And Thursday is like Friday

The one day I don't bring a book to work is the day I have the most opportunity and desire to read. Fuck it.

Apparently I have tomorrow off because it's Good Friday. I was to be given my choice of Catholic Good Friday or Orthodox Good Friday, but the fact that I have a car maintenance appointment for tomorrow morning made my decision for me. I was prepared to give the old "I'll be a couple of hours late getting to work," but there is apparently no need now. I don't even know if anyone is keeping track. I hope no one is. But I don't care.

Nomen mihi est Nihilism!

That's all the Latin I remember from my first year at McGill, and that was from the first day. I have no recollection of anything after that. I do remember forgetting the name of a classmate and trying to figure out some way she would tell me without me having to divulge that I'd forgotten it. She never told me. I never asked. This wouldn't have been a problem if we'd had Facebook back then, or if I'd never taken Latin in the first place.

Actually, a lot of problems would not have occurred if I'd never taken Latin. Obviously, I can't think of any, meaning this situation is ripe for my own "It's a Wonderful Life" moment:

Clarence: Do you want to know what would have happened if you'd never take Latin?
Dave: Sure.
Clarence: You'd have taken some other language, maybe Ancient Greek, and you'd have gotten a C+ in that.
Dave: I got a C+ in Latin, too, so my GPA would have stayed the same. What else would have changed?
Clarence: Nothing. You'd still be on this bridge in a snowstorm, contemplating suicide.
Dave: I thought I don't believe in fate; why am I writing a mini-play on my blog that suggests the existence of fate?
Clarence: I don't know, but if I don't get my wings I'll push you in the river myself.

While we're on the topic of mini-plays (shut up, we are so on the topic and you know it), I'll include this one. I don't feel like typing out the whole story, so I'll copy and paste what I put in an email to Laura yesterday. I had this exchange with my building superintendent as I was getting into my car to leave for work yesterday morning:

Super: Morning.
Dave: Morning.
Super: The building owner saw this scratch on the building and wants me to fix it and charge you for it. It's ok, I won't charge you, just be careful in the future.
Dave: But I didn't cause that scratch.
Super: I can see the white paint on your car and the green paint on the scratch on the building.
Dave: That white paint is from this tiny scratch on the building, and that up here isn't green paint, it's gray like the car in the next parking spot. She's a terrible driver and she's always encroaching on my spot.
Super: It's ok, I'm not charging you!
Dave: But I didn't cause the scratch! Look, the scratch is a foot higher than my bumper even reaches.
Super: Just be careful in the future.
Dave: Here, let me back my car up and I'll show you that I couldn't have caused the scratch.
Super: I'm not charging you, just be careful in the future! [Super quickly walks into the building. Dave is left fustrated at the unjust accusation and the fact that his neighbor gets away with it again. Dave would describe his situation as Kafkaesque, but he is now late for work and not thinking clearly.]

I know the play doesn't start in media res (that's Latin, too, but I picked that up in high school), but if I wanted to start in media res I'd have to take out the first two lines, which in my opinion offer an important starting point for our characters' arcs.

Later I was talking to Laura on the phone. The end of our conversation went something like this:

Dave: Have fun writing your essay.
Laura: Have fun plotting vengeance against your neighbor.
Dave: Actually, I was thinking of going to the movies, but I suppose I could fit some vengeance in there. Vengeance is like Jell-o: there's always room for it.