Day 3

10:48 am: I wake from what feels like the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. This is surprising. The room I’m in does not have blinds or drapes and the sun is blinding.

12:21 pm: Buy guitar strings. Then go to a thrift store. Find a copy of Pierre Berton’s The Joy of Writing. It’s so funny to see “joy” and “writing” in the same sentence. Berton wrote an average of 10,000 words a day while working for the Toronto Star.

1:25 pm: Read the Vatican backs The Blues Brothers as a Catholic film. Okay, sure Vatican.

2:51 pm: Inside Superstore. One of the ones with a gym, hair salon, bank, and a restaurant. Like a city unto its self. I try to imagine (as I walk past the live crabs and lobsters) the kind of person that would shop, work out and bank all at Superstore. I am unable to come up with a picture.

There is a grey blank where a character should be. See a clerk that looks like Henry Winkler. Jesus, where is the quinoa?

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A Valentine Message to My Special Someone (Who May Be a Zombie)

I’m not sure how to say this…but I think we need to take a look at our relationship. Valentine’s Day is probably not the best time to sort out our issues but after last night I don’t think I can go on. My family doctor insisted on it actually.

Did you know a bite from a human is extremely dirty? People’s mouths are filled with germs. A bite from a person is likely to become infected if not treated right away. I’ve needed to learn these sorts of things after I started dating you.

It’s weird, but I seem to find large portions of my flesh missing from my body when I wake up in the morning after we’ve gone out drinking.  It hurts to take off and put on clothes when there is open wounds on your arms and chest.

Another thing: I used feel flattered at your continuous mention of my intellect. You’d always be talking about my “brains…brains” while you gnawed on my neck. I’m not that smart. But I’m smart enough to know when to end it.

We had some good times,

Fergis T. McGillcuddy

PS: My buddy Johan really digged your style. Do you want me to give him your number?

To the Quiet Broken Fridge

Soon our time will be over. Today, someone suggested I carry you out of here by myself. I politely explained it would too great a task and I would need help. Then I said, “I’ll only be able to do it is if it is in parts.”

I was serious. There is a hammer in the hallway.

The kitchen looks like you vomited all over it. There is a crummy feeling where the good used to be. Everything went bad when you walked away from our relationship. The kitchen stinks and I think you are a douche bag. Ruiner!

I’ll never trust your kind ever again. I should have known better. It’s not like your type hasn’t given up on me before. I naively thought you were better than that. I naively thought you were committed.

Though I hate to admit it, I’m finding it extremely difficult to live without you in my life. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t manage to survive without you. The bitter taste of your betrayal keeps me going.

Sooner or later I’m going to need to eat. That will force me to clean the kitchen…I’ll feel bad all over.

Why?! Why have you done this to me?

Sincerely,

Fergis

PS: I wish I could quit you.

To the nice people I’ll never see again after I stop going to college

It’s been great. I mean it. We have shared good times.

Lunchlady: Thanks for letting me have a big coffee even though the “egg on a bun” combo dictates a small.

Librarian: Enjoy the drum circles. I like them too.

Carpet Back: My girlfriend hates it when I call you that. I won’t anymore.

Bitchy Nick: Keep on truckn’. Whatever that means.

Mr. Johnston: Hopefully poisonous snakes stay away from you while you’re building schools for poor children.

Low-cut shirt Stephanie: The second floor directly overlooks your work studio downstairs. It amplifies the already thrilling perspective of your shirts. Maybe you should keep that in mind.

To everybody I didn’t include, simply insert your favourite thank you from the preceding thank you’s and call it even.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy