...irresolute correspondence...

To a boy,

This should really be called a correspon-dance, because as always I'm just skirting around an issue. But for the moment, you're in your silly kitchen pretending you can cook (sadly, your pretend cooking is light years ahead of even my most realistic events), and I am typing up things I really should be saying (and cursing your fucked up Quebecois keyboard), and wondering if maybe I can just let Phil Collins could say it all for me? He seems like he'd be good at that. Why are you playing Genesis tonight, I wonder. It's not the music I've grown to expect from you.

Anyways - I'm not going to bring up any of what I'm writing about to you personally - the truth never got anyone anywhere. The truth is though that you announcing you were moving back to your petite ville jarred me as completely and as thoroughly as it did when I happened to catch you on Toronto street last year, when you got here the first time. Somehow, I got used to the idea of you being here, even though it isn't your home, even though I knew you really wouldn't make it something permanent.

In the past two and a half years (has it been this long?) we have both done personality 180's. I went from precocious and worldly student-come-adult to just an insecure, scared, emotionally unhinged student. You went from comic-addicted, music-in-the-veins barhopper to Grown-up Teacher with Bills and an Ikea Floorlamp.

The popular consensus is that I don't know what I want with you - that's a fairly evident falsehood. If there was any truth to it, I wouldn't have two dried roses (one red, one white; from different stages of being or not being with you)still on my shelf. I would love to just be with you, as much as I ever did. But I would love to just be with you two and half years ago, in a small town with two coffee joint, no movie theatre, and one sole bar with what barely passed for a dance floor.

I think I can safely say this is the last night I spend in this apartment, although you're here for at least another few months. I'll put some of this together in a nowhere near as eloquent goodbye-of-sorts, and at some point I'll probably quote to you what you obnoxiously sang to me the First Night at D'Artagnan's: "Je suis juste un garcon, et la vie est un cauche-mar". It will have little to no relevence, except for nostalgia, and isn't that the point?

Love,
A little girl.

...to the gates of Graceland...

Put on my blue suede shooes
And I boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the Delta blues
In the middle of the pouring rain

...comme une pierre sur le ciel...

God I know I made light of it, but it isn't light. I just saw the pictures from the aftermath of the fire, and it broke my heart. My beautiful house is no more. Structurally intact, the inside looks like a warzone. The walls are black, the kitchen, solarium, and dining room are (for lack of a better word) melted, the TV looked like it dissolved in a pool of radiation, the computers about the same. Nothing electronic survived the heat damage. The furniture on the first floor is covered in soot. My piano is no more, at least in any functioning sense. That crushed me. But all of these things are replaceable. The things that aren't:

My mothers paintings. All of them, including the Lady, the Sailing Raft, the Owl and the Pussycat. All her oils, melted - the frames burnt and deformed.

Our photographs on the first floor, graduations, weddings, my mother's father who passed when she was 17, Dai Bahman...

My new mission - fire safety. For the love of God, all you ungrateful, ignorant miscreants are going to be well versed in the mantras of Smokey the Bear. We are going to have lessons, maybe flow charts and diagrams.

(This is me making light again. Really, I'm just hiding my sadness behind a thick veil of amateur humour, even that which falls short)

In a couple days, I'm going to scan and post some of the pictures, and you will cry with me, and develop paranoias about making sure all appliances are turned off when not in use, etc. Are we clear?

...another roadside attraction...

The reason I cried this morning, memories and projections.

Was it the same for everyone? Did they all hurt that much?

...he's got a baby girl - good company...

His eyes went wide when he walked into the hallway, and then he touched my arm. "Hey, it's good seeing you here! How are you?"

I think my external self mumbled something relatively incomprehensible, before starting to chat with him about this or that. My insides meanwhile were screaming in bold, "Don't touch me, I love you" . This year can't end soon enough.

Other things you really don't need to know:

i) I am the Ice Queen, coo coo ca choo. No Italian will break these barriers. "But what if he really liked you, he just didn't know how to deal with it?" - Well, that's not my problem. I've babysat enough little boys in my life: jocks, Persians, Franco-Spanish music afficianados, actors... Italians are no different. I'm tired. He can find me when he's grown up, if he likes to.

ii) We were talking about murder, about many other things, very few of which I remember - but I think our final conclusion was that Santa Clause is a communist. Something to do with the elves working for love and resources, not money. And him wearing red.

iii) Note to self: If you are going to lecture your best friend about the perils of hooking up with an ex... practise what you preach. Restraint, girl - it's a word. Look it up. (Clearly, I am talking to myself as well).

...child of the gap, jap...

How is it possible I still want him so much.

I refuse to accept it.

...peace has come to zimbabwe...

Notes on a Friday morning, sleeping in:

i) A current love affair with Stevie Wonder, and Masterblastin [Jammin']

ii) Cardio at Hart House + Stretch Works II: If we can keep this up three times a week for the next few weeks, I will be happy. And wearing a very hot dress in 6 weeks.

iii) L is leaving me. Where does he get off, exactly? Moving half way around the world. I was so rude to him yesterday, because I was upset and he was confused - "What's the matter with you?". Sri Lanka is the matter with me.

Janet says, but think you can visit him there. I don't want to visit him anywhere, I want him to be in Toronto forever. Even though it's clearly stifling him. I'm so selfish - alright go to Sri Lanka, see if I care. I'll visit you, blah blah blitty blah. Phones, and email. But if you get married there, you're a dead man.

iv) How did telemarketers get my unlisted phone number that I only give to friends or people I need to reach me? How did they know to call me first thing in the morning, when I'm drowsy and not remembering my policy instituted last year of "don't recognize, don't answer"? How do I get to a secure zone where I can stop screening my phone calls? Ack.

...did she ask about me?...

I thought it would upset me more, someone being mad at me for no reason I can immediately grasp. Usually, these things bother me more. (And truthfully I am upset, just pretending otherwise).

But, I made one of those pacts. The kind where if you hurt me, or make me feel bad about myself, if you intrude on my life in a way that isn't called for, or is detrimental to me, then I can't care. I have to say be gone with you.

Even throw these words back at you: If you were more important it would bother me more

Even though it's a lie.

...speaking engagements...

He laughed it off when he told me on the phone, "oh you know, we just have nowhere to sleep tonight".

"What? Why not? I thought the insurance company got you an apartment".
"They did", responded my dad, "but it isn't ready yet".
"So where are you going to stay?"
"Oh, you know - with Mehrdad, or with Abbas. We have people, you know".

