Four Days Left

My Life as a Shut In
I can't really say that I'm a shut in, although on most weekends, especially now that it's snowing, I don't really leave the house. But it's not for lack of want. The problem is that in Veg, there is nothing to do, nowhere to go. The mall is a laugh - the place where decrepit smokers go to sit and watch their lives inch by and elderly shoplifters stuff the no name products from Fields into their purses and pockets - and other than that, if you're underage at least, there is no place to hang out.
KC is working (thanks to Kathryn - who by the way has decided to stop talking to us again - who doesn't like working weekends at the CO-OP Deli) and though Janelle is sick this weekend, she would be with Colin if she weren't. Susan is looking after her baby. I'm alone.
I need some more friends.
I wanted to call Caitlyn, but she's still in Mexico, and for four more days she will be. It seems like a waste to spend a five day weekend in Veg when I could be in Sherwood Park. Speaking of that, I won't be going home for almost two weeks.
Having run out of clean clothes two weeks into my month long Vegreville Adventure, I had to wash my clothes in the basement washer, which, when they came out of the dryer two hours later, smelled like the basement. The basement smells like garbage, and so do my clothes. I had to spray them with all the perfume I own to harness the stink, which to me, seems as if it defeats the purpose of washing clothes.
Good news: I finished my story for English.
Technically I was done a week ago, but upon handing it over to KC to have a read through (she asks that she read all of my work, I guess that's what best friends are for), I got a bad review. She said it was rushed, that there was barely any detail and that (though right now I disagree with the next point) Leigh and Barry - the main character and her doctor - shoud have had a moment when they "profess their love to one another" - her words not mine - and that I should have taken more time to do it better.
It was simple enough to say that I was hurt, though all of these things I knew were true. I thought that perhaps if I pretended not to notice the errors in my writing that others wouldn't either. After I got over myself, I admitted that she was right. When the weekend came, I spent most of Friday and Saturday to redo what I had done.
Forty pages and a very sore hand later, I had finished. It was something to be proud of - for a first draft anyways.
Next week we are supposed to share with a partner during class the progress we've made on these projects. From what I've heard, most people haven't even started theirs. KC hasn't for sure, but that may be because she didn't hand in a second proposal after Ms. Martin said that her first was crap. The only reason I've accomplished what I have (other than being on schedule) is that I was excited to write a story. But that is always the case; I find myself trying to find any reason to write a story in English class.
Ah well.
Now it's snowing outside. It's going to be cold tomorrow, which makes me glad that KC has a car.