Toots thinks about snow

As you may or may not have known, depending on whether or not you’re stalking me, I just had my second of three mid-terms the other day. My brain, which I have decided to name Bergerac, focused freakishly much during the whole thing and by the time I made it back to the station, where I wait for the bus to take me back to Hellhole, it had pretty much decided to take a well-deserved nap.

The ground below my feet was thick with snow and big, fat raindrops were bombarding it from above. I had my little, red umbrella in my handbag and decided that it made good sense to use it. On my way to the station, however, I noticed that I was the only one who had come to that decision. There wasn’t another umbrella in sight. People were wandering around in the pouring rain, looking like drowned rats, but pretending it wasn’t there. I have observed the same phenomena before, and have come to the conclusion that when there’s snow on the ground, people around here rarely use umbrellas, even if it’s really pouring down.

This, to me makes very little sense. I would think that the rain alone, not to mention the slushy cold soup that it reduces the snow to, would justify the use of some sort of body-covering condom-thing. Or at the very least, a little umbrella.

Eventually I got out of the rain and was sitting on a bench beneath the big, round station clock, where a lonely guy named Harold had written a message to ask if other lonely men would meet him in the bathroom on Thursday night.

That’s when Toots showed up. There are two little voices living inside my head. The first, which I simply call The Voice, is the one that pops up whenever and wherever to convince me to stay in bed when I should be going to class, buy chocolates when I’m shopping for cereal and that sort of thing. And then there’s Toots. Toots only turns up when Bergerac is napping thoroughly, otherwise it doesn’t get through the door.

I had just found out the hard way that there was a crack in the sole of my shoe. “Fungus likes to grow places that are dark, wet and body temperature,” said Toots, sounding pensive. Toots always sounds pensive, even though it clearly never is.

I looked up at the clock. The bus wouldn’t be there for another hour. I shook Bergerac a little, to try to wake it up. That didn’t work. So for the next 60 minutes, I got to listen to Toots babbling on and on about all of the things that are of interest to it.

I think that Toots might be one of the things that I dislike the most about having exams…

Cat by Jezz for www.Flickr.com

Head by o2ma for www.Flickr.com