We have people. Thank god for that - my thoughts drifted to Sri Lanka and other people who's homes have been destroyed. I never could imagine what they had gone through, and now I have a little bit of an idea. But like my dad said, we have people. My parents, though their own home was ruined, have a place to go. How many are there in Sri Lanka who can't say the same?

I called into the Red Cross, made another donation.

This hasn't been a good year so far. This hasn't been a good week. I'm very tired, of everything. I'd like to stop now, okay?

...hot town, fire in the city...

So.

Tomorrow night I was supposed to go home and hang out with my parents. My dad calls me tonight and says I can't come. Why not, I ask. "Well, you see, last night we had a bit of an accident at the house. Uh... your mother burned the house down".

What?!

Yeah. She was cooking, the phone rang, while she was talking on the phone in the other room the oil on the stove caught fire, and that's the story. Sound familiar? If it does, it's because yes this *has* happened before, earlier this year in fact. Last time, it was just the front end of the kitchen and the microwave nook above the stove. This time the microwave had a hissy fit, said dammit I'm not going down alone... and took the first floor with it. Angry, black smoke coloured the second floor, and so damage is there as well. So, the insurance people have packed everyone away into a nice furnished condo for the next 5 months while they repair my home.

My parents are thankfully all right, and my piano, though a little singed around the edges, is also repairable and (thank the lord) fully insured. This could have been much worse.

By the way, the fire happened yesterday and last night my mother called at 10:30 and asked what I was doing, ostensibly to let me know about the fire. When she asked what I was doing, I said studying and at that point I think she decided to just let me study (marks are more important than decimation of home). I asked her why she was calling from my aunt's house so late at night (the answer now being completely obvious) - she said "oh.. you know. We were bored, we thought we'd all gather around and play cards".

I can't believe I didn't question that.

God. Do things like this *happen* to normal families?!?!

Then my mother adds "But you should see this apartment! The building has a pool, we can go swimming".

Yes. That sounds lovely. We can go swimming.

...et la fille danse...

Ow ow ow, who is that girl? That hurts!

...a love story?...

She showed me the picture this morning. "Hey", she said, "don't you know this guy?". I glanced down casually at the generic man in the picture, brown hair and glasses. Like how many other men in the city. "Nope", I said back, and looked back down at my text book.

She was insistent though. "Really, I think it's that guy. I'm sure of it. Look at the picture again". So I did, and this time when the dawn of realisation crept over me, it almost took my breath away. Because it was you, of course it was. A little thinner, a little smoother (facial hair was never your thing, anyway) and jeans. That was new. I don't think I'd ever seen you in anything so... mainstream. How could I not have seen it right away?

We now contemplate the nature of love - could I ever have been in love with you, do you think? I told myself I was. But then, I told myself a lot of things. When it comes down to it though, I didn't recognize you. I had to look closer, and then farther to realise it was you. At first glance I was convinced it wasn't. But squinting, with a little distance, the edges muddied - then your face started resembling what I had in my mind. And even then, I questioned it.

I thought about this for a bit, about what it means that I wouldn't have known you for a stranger. I wondered what would happen if we ran into each other on the street one day, and I still didn't recognize you. What does that mean? Maybe it means I loved you from far away, when your borders are blurred and smoothing over the ragged edges of your flaws and past mistakes. But thrust into relief, all of you in evidence, the image is too sharp with no noise reduction, and hurts my eyes, looks nothing like I remember.

Everything was illuminated. This was why we wouldn't work: because I loved you perfect, and you're too real.

...dissonance...

He was online even at this late hour, and seeing him there was this calming sensation third only to a) my mother, and b) Janet. So we talk, and he calms just by being himself, without even knowing that I am this close to breaking down.

Thinking about the future again, but this time a more immediate one, a future that starts in September. Turning my life into a mathematic equation, trying to find the perfect balance that takes all things into consideration into account. The variables: proximity to campus, privacy, convenience, maintenance of sanity (a correlate of proximity to my mother), and money. Some elements have a stronger weight, of course, and merit deeper consideration.

The solution - pending discussion with my parents, but I'm sure they will be pleased: I am most probably going to move back home for my last two years. I can keep enough of my privacy to be mostly satisfied there, will spend much less and by consequence save a great deal, have less distractions and do better in school, be close to my parents which seems to be more necessary than ever these days as my head is ever less in the game, and with both parents working downtown will not be much difficulty in commuting to school.

The drawbacks of course are living in Thornhill again, the thought of which doesn't thrill me. Also, the fact that I will not spend as much time with my friends, living so far from them. But it will make applying for a teaching aide position at TSS easier, will have me closer to Rachel, might motivate me to finally get my damn driver's license, and will enable me to save a lot of money. Did I mention being close to my mom?

I'm such a suck. The world around me is getting heavy again, and I just want my mommy. I'd also like to be able to sleep every now and again, but maybe I'm asking too much there. I'm awake again, aren't I?

...alizador de risos...

Looks like everyone was wrong: Kevin Costner isn't through playing baseball players in movies.

God help us all.

...it screams pink...

Is this how Sunday's are supposed to be? So calm and time going so slowly you find yourself having blogged 5 times in one day?

We revert to the use of blog as emotive bulletin board and psychotherapist - my parents closest friend has just been diagnosed with a very aggressive, high grade form of bone cancer that has us all terrified. Terrified and devastated, because it seems very immediate. When my uncle was diagnosed with lung cancer several years ago, it didn't seem as pressing because he had a few more years afterwards. This doesn't look like it will play out the same. Within three weeks of diagnosis, we are already now seeing metastasis to the lungs.

For all you non-medicals out there, that is a very bad sign.

I'm very afraid, and very sad. I want us all to go see him right now, because I'm afraid otherwise that I might not be able to.

Talking to a boy this morning about what you do when life gets you down - read about the Random Acts of Kindness in the Toronto Star. But what do you do when even that doesn't cut it?

...vive le roi!...

And so it begins again...

Once more we return to that lovely time of year that signifies the ending of my culinary freedom. Limits are in place, all systems are go. We now stand two months to the day of Ferdawsi. This year, for some reason, my parents have decided to attend as well and so the entire extended family will be in attendance, the tickets have been purchased, and the tables ordered. My typical preparations are underway as of this week - we will buy a dress in the desired size, and come hell or high water we will lose what we must to fit into it. The more expensive the dress, the more I end up trying to fit into it, the less lazy I get with thoughts of "well I could always wear that other one..."

