Thursday's Child Has Far To Go

As the familiar setting of the misty place coalesces around the Weaver, a fairy tale voice can be heard singing.

Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is one of woe
Thursday's child has far to go
Friday's child is honest and giving
Saturday's child works hard for his living
And the child that is born on Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

As the last of the nursery rhyme fades, a scene appears in the mist. At first, it's hard to distinguish anything but vague images. Then it becomes apparent that the image of a field is hard to distinguish because there's an icy fog the same colour as the mist blanketing everything. A light, drifting snowfall further obscures things, so that the final image depicts a hazy outdoor scene of a field, fenced in some area by a simple low wooden rail. The occasional run down shack or tree appears from out of the mist, but any further than ten feet in the distance before everything is swallowed by the swirling grey-white.

Weaver: This is my world right now.

Voice: Your own personal world, or Calgary?

Weaver: Well, no Calgary, really. It's more in the country where I live. Isn't it gorgeous?

Voice: Gorgeous to look at, maybe. It doesn't look like it would be fun to drive in.

Weaver: I never said it was. And it's horribly cold, terribly unpleasant, unbelievably slippery, and absolutely gorgeous. I can slide on cement with my combat boots on. Better than on the ice, actually. And the school keeps refusing to close for a snow day, so I've been out and about in it for a while.

Voice: So you're still in school, eh?

Weaver: Yeah... Mostly for English class, which is what I'm in right now. Although I'm lost in the project we're doing, so I will devote my weekend to doing that and instead took this moment to describe the way the weather is now, before I forget it. Unfortunately, I can't properly enjoy the beauty because my uterus feels like it's about to explode. Also, I'm hungry.

Voice: Bitchy, bitchy...

Weaver: Hey. You've never had PMS so don't get on my case about it. At least I'm not teary-eyed anymore. And with my period set to drop any second like some kind of suspected terrorist attack, at least I got to spend some time with Kellin last night before the big sploosh. Ugh... I hate this curse of womanhood sometimes.

Voice: Especially since you have no intention of getting pregnant anytime soon.

Weaver: EXACTLY! Which is why I'd like to go on the pill. Stupid condoms and stupid periods...

Bahahaha... Mr Dearden just stood on his head (I kid you not) and screamed that periods and commas go "OUTSIDE THE GODDAMNED QUOTATION MARKS!!!". Like that. He started off with "This is a very special day... this day marks the ten billionth time that I've corrected someone's paper and have them not understand that the punctuation goes outside the quotation marks. Do I have to stand on my head... *attempts several times before succeeding* and tell you guys... *Continues as mentioned above*

As we just kill ourselves laughing.

Especially when he came down and his head was redder than a tomato for his efforts.

Whee...

Lah.