A few weeks ago, I was supposed to read two chapters of a French book for class. Instead, I spent three and a half hours reading poorly spelt and grammatically incorrect short English stories online. No joke, man. I am about as focused as a six-year-old with pixie sticks when it comes to doing homework, especially if an internet connection happens to be around.
I’d pulled my book out of my bag and opened my laptop on the table, fully prepared to pretend to accomplish something this afternoon. I am so fucking pro at pretending. Within minutes, I’d checked all four emails (including the one I haven’t actually used since grade nine), updated my Facebook status twice (“is doing homework.” followed by “can’t wait for the bar this weekend!”), and caught up with my daily horoscope (it’s weird how right the stars are about my tight budget). Then, the worst thing that has ever happened to my academic career appeared on the screen.
What I had done, was stumble upon a four sentence story about a grandmother and a “that’s what she said” joke and giggled. That was it. I read, I laughed, I clicked, and I wasted the rest of my afternoon. What I had done, was discover an online archive called MyLifeIsAverage, where nothing is average and Harry Potter fans are heroes.
By the time I reached page 37, my roommate was reading over my shoulder and the tomato sauce was burning to the bottom of the pot on the stove. Jesus, I have never wanted to be average so bad. Who were these people that had been tackled by grown men in bunny suits, had cats with ninja powers, or actually saw police men buying doughnuts? How would I ever get to be that awesome – I mean – average? All along I’d been convinced that eating cereal for breakfast, calling your mom on the weekend and getting the median mark on the midterm were more or less considered average. But no, this site had brought together just the sort people who had gone ahead and changed the very definition.
A week went by, and it became tradition at home to read the funniest stories out loud to those unfortunate enough not to be logged into the website themselves. Not that I really needed to hear it, of course, as I had gotten to the point of reading the latest submissions on an hourly basis. Twilight-dissing teachers made me smile, Banana-decked teens got me roaring, and online proposals had me cheering. I shit you not, I was addicted.
I was home, sick, from class one day when I realized that I had gone on yet another 4 hour binge on the site. I’d even gone back to the first of the 2000 pages, and was reading through the very old and very average, original submissions. Good god, I was no longer living my own life, but full out dependant on those of others; I had no magical cats, no prankster teenaged neighbours, and no boyfriend that I would ever want to propose to me with a pokeball. I called it quits, over saturated, and decided I would no longer count on my profs to credit me for the artistic merits of my doodles. I gave up waiting to be average and decided to be normal again.
Today, two weeks later, I was taking the bus home when I saw a man full-out sprinting with a massive, euro-trip style backpack. Brushing his teeth. And I smiled; finally, MLIA.
I’d pulled my book out of my bag and opened my laptop on the table, fully prepared to pretend to accomplish something this afternoon. I am so fucking pro at pretending. Within minutes, I’d checked all four emails (including the one I haven’t actually used since grade nine), updated my Facebook status twice (“is doing homework.” followed by “can’t wait for the bar this weekend!”), and caught up with my daily horoscope (it’s weird how right the stars are about my tight budget). Then, the worst thing that has ever happened to my academic career appeared on the screen.
What I had done, was stumble upon a four sentence story about a grandmother and a “that’s what she said” joke and giggled. That was it. I read, I laughed, I clicked, and I wasted the rest of my afternoon. What I had done, was discover an online archive called MyLifeIsAverage, where nothing is average and Harry Potter fans are heroes.
By the time I reached page 37, my roommate was reading over my shoulder and the tomato sauce was burning to the bottom of the pot on the stove. Jesus, I have never wanted to be average so bad. Who were these people that had been tackled by grown men in bunny suits, had cats with ninja powers, or actually saw police men buying doughnuts? How would I ever get to be that awesome – I mean – average? All along I’d been convinced that eating cereal for breakfast, calling your mom on the weekend and getting the median mark on the midterm were more or less considered average. But no, this site had brought together just the sort people who had gone ahead and changed the very definition.
A week went by, and it became tradition at home to read the funniest stories out loud to those unfortunate enough not to be logged into the website themselves. Not that I really needed to hear it, of course, as I had gotten to the point of reading the latest submissions on an hourly basis. Twilight-dissing teachers made me smile, Banana-decked teens got me roaring, and online proposals had me cheering. I shit you not, I was addicted.
I was home, sick, from class one day when I realized that I had gone on yet another 4 hour binge on the site. I’d even gone back to the first of the 2000 pages, and was reading through the very old and very average, original submissions. Good god, I was no longer living my own life, but full out dependant on those of others; I had no magical cats, no prankster teenaged neighbours, and no boyfriend that I would ever want to propose to me with a pokeball. I called it quits, over saturated, and decided I would no longer count on my profs to credit me for the artistic merits of my doodles. I gave up waiting to be average and decided to be normal again.
Today, two weeks later, I was taking the bus home when I saw a man full-out sprinting with a massive, euro-trip style backpack. Brushing his teeth. And I smiled; finally, MLIA.
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