Speaking of dresses, I saw a gorgeous one in Mendocino and I have it on hold until I can take my mother down to approve.

Man I love this party. I live for it every year. It's the ultimate snob fest, biggest collection of Persian gens a chichis in the city, but good food, great music, and lots of fashion makes it worth every penny (and pound). With Morteza singing this year, I am in high states.

...play it again! bis!...

The latest in American intentions for action in Iraq comes from the BBC - a plan to use robot soldiers to fight insurgents. 18 of these robots are being sent, where they will be remote-controlled by soldiers viewing with mounted cameras the action occurring half a mile away.

The idea is that the US can use these robots - who require no food, water, supplies, or pensions - to fight their enemies with much less risk to US soldiers, greater efficiency and speed, and less shooter error. The result is an ever greater desensitization of war.

To me, this image of an American soldier standing watching camera footage, and controlling a robot with a joystick and remote control brings war to the level of a video game. I am so incredibly offended by this because war is not, in fact, a game. This move is an action motivated by the bottom line, and reeks of callousness and cowardice, two things which seem to often go hand in hand. While Iraqi nationals will be risking their lives and fighting for their lives and their nation, a cocky American pup will be running his little robot like at a video consul.

...a tiresome endeavor...

I'm still wearing the woolen socks my grandmother knitted for me when I was 6, the ones I tugged on last night at around 2am. When I crawled into my roommate's bed to explain and rant and make her read what I had just read, I was physically shaking. Because I was cold, certainly but also because I was just utterly wierded out and more-than-it-merits upset. Decision reached? I've paid my dues, don't gotta take this shit, am cutting, is cut. A nicely typical decision for me, have had lots of practise. Easy peasy.

I'm sure the socks helped because I fell into a deep sleep where I didn't think about it at all, and woke up at 1pm woefully late in my plans for the day. In the next two hours somehow I must get dressed and ready, find my way to Pomegranate restaurant and pick up some food for my mother's party that she asked me to get. Then I must find a missing in action scenester who I'm taking with to the boonies. Oh Miss Lizzy, why can't you just stay in one place?

I swear I need to put a collar with cow bell on that girl.

...patently crazy...

When in the midst of a severe weather alert, winter storm warning, and wind chill warning, take the way home with the least number of uphill treks. Otherwise, as today with me, you might see your car starting to roll backwards as you're trying to drive up and forward. Which leads to all sorts of problems, not to mention increased insurance premiums.

Let's all move to Fiji, kay?

...a simple crazy thing singing in the snow...

It came into the store today, and within fifteen minutes of Morgan bringing it to me, I had bought it, opened it, and begun reading it, surreptitiously, hidden in the cubby of the lower kids kiosk.

Girls in Pants. The third book in the Traveling Pants series, which is my addiction, vice, and love.

I ran through it, barely stopping to catch my breath, having to find the barest tenuous balance between taking every enjoyment out of the book and devouring it thoroughly and racing to the end. The end was Perfect - it has to be this capitalized. And Farnam must forgive me for betraying this one element of the book before she has read it, but it must be said: my character has a Happy Ending! Also, fully and truly capitalized.

My character for being the one I most relate to, the one I seem to resemble the most. Who became as a living person in my head, and who I worried over for the months between the publication of books two and three. Her happy ending soared tangibly through me, and I thought maybe it could be mine, too. I can have a Happy Ending through a fictional creation.

In a strange way, it seems to make sense to me, if only because in the real world, any concept of happy ending seems to me just as much of a fictional creation.

...crashing...

My mother allegedly woke me up at 7:30 this morning, but I crawled out of bed a couple of minutes ago and it's almost 10. This morning sees me going to Thornhill maybe (if I can get out of here in time), helping Rachel on her philosophy essay maybe (if she wakes up in time) and then heading back downtown to work. Post-work there will be Lizzy outage maybe (if she doesn't make scenester plans).

News from Iran (the kind that will mean nothing to the general public):
- Sara has scoliosis and is going to be getting surgery on her back.
Aside: How are Iranian surgeons? Can I kidnap her and bring her here, to have the operation done here?
- Mohammad is getting married.
- Arash is not (or at least, no one said anything to that effect - which is good because I still plan on marrying him myself)
- My ameh says hello, and sends love: "Chera nemiyay pishe ma, ameh?", she says plaintively. Because the world is EVIL and won't let me come. I miss you sooooo much though...

...MTU what what...

i) I will be hunting all of you down to buy blue ribbons for Tsunami relief. You will donate, and it will be good.

ii) Three diverging opinions about one thing:

Rachel: "Oh boy... you're in trouble"

Sheida: "Go for it. It's hot"

Farnam: "ISN'T THAT ILLEGAL IN ALL FIFTY STATES?!?"

Also from Sheida: She tells me that she won't tell me not to because she's far away and can't enforce. Which makes me think that maybe that's exactly why I went to her first. I'm so sly.

iii) There's this fellow I keep running into, a neighbour of Alex's (not Alex Alex, Caven Alex) and he knows my name and all this stuff about me and says hi in a really familiar way when we run into each other (which actually, seems to happen a lot). And we've met twice. Then today he says "So have you seen Farnam lately?" which spins me into shock and creepage, just a little. Cuz it's odd when someone you don't really know seems to really know your close friend? A little bit?

iv) Jian was interviewed by George today. Easiest way to my heart: get the two hottest men in the city together on one time slot. Loves it.

...berceau nocturne et sur...

Everything looks calmer in the morning. Libraries will do that to you, and I have spent the last couple of hours reading anthropology in Pratt. It's amazing how much more hopeful the world looks after getting through two dense and previously stifling chapters.

It's amazing how much better your world looks after a light lunch with a bright one.

This was today's plan - meet up, pick up an envelope he'd prepared for me with fundraising materials, go to the library, go home. Then he's suggesting lunch and I'm saying yes. Yes, yes, yes. And although this is the biggest, fattest example of "silly girl, don't get ahead of yourself, it's just a lunch", I sang and danced and twirled and did somersaults in my head while on the outside portraying cool elegance, easy smiles. Oh, bright...

Since I can't give voice to my own feelings, I will let Paul Eluard do so -

Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs
Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.

Clearly, this is a very dangerous situation. Potentials of future heartbreak in spades.

...we all deserve each other...

I'm hiding.

I'm having a panic attack right now. Related to school, grad school, life, work, money and life. I'm very worried, in some cases prematurely but when I panic this is what happens. You think light years ahead and there are no solutions, and there is no solution.

