So yesterday I stayed home, sick as a click. Somehow though, I managed to do 4 loads of laundry, make curry(that kinda sucked) and wash the dishes. I had to rest every 5 minutes but I had all day to do it. Oh by the way, hang on a sec-
I CURSE YOU SQUIRREL! I CURSE YOU! YOU! RODENT! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY!
Damn squirrel in the ceiling.
So anyway, I did go to work today but by lunch decided to blow that scene. Still too sick. Felt my chest being compressed by the clamp of illness and my ears burning from the inside out so, off I went. Now I'm home and it's freezing. Just like in the olden days. I could make a fire but instead, I'm listening to all my Smiths 12" singles and pretending I'm British. You know-cup of tea, some toast, damp cold turning you into a consupmtive, that sort of thing.
Sigh.
I'm going to catch that squirrel with my bare hands and wring it's rat-in-disguise little neck. That is all.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
poison lead, goblet head
This morning I was filled with dread and melancholy until I saw a man in a full-length, acid-wash, jean coat. Acid-washed jean is the perfect antidote to fear and sadness. It’s so hideously hilarious to see it being worn. Noticing it blocks out all other feelings, if only temporarily.
I woke with the feeling that my head was a lead crystal goblet-poisonous and brittle-slowly being filled with liquid evil. A head cold is a-brewing, oh yes. The evil is running down the back of my throat and pooling in my brain and behind my eyes and pressing against my eardrums. I can feel it welling up, waiting to bust out in a torrent of fever and fluid. Gross. I should be at home, nursing my fragile, goblet-head with tea and wool blankets and an afternoon movie on TV dubbed into French but alas, I am at work. On top of everything, the menstrual tide of pain is about to break the damn as well.
I had a fever of a different sort this weekend. A sudden and burning desire for a brand new book. Borrowing from the library would not do. We went into town to accomlish this task, amongst other thrilling task like obtaining soap, earplugs(I curse you squirrel in the ceiling!)and getting new pillows. Choosing a book ended up being the last, rushed task before catching the train back home to hibernate.(It’s been insanely cold. Winter has finally arrived, with all of its’ might.) After some frenzied searching, I had given up hope completely, pissed as hell because I didn’t find a new pillow either and now, no book. At the very last second, rushing past a table, I saw a book by an author from whom I had a fantastic collection of short stories. I grabbed it without even needing to look inside and didn’t care what the price was (Lisa Moore - Alligator). I knew it was going to be good and I was right. Too good and I read too fast because I’ll have it done by tonight and then what?! It’s funny, I don’t even know the title because all I saw was her name and needed no further information and then I opened it and started reading. Let me go look…Alligator. Lisa Moore. It’s excellent.
Actually, I read it yesterday afternoon while the light changed from sunny day to dusk and beyond, until the contrast between the letters and the white of the page was barely perceptible. I was too lazy to turn on the light, so I laid there on the couch, watching T at the computer, totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. I must have stared at him for a good 5 minutes in the dark of the couch. He frequently looked the other way, in an obsessive-compulsively driven manner, to check that the fire was still burning but didn’t once look at me. He would have thought from the dark and silence, that I was either still reading or sleeping and anyway, once that dude is concentrating on something, he is like a zombie robot. I started to think, if there were ghosts, this must be what it feels like to be one. Staring and staring at the living but never being seen or felt. I tried to will him to look by using my brainpower, as I imagined a ghost would spend eternity trying to do, but it didn't work. Eventually, he finished what he was doing and looked to me and I was alive again. Just like that.
I woke with the feeling that my head was a lead crystal goblet-poisonous and brittle-slowly being filled with liquid evil. A head cold is a-brewing, oh yes. The evil is running down the back of my throat and pooling in my brain and behind my eyes and pressing against my eardrums. I can feel it welling up, waiting to bust out in a torrent of fever and fluid. Gross. I should be at home, nursing my fragile, goblet-head with tea and wool blankets and an afternoon movie on TV dubbed into French but alas, I am at work. On top of everything, the menstrual tide of pain is about to break the damn as well.
