So today, I was thinking about how I haven’t paid for my textbooks that I charged to my student card yet. And how that could potentially be bad, and I might have missed some sort of deadline. So I check my student account. Confusion sets in. How could the university owe me one thousand four hundred and twenty eight dollars, let alone an additional two cents? Intrigued, I check each month for account activity, and discover that on February 27th, McMaster gave me a seventeen hundred dollar scholarship and never thought to inform me. I’d applied for a bursary in the fall, but it was denied.. though now that same bursary’s status is listed as accepted. Needless to say, my feelings towards this occurrence are far from ambivalent. Daidle deedle daidle. Daidle daidle deedle daidle dum.
I have also just had my first piece of writing published in the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper. Not the first piece of writing I ever wrote, but rather the first piece of my writing to be published in the silhouette. which perhaps goes without saying. Perhaps I should have rephrased that first sentence in the following sort of manner: A piece of my writing was published in the silhouette for the first time. Though that is also fraught with confusion, because it could imply that I expect this same piece of writing to be published additional times in additional issues of the silhouette. That was not what I intended to express. This is a one shot deal, although in the future, it is possible and perhaps even likely that I may write another piece of writing which may find itself published in the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper. That is not likely to happen until after the summer though, as the issue of the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper, which was just published today, with a piece of my writing in it yet not the first piece of writing I ever wrote, is to be the last regular issue of this current school year and although they publish a few issues over the summer, my presence in Hamilton during that season is likely to be significantly lower than it is currently, so much lower in fact that I should be in fact spending most of my time in London. That said, it becomes unlikely that any pieces of my writing will appear in the issues of the Silhouette that are published over the summer. So if you are looking to read something by me, do not attempt to acquire those issues of the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper. Really, if you are curious to acquire pieces of my writing, whether written for the Silhouette or otherwise, after coming to the end of this highly insightful and non-redundant paragraph of my writing, I should say perhaps you are the owner of a funny head malady. Which is not to say that your head is funny. But that you one crazy muthafucka. For those who may hold some level of curiosity surrounding the content of the article that I wrote for the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper, which I briefly discussed at the beginning of this paragraph, it was nothing far out of the ordinary, or even particularly impressive. Indeed it was little more than one hundred and fifty two words or so of dissertation concerning the quality and merits of a particular album that I was given by a strange man in a big coat who purported to work for the Silhouette, McMaster’s student newspaper. He was nice enough, but I wouldn’t want to bring him home with me. The album in question is none other than The Pangea Project. It’s decent but I wouldn’t go out of my way to find it. Rather, I would say that you would be spending your time in a much more productive manner were you to be reading this solidly written paragraph from beginning to end several times and appreciating the subtle nuances of pattern and pronunciation in the prose, perhaps eventually you would commit it to memory and then shortly after commit yourself into an institution where they deal with your type of person. But if you’re doing that, you might as well have some music on in the background, perhaps to distract you from the horrible monotony of your life, and this paragraph, and it would hold a certain level of appropriateness in a cosmic sort of sense if that music you were listening to was the CD that was the instigator of this ridiculous string of phrases in the first place, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t really matter that much to me, it’s not like I will ever know, and it’s not like that particular album is even especially noteworthy in any sort of way, so it’s rather useless to even consider the possibility.