I am finding it difficult to keep a reign on my focus and concentrate. I drift and I get distracted, and I forget and then in a crashing frenzy I remember and my heart feels like it will explode from the tension and speed at which it is running.

I have to do some serious thinking with parental input about my situation next year. What I will do, where will I go, where will I live, how will I pay, how will I focus, when will I study, why am I studying, why am I doing all this?

Why am I doing all this?

...are you getting on a bit?...

I secretly hate British girls. Not generally and not all - a very particular group of them. The "Fuck me I'm hot", too much giggling, sneak out of a staff room closet looking flushed and disheveled only to be followed out a moment later by the once-thought-classy. It's too much. I can't take this - must you all disappoint me?

On other British news: Robbie Williams + "I spy with my little eye" on the background of Supreme = The Hottest.

To my social life which, after the brilliant example of cowardice and shy blummedgry I displayed today, will never be salvaged, I say: rest in peace. Janet says "get over yourself". It doesn't mean what it sounds like it means. It's Janet-speak for "get over your fear". But I mean, doesn't fear keep us from self-destruction? Which is good. Like with the 6-month old babies, who won't crawl onto a glass-covered abyss for fear they'll fall? Right?

...how do you like them apples?...

Late night rambunctiousness in the blue house, Ashley and Daniel are doing Matrix-style fighting in the living room.

Daniel: "We have to kick each other's feet at the same time, and if we do it right we'll bounce back, and then there'll be lots of lightning".

...farming for wildlife...

i) Am brilliant technological genius - have figured out how to watch DivX movies on my mac. Involved downloading various programs and hitting my computer against the wall.

ii) Catching up with Anna, she's talking about intramural sports at Vic and how much she hates one of the athletic council ladies. Funny how she mentions the one I hate too. "OMG she's so fat and ugly", says Anna, "and she has such a rotten attitude". Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one.

iii) Trying to get a screening of a documentary on U of T. How can I go about it, anyone know? The director will be in the city promoting for Bloor Cinema, and would love to do a lecture as well.

iv) Where is Janet? There are French movies waiting for us, and guacamole.

...if it's not one, it's your mother...

It's so frustrating to me that less than an hour after I see "Rush to War", one of the strongest documentaries I have ever seen and an excellent discussion on the failures of American foreign policy, I read this on the BBC website.

Do they never learn?

I want to screen that video for the Bush administration. I want to say "You idiots, you want to start another war now? Before you're done with the last two?". I want them to learn the lesson we all should have learned in kindergarten - you have to be nice. You have to be a nicer nation, or you are going to have some serious problems. And sadly, with the state of the world the way it is, if you have problems, we ALL have problems.

...hippies and lightbulbs...

Fencing was a no-go, the class was full. A die-hard, etched in blood vow was made between myself and the illustrious Nick-Ro to sign up sign up sign up next year for SURE, and get into that class.

The quote of the week is from Derelito, in response to a question asked about if he hangs with, and why he doesn't: "Nah... I don't like this girlfriend. I'm waiting for the next one". How do I know this, Derek is thinking. I know everything. You can take the girl out of the residence, but you can't take the residence out of the girl, and I am now as I have ever been, the gossip queen.

Got my hands on a newish documentary, yet to be widely released "Rush to War" by Robert Taicher. The viewing is tonight, as it must be returned to the source in the morning. Will review, post. What have I heard so far: terrifying, mesmerizing (says the litigation lawyer whose name I forget); an excellent film, a truly excellent film (says Norm), and damn I wish it had been released before the election (says Jodes).

Highlight of the weekend, to date: Montel Jordan's "This is how we do it" playing on MMM Friday night, the impending release of "Girls in Pants", and acquiring Japanese bootlegs of the following movies: Spiderman 2, Harry Potter 3, War and Peace re-release, and Being There.

...duct tape in the closet...

Because I am truly a bigger nerd than you will ever believe, I left the kegger miles early and went back to my room. And read The Second Summer of the Sisterhood. Which I adored and loved and breathed, until it was over in 4 hours. Near the end, I started crying sympathy tears with Lena and thought of Farnam, who I am positive did the same in her reading. Now I'm doing giddy dances around my room at the thought the third book is coming out this month, and I have a surreal hope that maybe, just maybe it will be in the store today when I go in (despite knowing that receiving is closed on weekends).

So Brian/Max Power came to the party last night, as evidenced by his number and email address scrawled drunkenly on my arm in big black marker. "You made it!" he cries as I walk into the kitchen. "YOU made it", I shoot back, "I live here!". We had fun. And then he tried to push me into a sink, on whose ledge I was sitting precariously. That was a little less fun. Or a little more, depending on your outlook.

In an hour I will leave my cozy house into the cold, cold day to sign up for fencing classes at the athletic centre. The idea was sprung by Trish, who signed up last week. I must must must do so as well. Telling Nick-Ro about it yesterday, he wants to take fencing too, so we're going to sign up together. Yay!!!

Advice for the day: There is nothing hotter than Madonna record earrings. I know because I wore them yesterday and there was nothing hotter than me, in that moment. The earrings are Martha's, not mine - I don't own anything nearly as cool. I'm a nerd, remember? Stay with the program.

...god is empty [just like me]...

It's that time of the year again - ticket pre-sale for the summer's Cirque du Soleil show. I have 10 bucks off and get to buy tickets a month early, who's with me?

I'm buying my ticket Sunday morning, anyone has until then to let me know, otherwise I'm flying solo.

P.S. If I'm going to fly solo, I'll go first class - shell out the big bucks for Tapis Rouge seats.

...i make myself unhappy, so you'll go...

Never underestimate the importance of a drug-induced oblivion. I blame the candy-coated shells. Too, too easy.

What's wrong with you?

Oh a slew of self-destructive things. We'll have fun though, go up like fireworks, lit a million times. It's a perfect mood in which to attend a kegger, I say, because then the drinking won't stop and that's always fun right? How great was that segue into the kegger -- tonight at the blue house, you know the drill.

...all i've done is unkind...

I can't even articulate what I want to say. I just... hurt. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt. And I can't define all the reasons why.

I tried all day to bury this in the sand, and pretend everything was okay. Which is a horrible lie because since the moment I saw you walking down the stairs this morning, I wanted to fall and shout out loud to anyone that hasn't heard it yet: "Why couldn't you LOVE me?"

...actions i have hated...