I had a fever of a different sort this weekend. A sudden and burning desire for a brand new book. Borrowing from the library would not do. We went into town to accomlish this task, amongst other thrilling task like obtaining soap, earplugs(I curse you squirrel in the ceiling!)and getting new pillows. Choosing a book ended up being the last, rushed task before catching the train back home to hibernate.(It’s been insanely cold. Winter has finally arrived, with all of its’ might.) After some frenzied searching, I had given up hope completely, pissed as hell because I didn’t find a new pillow either and now, no book. At the very last second, rushing past a table, I saw a book by an author from whom I had a fantastic collection of short stories. I grabbed it without even needing to look inside and didn’t care what the price was (Lisa Moore - Alligator). I knew it was going to be good and I was right. Too good and I read too fast because I’ll have it done by tonight and then what?! It’s funny, I don’t even know the title because all I saw was her name and needed no further information and then I opened it and started reading. Let me go look…Alligator. Lisa Moore. It’s excellent.
Actually, I read it yesterday afternoon while the light changed from sunny day to dusk and beyond, until the contrast between the letters and the white of the page was barely perceptible. I was too lazy to turn on the light, so I laid there on the couch, watching T at the computer, totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. I must have stared at him for a good 5 minutes in the dark of the couch. He frequently looked the other way, in an obsessive-compulsively driven manner, to check that the fire was still burning but didn’t once look at me. He would have thought from the dark and silence, that I was either still reading or sleeping and anyway, once that dude is concentrating on something, he is like a zombie robot. I started to think, if there were ghosts, this must be what it feels like to be one. Staring and staring at the living but never being seen or felt. I tried to will him to look by using my brainpower, as I imagined a ghost would spend eternity trying to do, but it didn't work. Eventually, he finished what he was doing and looked to me and I was alive again. Just like that.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
doo be doo
Hello neglected blog.
Yesterday, I saw a frozen, featherless bird on a ledge as I went to take out precious money from the bank. I took an envelope and put it inside and looked for somewhere to bury it(the bird, not the money). The best I could do was tuck it behind the legs of a statue on a pedestal and cover it with snow. No nature in sight and the garbage seemed too undignified. Poor thing.
Today, I saw a big, fat fuzzy squirrel in a cage on top of my roof. It was sitting and looking at me as I left to catch the train. We have a squirrel in our roof and we can hear it destroying the foundation all night every night. The thing is, I don't think it ever comes out. Instead, the cage on the roof just catches all the other squirrels around and then my landlord relocates them to a park. Anyway, the squirrel looked so fat and fuzzy and cute. Hard to believe they can be such bastards to a wall and roof.
So it's all about the plight of the natural world this week.
Yesterday, I saw a frozen, featherless bird on a ledge as I went to take out precious money from the bank. I took an envelope and put it inside and looked for somewhere to bury it(the bird, not the money). The best I could do was tuck it behind the legs of a statue on a pedestal and cover it with snow. No nature in sight and the garbage seemed too undignified. Poor thing.
Today, I saw a big, fat fuzzy squirrel in a cage on top of my roof. It was sitting and looking at me as I left to catch the train. We have a squirrel in our roof and we can hear it destroying the foundation all night every night. The thing is, I don't think it ever comes out. Instead, the cage on the roof just catches all the other squirrels around and then my landlord relocates them to a park. Anyway, the squirrel looked so fat and fuzzy and cute. Hard to believe they can be such bastards to a wall and roof.
So it's all about the plight of the natural world this week.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Real high.
I am in the midst of a self-induced panic attack! It's all about fear of heights.
I work high up. Real high. 28th floor. Normally, I am able to sort of abstract it enough that I don't feel too bad, unless I get close to the window.
I sometime go into the stairwell to get some exercise, but I usually walk down. If I come back up it's only for 10 or so flights before I give up in exhaustion.
Today, I decided I'd go up instead. Get the hard part over with first and then I could cool off going back down to my floor. I thought it only went up to the 33rd floor. Thought that was the top. I was wrong-o.
Actually, almost straight away I felt weird. I thought, "Hmmmm, I'm really getting more of a sense of how high up I am.Hmmmm."
Suddenly I felt like the camera angle changed in my perception and Alfred Hitchcock took over control. I looked down (always a mistake) and realized that there was nothing below but more concrete, suspended staircases, held up by...? Sheer will? If one of those stairs landings fail, man, the whole thing is gonna collapse in a real big, real long way down sort of thing. This fear was not quelled by the fact there was a huge vertical crack on every landing where rail connected to the wall.
