cups of coffee. Home. 1-2 hour nap. Wake up in a dark vortex. Unaware of time, place or date. Is it tomorrow? What is tomorrow? December? Why am I wearing only tube socks and a hooded sweatshirt? Call FauxHawk. Cry over amount of work. Pout and make dinner. Wash it down with either a red bull or a full throttle. Love life again. Call all friends to tell them I love life. Work until 2am. Decide to quit school. Coffee x 3. Work until 5am. Crawl into bed (literally crawl). Remove pants but not socks or sweatshirt. Kiss pillow with fervor. Embrace mattress. Mutter loving words to blanket. Heart feels funny. Sleep 2 hours. Dream of poutine.

It’s happening again, TheNurse.

You’ll be glad to know, though, that I am seriously going to cut down on the energy drinks. My life is hilarious and cruelly ironic, and I can think of no death more pathetic or fitting than a bull-induced heart attack. It might already be God’s final chapter to my life, and I don’t want to encourage him. But if I should actually pass into the netherworld, please print the following obituary: no more, no less.

ThePeach. 1982-2008. Cause of death: Full Throttle. She died as she lived.

Don’t be mad, TheNurse. At least I’m eating my vegetables.

ThePeach