Resolutions (not for New Years, just because):

i) Get down to 105-110 before mid-February and T-O-N-E, otherwise when your family goes to Mexico you will stay behind as punishment. If you're not going to look hot-as-possible when you go, what's the point?

ii) Stop buying shoes, for chrissakes. No one needs more than one pair of dressy chic pointy flats, and absolutely no one needs to buy three pairs in one week even IF they did come with a lovely free purse.

iii) Stop singing along to Poe or Suzanna Vega or other wierd female chicks on the street, because the people are starting to think you're a crazy person.

Hey pretty, My pretty baby
Rocking through my world...

While you're at it, stop singing out loud, period.

iv) Read your anthropology text book, don't just leave it in the corner of the room collecting dust like most of last semester. We want to PASS school, yes we do.

...if you should stop for awhile...

i) First of all, I am NOT like Natalie Portman's character in Garden State. The only time I felt inklings of similarity was that creepy scene where she was talking about being unique and having to do something no one else has ever done every now and again; and that, only because I was talking to someone about that very thing earlier today. Which was odd.

ii) This whole thing with TA's. How seriously do you think the university would take it? I mean come on, he sent me a little moon emoticon. For good night? You know? And I ran into Janet's room and briefly collapsed and died on her bed, then ran back so I could finish the conversation with as much electronic grace as I could muster. I'm such a loser, just kill me now.

iii) If I am to be Natalie Portman, I can take comfort in the fact that she had a happy ending. Zach Braff got it, he figured out that she's the coolest girl he'd ever meet. But he's an actor, reading his lines. People in the real world don't know nearly so much. It's problematic, really.

iv) I have to be happy for my girl in the face of her potential hooking up with someone really truly hot. To the point that he, too gets the Hot moniker before his name (which we won't mention here, for reasons of journalistic discretion). The reason I have to be happy for her, I suppose, is because once upon a time she found Hot Steve ridiculously hot, and then I made out with him so I have to do the same for her. These all fall into the laws as laid down by the Girlfriend's Bible, and such.

v) Re: Number ii) - I am not going to get through this semester. What exactly am I supposed to do, lace my coffee with Bailey's in the morning before class to give myself courage and the ability to potentially speak? That is hardly academically effective.

WHY can't you kill me now? For the love of my Aunt Francis.

...you write such pretty words...

Gyaaaaahh.

That was the sound of someone really really frustrated. Who wrote the memo that every self-esteem lacking miscreant gets to walk all over me in an attempt to temporarily inflate their otherwise flaccid existence (and yes, that was a penis metaphor)?

This isn't me being a bitch. Rather, this isn't me being just a bitch. This is me being tired and really not wanting to pamper any undeserving egos today, thanks. But if that changes anytime soon, I'll let you know.

Oh, go cry about it. Better yet, go die and please don't make a mess. Crying wil just annoy the neighbours, and why should they suffer?

...it'd be a shame to make believe [better to leave]...

What did robbers of the old west rob?
-- convenience stores

I love Americans. I love Family Feud, which is the prime vehicle for exposing American general stupidity to the rest of us. I love how most people on that show are fat. It gives you images of excessive game show viewing on soft, patched couches with boxes of jujubes and Twinkies. Oh, stereotypes...

I also love pretentious people. Between general America and the overly pretentious (especially the uncalled for pretentious, the toot-your-broken-horns) we have no reason to be sour pussycats; we should just laugh at them all. La la la, ha ha ha.

Friday night has become complicated - concert or kegger? Oh the dilemma. I want concert, but I told everyone I'd be at the kegger. Blah.

...i should have been a country singer...

Epiphany: Having the guy you like suddenly become your French TA is definately not a good thing. You would think it would be. You would think it means you see him more aften than the once in a blue moon you saw him before. But you don't realise that now he's become formal-professional and you'll be tongue tied in his presence, and afraid to speak French in fear he will realise you aren't, in fact, perfect.

Also you'll demonstrate your inherent nerdiness subconsciously at every occasion. Like when completing an exercise where you tell the class what object/organism you would be if you could be any, you announce to all and sundry that you would be a page from a book in which is written all our stories. In the bemused silence that follows, your soul plummets into a shattered heap at the bottom of your new black schoolgirl shoes. And even though he liked your answer (though you don't know it yet, and how could you ever believe it?) all you're thinking about is the hot girl in pointy boots and tight blouse and dangly earrings who announced that she would be a cat so she could "lounge, lap up milk, and be stroked every day". Oh. Please. As IF that isn't obvious at all. My schoolgirl shoes and I shot her glares.

"Sanam, Sanam", he says as the class ends and students start packing up, "quelle surprise de vous voir dans ma classe". I nod dumbly. "Eh, c'arrive" he continues. Again, some nodding and the occasional vowel sound. I think he's picking up that I've lost the ability to communicate and decides not to torture me more. "A bientot, a la prochaine fois".

I kicked myself all the way home.

...mi chiamo divertamente...

Notes:

i) Late nights at O'Grady's can't be beat.
ii) Split my hand on scissors. Panicked, cried. Hurts.
iii) In class and wearing a hot mini-skirt.

...and my heaven is a nice house in the sky...

Welcome the appearance of a wonderful today, starting with a lovely feast of breakfast with Rachel, Daniel and Janet of bacon and eggs, and chocolate chip pancakes. And coffee, glorious coffee. Follow that with Adele calling me with news of a massive shoe sale (to which I am going as soon as I'm done this post), and a less-boring-than-usual bioethics class.

And then, the money shot: getting my law essay back, finally, and it's an A! Excited I do a pumping motion with my fist and the lady in the department office laughs at my youthful exuberence. Walking home with Daniel, I see Jem on the corner of St. George and Harbord, and he smiles at me as soon as he sees me. I smile back, a kinda shy but so sincere smile, maybe there's a bit of blushing, and he laughs a little, nicely, as he crosses the street. I think to myself he doesn't know it yet but that the last day of class when he ceases being a course TA, I am definately asking him out.

So I'm thinking to myself, wow. An A on a huge essay and seeing Jem, this day cannot possibly get better. But then I walk into the house and it's tidy and in the process of being cleaned and suddenly lo' the day is better. And we haven't even got to the shoes yet!

...stevie nicks is NOT bootylicious...

Chronicles of an Afternoon with Rachel

Panicked that we are in imminent danger of running out of gas, she speeds us with white knuckles to the nearest gas station, cursing loudly whenever we hit a red light. I try to tell her she has ages left before we run out, the gas light hasn't even gone on yet, but her new-driver senses don't respond to what I'm saying.

