May 15th

This was an odd Wednesday. The start of my day was somewhat interrupted and caused me to be in a bit of a rush for my first class. Turns out it was cancelled. Ok then to the library! I became bored of reviewing Catholicism and decided to explore the English literature section for some Lewis Carroll. No such luck. Gosh darnit! Instead I grabbed a book of English Ghost Stories. That satisfied and even contained my favorite spooky tale; The Monkey Paw. Wishes always backfire, Goosebumps and dead man's tales hammer that lesson home.

After sifting through supernatural plots Nursery Rhymes began. This session we analysed the short story of Patricia, Edith, and Arnold. It's a good read and has a fantastic weave of adult and child perspectives on a dramatic crisis. There are few nursery rhymes references as well, just to boot.

Then trouble occurred. Alright I'm going to be a diva about this, forewarning. So a few weeks ago Mama Duck or Michael Hauchecorne assigned the final exam project for his Creative Writing class. It was to write a paper (surprise there) that takes place in the Antarctic Ocean where something dramatic happens. Conflict, the key to storytelling. Kate and I decided to play around with the assignment (which was allowed in English) just because we weren't in a serious mood that day. Hers involved a complaining 24ish year old who was on a southern expedition because she loved penguins so much. Mine was about a crew member who went insane and burned everyone alive because the captain threw his radio overboard. Again we weren't taking it seriously.

Mama Duck seemed to love our stories and didn't have any feedback for us. All we knew was that we were supposed to "present" our stories on stage. Kay, that's embarrassing but we can survive that. Not exactly though, as we later found out. Six stories were picked from the class (mine and Kate's included) and everyone was divided into groups. The others were in French, ok. Apparently ours were supposed to be too. Sorry what?

We now have to gut and translate our stories into French because the audience (which apparently involves children) isn't bilingual. Mama Duck you told us in the beginning that we were allowed to compose our stories in English and perform them in English. What the hell?! Now I have a group of people who have to help translate a story that is in very fluid and relaxed English into French in a matter of days. That's not fair to them or me. Yes I realize that too bad, such is life. Still, I can't help but feel somewhat cheated in a way. Again, such is life.

Kate and I decided to splurge on some fastfood, we were not in the mood for healthy fixins. Upon returning to the dorm the studying (writing for Kate) began. We were doing a decent job of it too when we somewhat became distracted. Our friend Paula discovered the chaos we had digitally left behind on her news feed. Kate and I decided to send each other over one hundred messages on a single facebook status. She was hyper from caffeine, I was hyper because I was studying Catholicism and needed a form of rebellion. It happens. Still happy I'm Methodist.