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6:00 PM. OISE Building. Room G162.
The moment is crystallized when the lecture begins. Among the hundreds of students seated in the north end of the auditorium, it appears that I am the only one left flanked by empty seats. It is a cruel feeling. With injury comes insult -- I am not permitted to ignore it. Out of the corners of my eyes are tattered, brilliantly banana-yellow vinyl atrocities of chairs, mocking me with their false cheer. As the professor rambles on, my back begins to ache from the poor ergonomic design. It is an introductory day to material I have reviewed before; but I let myself be numbed with boredom, to distract. There are lapses, though, and then ... never do I so desperately feel my isolation. So intense it is that it is almost a physical blow; I am a little sick, a little angry, and a little sad, all at once.
I want a face who wants to get to know mine. I want a bit of conversation, a bit of laughter. I want a goddamn friendly shoulder to rest my head on. On the streetcar home, I deliberately choose a single seat. posted at 9:43:12 pm
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2. As "Americana" defines itself as artefacts of American culture, "Gloriana" consists of the artefacts of my culture. home | contact | profile art blogging body childhood consumerism dream durr family fashion film history humour internet language lit nerd people poetry rant romance school sex social relations toronto ttc work 
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