Pulling into the station she pauses for several beats while she tries to remember which side her tank is on, then stands beside the car trying to figure out what octane number the different gas varieties are (her car can ONLY take 91+). I laugh at her. "The attendent is probably laughing at the silly new driver. He's thinking this girl doesn't know shit about driving", I say annoyingly. "Shut up", she says, "I know shit. I know exactly what I'm doing. Now where's that thingiemabobbie?" as she tries to find the flip that unlocks the gas tank.

Thingamabobbie. Sighing, I shake my head a little and smile.

Later, as we continue driving I update Rachel on last night's adventures, on Brian/Max, on the outfit and the general state of affairs. I mention my status of out of my tree, the use-of-Kristen as pillar when the combination of drink/other substances/stiletto shoes got to be too much.

Me: "It was nuts, this was the first time I've drank/smoked so much altogether..."
Her: "...what are you TALKING about? What about last year and that time with that guy?"
Me: "You didn't let me finish. I was going to say 'This was the first time I've drank/smoked so much SINCE last year and that time with that guy'".

Rachel bursts out laughing, scrunching her eyes (and yes, she is driving) and almost spits out the Lindor chocolate I'd just given her a minute before.

This is only the comic of our adventures on the road today. The dangerous involved us almost crashing over the Bayview bridge north of John when Rachel, caught up in flashing the middle finger at the driver beside/behind her started careening the car simulataneously with careening her head and veered us sharply towards the guardrail. But we won't talk about that. I'll just mention that for a brief moment there, in between shrieking at Rachel to turn turn for the love of God turn, I had images of our car sailing over the guardrail, over the houses and backyards into an oblivion below.

...are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?...

Breaking news: The 80's party was a slamming success. Here's to Leanne, the queen of the retro party, and hoping that our kegger on Friday night is equally clutch. Martha looked hot in my lipstick and her leopard leggings, Kristen looked hot in blue barrettes, I looked hot in Martha's army-sheer top and Blondie tee; I'm grateful neither of them decided to wear those bicycle shorts. Even Brian/Max looked hot in an orange Paul Frank tee he stole from his kid sister. Who is this Brian/Max? Well who knows, just a guy I met last night. Sadly excessive inebriation kept me from learning or remembering too many details (including, apparently, his name; although I am confident it is one of the two). I guess we'll find out on Friday when he too comes to the kegger. Whatever or whoever he was, he was certainly fun.

OH! And witness us running into Sebastian and the boys in the kitchen of the house. They didn't even know the people having the party, but happened to stumble across it, which led to us stumbling across them. Loves it, because I hadn't seen Seabass in months and months.

Re: Kegger. Yes, we are - Friday night, $10 all you can drink, come one come all to the Blue House.


Lessee, what else can I tell you? Reading Chasing Vermeer by Blue Balliet and loving it, suede pointy flats from RocketDog are key, and dreaming is a black mini from Queen Street. Ca vous va?

...camphor and cigarettes perfume the scandal...

Somewhere around 9:30 this morning, (9:34 to be exact), the alarm on my cell phone went off. It's an obnoxious alarm, as far as alarms go. It not only rings, but beeps and vibrates. Obviously, I had no idea where my cell phone was so I had to follow the sound all around the room until finally digging it out of my tote bag. All the while I'm asking myself when in the world I set my morning alarm to 9:34.

Finally finding the phone, I look at the screen to see a cheerful message "Reminder: Happy Sweater Vest Day!".

It's only at this point that I pick up on the tell-tale randomness of Miss Lizzy.

Note to self: Do not let your friends, even your dearest friend, play with your phone.

Blaaaah... I want to go back to bed, but I have to be at work in 2 hours. Goddammit, it will be a long day. Just think about the drinking. Just think about the drinking.

...it growls before them, so invitingly...

Oh god, I want to fly. I want to fly away, from days like today where nothing goes right. That's a lie - everything started off lovely, as Farnam and I went shopping, and shoes were bought. It was only later, when I was already in a false sense of security that everything started to plummet.

In brief, to keep the pain of retelling less severe:

i) A good friend of mine is in the hospital - we don't know exactly why, but some things being thrown around are early-onset Parkinson's or MS. All scary words, with scary neurology things so we are waiting for test results to come back, and chewing our nails to the quick.

ii) The Italian reached a new level of low. So low in fact, that I felt like I was staring down into a void, a canyon of mistrust and shadiness. Greasy greasy.

iii) Capezio didn't have the magenta tweed open-toed pumps in a size 6 in ANY store in Canada.

Things that went right:

i) Email from the love of my life. Literally, the adolescent-crushy-silly-noreasonwhybutIwanthimIwanthim love of my life.

ii) Jude the Obscure + Man in the Iron Mask + The Iliad + The Odyssey for $10.97. Gotta love my store discount.

iii) Hugs from Morgan, perverse sexy-love from Rob, more Rob, hot-party-date with Iman tomorrow night. Belvedere will bow to us. Mm hmm.

...tis the season for women's fashions?...

Re: the Belvedere party Saturday night at Leanne's. "Dress 80's", she says, "or better yet, dress slutty 80's".

I can do that.

I can definately do that.

Don't you wish you could come?

This week's reading list: Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier, and The Little Girl who was Too Fond of Matches by Gaetan Soucy.

...por la bonita...

There's nothing like someone trying, with good intentions, to help you out and getting it all wrong. Enter 16 hours of non-Romantic Comedy - two identical work shifts with the boy. Won't this be lovely, y'all?

...time, you got me running...

Her need was as big as the stars, and he was down there on the beach, so quiet she could hardly hear him.

...on the news, tonight at 6...

Tonight's forecast brought to you by the End of Therepeutic Jazz:

Frigid and cold in Toronto tonight, with a winter storm warning in effect - the perfect weather for heather gray pleated wool trousers from Roots. Pathetic fallacy at it's finest, the weather's depressing efforts were thwarted by a Good Day inspired by shopping successes aplenty.

Let's recap.

Heather gray trousers described above: purchased in a size 4, loose fit but must suffice for lack of a smaller size. Same trousers in black, purchased in a size 2. Yes that's right, a size 2. Ladies and gentlemen we have now achieved the Holy Grail of weight loss right here. I have beaten the corporate demons, the stores like Roots whose customers are almost exclusively rich skinny girls from Thornhill and the like.