Partially horrified and partially thrilled by the dare factor, I kept going. It didn't help that as I started looking in the windows of the stairwell doors, all the floors were empty. Nothing and no one. I kept going anyway, freaking more at each landing.
There are these bright red pipes with metal boxes and dials running up the corner of every stairwell and, for some reason, as Hitchcock handed the direction over to David Lynch, the pipes got louder and more hissy and more urgent sounding, the higher I went.
At the 32nd floor I figured, hell, only one more to go however, at the top of 33- more stairs. Then more and more. Dammit, they just kept going! I was in total, adrenalin, spazz-out frame of mind by then, grasping the railing with both hands, feeling like I was past the point of no return. Suddenly, an end.
The obsessive-compulsive in me dictated that I walk to the very end of the top landing into what I thought was the corner of a dead stop. Not so my friend, just a door behind a wall to another fucking stairwell.
4 more bloody flights and another door at what looked like the top. I go in and take my boot off and wedge it in the door so it doesn't lock behind me, because guess what folks, I'm at the fucking roof. The very tippy-toe, pointy-topped roof where the next door to go through goes nowhere but outside. If the first door closed behind me, I'd have been stuck in a 2 foot corridor with nowhere to go but 38 stories up in the open air.
Godammit, I had to try the next door and thank christ on a cracker, it was locked. Who knows what my obsessive-compulsive self would have willed me to do after reaching the top. Peek over the edge? Throw something off? See if I could fly? There was a sign saying the area was monitored by a camera. I'm sure it looked interesting to anyone who may have been watching me.
On the plus side, I made it up 10 floors without the slightest trouble being so cranked on adrenalin. I ran down 10 floors even faster to get back to my desk. The world has only just now, stopped spinning.
Ah, the adventures of office working.
I work high up. Real high. 28th floor. Normally, I am able to sort of abstract it enough that I don't feel too bad, unless I get close to the window.
I sometime go into the stairwell to get some exercise, but I usually walk down. If I come back up it's only for 10 or so flights before I give up in exhaustion.
Today, I decided I'd go up instead. Get the hard part over with first and then I could cool off going back down to my floor. I thought it only went up to the 33rd floor. Thought that was the top. I was wrong-o.
Actually, almost straight away I felt weird. I thought, "Hmmmm, I'm really getting more of a sense of how high up I am.Hmmmm."
Suddenly I felt like the camera angle changed in my perception and Alfred Hitchcock took over control. I looked down (always a mistake) and realized that there was nothing below but more concrete, suspended staircases, held up by...? Sheer will? If one of those stairs landings fail, man, the whole thing is gonna collapse in a real big, real long way down sort of thing. This fear was not quelled by the fact there was a huge vertical crack on every landing where rail connected to the wall.
Partially horrified and partially thrilled by the dare factor, I kept going. It didn't help that as I started looking in the windows of the stairwell doors, all the floors were empty. Nothing and no one. I kept going anyway, freaking more at each landing.
There are these bright red pipes with metal boxes and dials running up the corner of every stairwell and, for some reason, as Hitchcock handed the direction over to David Lynch, the pipes got louder and more hissy and more urgent sounding, the higher I went.
At the 32nd floor I figured, hell, only one more to go however, at the top of 33- more stairs. Then more and more. Dammit, they just kept going! I was in total, adrenalin, spazz-out frame of mind by then, grasping the railing with both hands, feeling like I was past the point of no return. Suddenly, an end.
The obsessive-compulsive in me dictated that I walk to the very end of the top landing into what I thought was the corner of a dead stop. Not so my friend, just a door behind a wall to another fucking stairwell.
4 more bloody flights and another door at what looked like the top. I go in and take my boot off and wedge it in the door so it doesn't lock behind me, because guess what folks, I'm at the fucking roof. The very tippy-toe, pointy-topped roof where the next door to go through goes nowhere but outside. If the first door closed behind me, I'd have been stuck in a 2 foot corridor with nowhere to go but 38 stories up in the open air.
Godammit, I had to try the next door and thank christ on a cracker, it was locked. Who knows what my obsessive-compulsive self would have willed me to do after reaching the top. Peek over the edge? Throw something off? See if I could fly? There was a sign saying the area was monitored by a camera. I'm sure it looked interesting to anyone who may have been watching me.
