Today I am invincible, indivisible, bruised as all hell but there is a welling in my breast that takes hope and love and the sheer exuberance (that seems to be in my nature, heh) of the stink of damp grass and turns into a perfume...
...almost as sweet as yesterday.
I raced out of here yesterday, late and stressed and racing for the Molson Centre for a graduation ceremony that meant nothing to me.
"101 ways to get your diploma revoked" - Jon and I came up with some good ones. From water-pistols filled with pig's blood to kicking the chancellor in the nuts as he turned to "cap" you...
(I didn't end up kicking him, but I did duck out from under the cap, so I can still feel somewhat illegitimate. Poor rector/chancellor/whoever dude looked so confused... ;)
From hurling paper airplanes made out of the bits and pieces of paraphenalia they handed us among the bristling-with-stress-graduates - to sticking my tongue out at that corporate sponsor dude when he noticed me reading a book through the speeches.
"From here on the world is yours..."
"... and Druss' axe cleaved into the giant's skull, and the swathe of carnage continued"
I may be paraphrasing somewhat, but the effect was delicious.
Not as delicious as Steven coming to my aid with "You must be so proud, she was one of the best students I've ever had the pleasure to teach" as my parents sauntered up. HAH! But we managed to keep straight faces and my parents prolly didn't mind my racing off down the hallway and ditching them in the crowd.
I showed up, one of three, maybe four students not wearing some hideous trim-lined trendoid suit - though I can't beat Jon's teddy-bear t-shirt, carrying a McGill backpack because it was the only one that could fit all my shite (imagine, the flowing robes, that bizarre shoulder-thingie, and a big red backpack with the name of the opposing university. hihihihi, the saggy lady wandering around checking our numbers was livid).
And me, in my worn sweater, handing out my e-mail address left and right, with "send me your CVs" becoming my mantra for the evening.
I felt somewhat of a whore, or pimp rather, but there was a hilarious irony in my offering jobs to the kids who spurned me for my strange affectations.
But what made me most proud was how little that part mattered.
The ceremony though, however ludicrous, imbued me with a sense of closure I wasn't expecting. Not additional pride, or sense of accomplishment, but a definite goodbye to the past four years of inanities...
It was good to shake hands with the last of the people that I never-liked-but-had-to-be-friends-with.
It was good to watch the master's students saunter past, and wonder if I could ever do it.
I think I can.
Then again, right now - I can do fucking anything.
Anything.
From anti-dyke-guy's subtle praise of my IQ (again - ludicrous but good at the same time) to shot after beer after shots in celebration at Foufs.
The crowd never over-flowed but there were moments when I couldn't keep track of who was left to hug.
I felt ridiculous being congratulated, but the subtle tongue-in-cheek "you're all adult now" had me in tears.
Somehow I don't feel like I have to be adult anymore heh.
But the height of the evening, despite Maria's always surprising beauty (she just catches me off-guard), despite beautiful Greg's gift of the hardcover H.R. Giger book that we fawned over and one day vowed to afford in High School (though once we could afford it we'd forgotten about it), despite despite despite all the glorious people who waltzed in wearing the msot dazzling smiles - despite all that...
Marc made my evening.
I was taklnig about Peter, how he'd told me he thought I wuz real smart (I can't repeat how Peter said it, my head's still reeling from a compliment from someone I consider aeons ahead of me in sheer brilliance) - and Marc turned around with:
"Now you see how it feels to have someone you respect and admire offer up compliments. It's hard to believe."
Waitamminnit. The single biggest influence in my life, the beacon of strength and brilliance and passion, and ultimately - if I hadn't been so desperate to be "one of the boys" just to be able to spend time with them - ultimately someone I *did* spend years dreaming about.
That guy. The hero who I'm not allowed to address as such, respects *me*.
Me, the clumsy young upstart with the big mouth and never an intelligent thing to say when I'm around them.
Me, who's still dreaming of beginning to achieve an inkling of that strength.
We went out for the age-old-nearly-forgotten tradition of hot-dogs-and-poutine at La Belle Province afterwards, coming up on far too late for a Tuesday evening with too much work ahead of me - (which is speeding by, incidentally) and and and...
Oh, I dunno.
On the ride home John and I ranted about Marc. One day I want to be able to turn around and show him how mind-bogglingly perfect he is. The way he did for me, periodically, every handful of months when my resolve was beginning to lag.
He'd fix me with his fierce glare and throw another Inescapable Truth at me that I wonder how I'd overlooked all that time.
And then John tore into me.
John's Patented Method of making sure I register a lesson.
Only Marc can say something so devastatingly brilliant that my head will snap around at the sound of it.
John, as he is wont to do and as he very much enjoys doing - uses the little tricks of the trade that we've learned together.
The subtle methods of berrating, of belching out a compliment that wannabe martyrs like me bow our shoulders to until we realize someone just said something *nice*.
"Fuck it, don't you dare ever take up bike mechanics, cuz I can't handle the competition."
"Yeah, fuck you too cunt, oh waitamminit I see what you're saying..."
I can't repeat it here, it doesn't feel right iterating over them to myself.
But I can feel it with every breath I take, and suddenly, I am invincible.
And brilliant and motivated and creative and beautiful and the whole "all the tools you need" package.
And I am in love.