With a victory like this, a celebration was in order, and was found at The Body Shop with their new line of aromatherapy products (a nice collection of which I am sampling as we speak), and stocking up on the Africa Spa line of old. We are contented.

It's still cold outside though. Don't forget your mittens children (like the purple pom-pommed ones I bought at H&M earlier).

...a love story...

The mountain stands in the centre of the world, lonely but not alone. Do you see the distinction? Its surface is smooth and without the crags and crevices that other peaks hold. So smooth all truths can be read so plainly that it hurts sometimes, when it comes without warning. Streams wind down its face and pool in a lush valley at its feet. A mountain evokes stolidness, permanence. That which remains immobile and omnipresent, more comfort than inducer of excitement. A necessary component of passion, if only because it receives it. In receiving it, it lives it, experiences it, then perpetuates it, and must survive it.

It is surrounded by all the elements of a passionate world: the New England snows that land softly, seemingly innocuous until you realize they've frozen everything they've touched; the heady scent of olive oil in the wind, breezing over from somewhere in southwestern Ontario, a Mediterranean by proxy; and, because what would a passionate world be without it, the prodigal son - who drank from the stream, waters rich like purest wine, then traveled to greener pastures. Having answered the calls of all the world, it alters, sometimes imperceptibly, with each encounter. But whether damaged or merely changed, older or just a little more wise, it is still there, once all others have left.

The reason I can't follow anything through to it's conclusion goes back to not being able to follow a thought through to it's end. I can't combine all the elements: random and perfect thought to introductory sentence to well-developed story, to The End, I can't tie it all together. So, logically (and I can state this unequivocally because, after all, I am these days a Philosophy student) it follows that for me to have anything complete in my life, I have to write a novel.

What bullshit is this?

...peut-il se reposer, celui qui dort...

i) I donated $100 to Red Cross through Indigo today for the tsunami relief effort in Asia. Through a phenomenally generous program, each dollar you donate as an employee is matched by Indigo, and then matched again by the government of Canada. Which means that the $100 I donated today amounts to a $400 donation to Red Cross.

ii) I did something silly today and started three books simultaneously. Now I don't know which to concentrate my efforts. The first is "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer, the second "The Following Story" by a Cees Nooteboom (I think), and the third a collection of Paul Eluard's poetry, in French.

iii) The child didn't read (i.e. was unaware of) my declaration of newfound allergies. Do we all remember, I said explicitly "once and future bartenders", having had him specifically in mind at the time. Which means... do not make yourself apparent to me again. Thank you.

iv) It is possible (read: definite) that I lost my bank card earlier today. What does one do in a situation like this? I want to call the bank but they are closed. What do I DO?

v) So there's a party on Saturday that I'm going to. The theme was made aware to me today as being "Mr. Belvedere". What is this business, and what does it mean for me? It says "theme", does that mean costume? Aidez-moi, s'il vous plait. Je suis la confuse.

vi) Must perfect French. Must perfect French. Must perfect French.

...beyond this dark house...

Last night saw me intending to go to bed at midnight so I could wake lovely and refreshed for school today. Alas, it did not happen quite that way for at midnight I was sucked into watching the news from where I emerged in a depressed anxiety about an hour afterwards. Lately the end of the world seems so much more immediate, and now it isn't even a question of if or when we will blow ourselves up. Mother Nature just might do it for us when we least expect it.

So have you guys heard about the Juan de Fuca ridge? It's an underground ridge of seismic and volcanic activity just off the coast of Vancouver Island, and is the intersection of four tectonic plates (Explorer, North American, Pacific and Juan de Fuco plates). These plates are moving in all three of the seismic motions: merging, diverging and transforming with relation to each other. The most dangerous is the Juan de Fuco and Explorer moving across each other as they both simultaneously start slipping under the North American plate. That is one hotbed of seismic activity - the word is that the pressure building under these motions is going to give way to what is called a megathrust earthquake the likes of which we've never seen. These megathrust quakes occur every few hundred years, is the projection, and the last BC megathrust occurred in 1700. At the time, western BC was barely populated, just a couple tribes of Native Americans scattered here and there. Were something like this to happen again, Vancouver Island would be obliterated, and the tsunami resulting would travel ACROSS the Pacific and slam into the Japanese Islands. They tell us now that we'll probably see that megathrust in our lifetime, or the next generation. Isn't that pleasant? I wonder if the Vancouverites know this.

I woke up in the middle of the night terrified that there was an earthquake in our house. In my dream, the shoddy foundation of the Blue House is the result of lying on a faultline ready to blow. There was no earthquake, but I had fallen out of my bed. Thereafter I couldn't sleep however, so I got up and listened to Carmina Burana. I tell you, there's nothing like Carmina Burana to make you feel as if the world really could end, and the day of judgement arrive, and everyone be left out of paradise for our sins. Felt much better, uh huh.

...scarecely visible trace of beauty...

I said, "You play with the world like a melancholy child who has no little brother".

As gorgeous as "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" is, and as much as Ira from Fiction will berate me for saying so, "Immortality" is one of the most perfect novels ever written and clearly the jem in Milan Kundera's work. A comprehensive, all-encompassing story that is completely beguiling in itself, but that also draws together all the themes of our lives in a way you never thought, but once it is vocalized, makes perfect sense.

The quote at the beginning instantaneously reminded me of someone in my life. More or less in my life. And I was about to contact him and tell him of that fact when I decided that today I feel rather less than more, and so I didn't. But it is a rather fitting line, regardless.

Some human beings are not people, and there may well be people who are not human beings. A man or woman whose consciousness has been permanently obliterated but who remains alive is a human being which is no longer a person; defective human beings, with no appreciable mental capacity, are not and presumably never will be people; and a fetus is a human being which is snot yet a person, and which therefore cannot coherently be said to have full moral rights.

Mary Ann Warren, on abortion, why it should be legal and the extension of her arguments to other cases of "non-personhood". This lends itself to a frightening justification of involuntary euthanasia, or infanticide, or any other manifestation of ranking personhood. Incidentally, her argument is wrought with inconsistency, as when she objects to the killings of dolphins and chimpanzees who possess person-like characteristics. Well, a human infant certainly possesses more person-like characteristics than a dolphin. Do you want to explain that please?

Apparently she doesn't want to explain that. The article ends with a pretentious account of it being "a philosopher's task to criticize mistaken beliefs which stand in the way of moral understanding". And that's all she wrote...

