I, Death

Tuesday February 7, 2012 - 10:46 PM

It’s amazing what a couple of good night’s sleep will get you. Maybe it’s all the fresh air and back-breaking snow shoveling I’ve been doing lately, but something’s working right.

I did end up going back to sleep the other night. I dropped off again at maybe half past midnight. Last night, I slept the whole night through as well. And I did dream, but it was normal stuff — none of the nightmarish stuff that’s been plaguing me lately.

It’s interesting. I saw Sarah today, and, instead of getting all freaked out and staring at her, or wanting to follow her, I just kept walking. Sure, my heart was in my throat and beating a million beats per minute, but I just kept walking, and I think I made it look like things were cool and I was over her. I should be an actor.

Like I said, a couple of full nights’ sleep works wonders.

The thought of actually being “over” her and being able to play that part reminded me of something, though. A conversation that Sarah and I had not all that long ago. Back in the fall of 2010, in November, I think, Sarah and I were driving back after seeing the last Harry Potter movie in Sudbury.

We were in her father’s 76 Impala — a brown beauty of a car with a convertible top. Of course, it was too cool out to have the top down, but man I loved driving that car.

That was the great thing about that car. Sarah loved to drive it, and so did I. It was fun, too, because when she was driving, I’d be undoing her front zipper and slipping a hand under the waist band of her panties, rubbing her with my finger while she drove. And when I was driving, she would either be playing with my nuts or stroking my cock.

That night, she was giving me one of her nimble and expert hand-jobs when the conversation turned to University. Sarah was talking about heading off to Carleton University in Ottawa. She is a brilliant writer and has always wanted to be a journalist. Ever since I’ve known her, she’s always loved to write. I’m pretty sure, in fact, that one of the only reasons I’ve taken to following the guidance counselor’s advice and writing these journal entries is because on some level I’ve equated writing with Sarah. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, writing this stuff gives me the sense of being closer, somehow, to Sarah.

It’s funny, too, because this Frank guy who leaves me comments from time to time mentioned that he thought I’d make a good writer. I guess I must have picked up at least a little bit of talent from Sarah and maybe it even shows.

Anyway, Sarah wanted to get in to the journalism program at Carleton, and I wanted to stay here and attend Cambrian College. I’ve always said that I wanted to take the ‘Heating, Ventilation and Air Conditioning’ program, but that’s just been an excuse to stay here in town and keep doing the things that I’m doing until I can figure everything out.

I’ll be fucked if I really know what I want to do. I need a few years of just living and not going to school in order to figure out what that might be.

They should make that mandatory, you know? I mean, how the hell does anyone who’s 18 know what they want to spend the rest of their life doing? College or University should start a few years after high school — give kids a chance to figure out what they want to do. It’s all too damned rushed. No wonder our generation is so damn fucked up.

But I wasn’t about to admit my reason for wanting to stay around here to anyone — least of all Sarah. There, see how that’s working. The guidance counselor would be damn proud of me, I think. I am admitting it now, and admitting it to anyone who happens to read this. So it’s not like I’m just admitting this to myself. I’m admitting it to the world.

Anyway, back to that night, the night we were coming back from the final Harry Potter movie. There was a scene in the movie about the School of Hogwarts that reminded Sarah about something she’d read about Carleton University. Something about the underground tunnels that completely connected all buildings on campus so that you don’t need to go outside at all. Apparently, if you lived in residence on campus, you could attend classes in your pajamas and never needed to take a step outside in the snow all winter. She thought that would be the coolest thing, and was hoping that she’d be accepted into residence there.