*Le sigh*. Bed now, class in the morning. Class with a minorly awkwardness-inducing TA in the morning. This will be unprecedented, I shall keep thee abreast of developments.

...beauty in the breakdown...

Though I may be many things to many people, it appears that a plumber is not one of those things.

...every soldier passing...

Notes from a Sunday night:

i) Clogged shower drains are not fun. Don't ever think they are. Don't think "hey, this can be an adventure". Because it won't. It is an adventure you really would not rather have. After an hour with an unwound clothes hanger, plunger, boiling water, vinegar and baking soda I have a somewhat functioning shower. We shall experiment tomorrow and see how it goes, but I do have a feeling that this isn't your usual hair cloggage and a plumber's service might be in order.

ii) Something you can attribute to me when I'm long past dead: "Friendship is like counting backwards from 100". You figure that one out.

iii) The thing with following the moment, following sensations is that it is a fantastical occurrence. It has no basis in reality. Believe me, I understand when time stops and the only thing that exists is you and the person in the bed beside you. It's a very heady feeling -- but, outside of those four walls and that timeframe, there is a whole world out there and if some small part of your mind doesn't consider them before, then the rest of your mind will have to deal with them after.

It's well and good to know all this I suppose, but the difficulty is living it. It's not even a question of self-discipline. If I really really wanted, if any of us really really wanted to, we could live healthy ethical lives - the problem is, we don't want to. We want to have those moments where something just clicks, and you have to see where it goes because from the moment you saw them, spoke to them, smiled at them this sense of inevitability hit you in the gut and you know you have to live it because if you don't you feel like you'll explode not from curiosity so much as just the certainty that something phenomenal maybe/possibly/might just happen and you can't miss it, no matter what happens in the morning, in the real world that you conveniently forgot.

The point to this is... this whole "holier than thou" thing I've done in the past is quite obviously crap. I'm not saying there aren't reasons for what I do, but that they aren't the readily apparent ones. Or ones that I can readily admit to without a serious vulnerability going on. Which means, I have no idea what I'm talking about because this wasn't even about me when I started, but somehow here we are. What happened to me being less self-important this year? Right.

iv) No more movie dates if they are going to be cut. You're cut. Cut cut cut.

v) Other people who are cut:

- full italians (exceptions made for the halfs, like javod)
- pseudo-pianists
- parking lot attendents
- Milan Kundera (not for a bad reason -- really only for being so good he is distracting me from other endeavors)

vi) I want black flower-ed flats from Aldo that are half ballet, half Mary Jane. And I want them now. By which I mean, they can wait until tomorrow. But no longer.

...you and i are still alone...

Well, I walk to your house in the afternoon
By the butcher shop with the sawdust strewn
"Don't give away the goods too soon"
Is what she might have told me

And I tried so hard to resist
When you held me in your handsome fist
And reminded me of the night we kissed
And of why I should be leaving

If I thought about it coherently, really coherently, this is better. It is right, and for the best. Because who wants a life that can be chronicled by Suzanne Vega? Blah blah blitty blah.

And now for something completely different... I have read 31 of the 50 most questioned books in the United States over the past year. I wonder what that says about me? Some titles on there whose presence really I just don't understand:

James and the Giant Peach, by Roald Dahl
I Have to Go by Robert Munsch

There are so many other books there which I think are wonderful, but I do understand why the nutcases of the bible-belt might object to them. Still, they are rather wonderful books (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, The Grapes of Wrath, The Handmaid's Tale, etc.).

My reading recommendation for the new year:

Immortality, by Milan Kundera
Chronicle of a Death Foretold, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides
The Captain's Verses, by Pablo Neruda
Veronika Decides to Die, by Paolo Coelho
The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand

Some music to try, if you're up for a change:

The Concretes
Ute Lemper (especially tracks featuring The Divine Comedy)
Letters to Cleo, circa 1997
Faudel
At The Drive-In (especially tracks on the CD Nick made me over the summer)

Et voila, comme si j’ai passé les vacances. Bonne année et meilleurs voeux, particulièrement pour tout ceux que je n’ai que peu revu cette année; j’aimerais bien avoir des nouvelles de vous.

Baisers,
le moi.

...lana turner's smile...

My New Year (in retrospect) was lovely. Very calm and mellow, and exactly what I needed. Kristen, Sara and I sat down and watched Mulan followed by the Wizard of Oz. Around 10:30, when they started watching Batman Returns, I crawled into bed and continued reading Immortality, which has me entranced. 10 to midnight I crawled back out and joined them to actually do the countdown. In fact, I had to force them to bring the countdown because Kristen was happily content just to leave it on Batman.

This is going to be a good week, I can feel it. Already, half the problems in my world dissolve simply with the knowledge that there is a Farnam in town. It's funny (and I hope Farnam will laugh seeing this) but when I see her in my head, it's as a phenomenally dressed saviour. Miss Sixty jeans, Tallula top and a sword with which to save the world, or alternately slay the heads of little boys who were mean to me.

For the first time in over a month, I am going grocery shopping today. I am going to buy lots of healthy food, cook dinner, half a hot hot shower for at least an hour just letting the water wash everything of the last few weeks away, and read books. Lots of them. I went a little pazzo at Indigo last night and bought out half the store. Not really, but I did spend $90 on books (even with my 30% discount) so that gives you some idea.

Tomorrow there will be swimming. There will be Hart House, there will be bioethics and the accompanying hot T.A., there will be piano and Fantaisie-Impromptu (which Daniel and I are simultaneously learning), and there will be My So Called Life at 11.

Overflowing with love for all of you today - everyone. Loved the Happy New Years comments, and I wish I could have seen in person some of you far-aways. Love for my family who I love and who were sad I couldn't come home for dinner last night. Love for all my people, a humongo shout out to Derelito who I haven't seen in too long and I swear my head will explode if I don't see him this week, and also numerous shout-outs to Miss Lizzy who will be back in the real world tomorrow, bless the lord.

...the changing of the ocean tides...

Happy New Year to one and all. I hope we all live our lives better, fuller and less selfishly in the new year.

I made a resolution, made many - but the essential one is for me to just be a better person. More responsible, more disciplined, less self-important, healthier, brighter. I did so many things wrong this past year. Really, I did so many things wrong in the past four months. It seems that on the last day of August, I lost my mind and never got it back.

Welcome to "Take Back the Mind". Starts... right now.

Also, we will be living honestly from now on. Honest in all senses of the word. Truthfully, honourably - all of it. The first test is tonight. Any bets?