On the plus side, I made it up 10 floors without the slightest trouble being so cranked on adrenalin. I ran down 10 floors even faster to get back to my desk. The world has only just now, stopped spinning.
Ah, the adventures of office working.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Baby jesus prevented my card from being flushed.
I just dropped my magnetic security card in my own pee. It slipped out of my back pocket as I stood up. I watched helplessly as it fell in slow motion. For about 2 seconds, I just stared at it in curious disbelief. Several thoughts passed through my mind- it's gone forever...will they find it and indentify me by the magnetic strip?... maybe it can be saved... i'm not putting my hand in pee, even if it's my own...
Rapidly, I assessed that the card was bigger than the hole and therefore I could flush it without it going down and then reach for it, just as the new, clean water came in and was still at a low level. So that's what I did ladies and gentlemens.
Then I washed it for a long, long time. Then I washed my hands for a long, long time.
It will be forever known as the pee card, but only to me. One day, someone else will use that card, unwittigly fingering the pee that remains, despite the thorough washing. Not so bad for me because at least it's my pee.
The moral of the story is pee on something if you want to feel like a big man.
Wait, I don't think that's it exactly.
The moral of the story is pee is better than poo.
No.
The moral of the story is be nice to your local cleaning staff so, if they do find your magnetic card blocking up any toilet, they will not notify the local authorities when they scan it to see who the big idiot was. They will let you off easy with a polite warning, whispered in hushed tones for discreteness.
Or...
Only drop things in toilets that are bigger than the holes so you can still flush and retrieve.
Thank-you baby jesus.
Rapidly, I assessed that the card was bigger than the hole and therefore I could flush it without it going down and then reach for it, just as the new, clean water came in and was still at a low level. So that's what I did ladies and gentlemens.
Then I washed it for a long, long time. Then I washed my hands for a long, long time.
It will be forever known as the pee card, but only to me. One day, someone else will use that card, unwittigly fingering the pee that remains, despite the thorough washing. Not so bad for me because at least it's my pee.
The moral of the story is pee on something if you want to feel like a big man.
Wait, I don't think that's it exactly.
The moral of the story is pee is better than poo.
No.
The moral of the story is be nice to your local cleaning staff so, if they do find your magnetic card blocking up any toilet, they will not notify the local authorities when they scan it to see who the big idiot was. They will let you off easy with a polite warning, whispered in hushed tones for discreteness.
Or...
Only drop things in toilets that are bigger than the holes so you can still flush and retrieve.
Thank-you baby jesus.
Monday, January 15, 2007
fight for your right to paaaarty...in another language
So I have tried this new thing of wearing leg warmers on my legs UNDER my pants. Gosh, it just keeps my legs so warmed!
Leaning on the window of the train with your scarf as a pillow whilst trying to sleep is not the same as being in your fluffy bed under delightful, snugly covers. It just isn't.
So I actually participated in social activities this weekend. I was wary at first but it was fun. I had fun; in french no less. T had some of his peeps over, we made our house look good and put out a delightful array of snacks, people came, we played my Mad Magazine board game(which is bilingual-badly translated french on one side, english on the other). T was dubious about the game at first because he didn't live the beauty of Mad in his childhood but he was soon convinced of the superior quality of that board game. Then we played the Simpson's version of life, almost to the end all while consuming various enjoyable beverages and warmed by the lovely fire as the river iced and creaked and cracked. We went to bed around 3am and a couple people stayed over.
The next day for me, was even better. It's been so long since I've had people over, I wasn't even sure I could do it anymore. However, I did and I felt like such a functional human being. We woke up very late and I made omelettes for everyone, we all went for a little stroll along the river and then they went home.
T and I were exhausted but it was nice. We NEVER stay up that late. We normally act like we are about 70 years old, so it felt novel and fun to be living like the youngsters do. (I am only half kidding people. I really am this nerdy.)
We spent the rest of the day exerting as little effort as possible, just reveling in our success and what better way to do that than curl up on the couch with blankets and a bowl of rice noodle soup and watch Logan's Run? I'll answer that for you, there is no better way.
Good times.
Leaning on the window of the train with your scarf as a pillow whilst trying to sleep is not the same as being in your fluffy bed under delightful, snugly covers. It just isn't.
So I actually participated in social activities this weekend. I was wary at first but it was fun. I had fun; in french no less. T had some of his peeps over, we made our house look good and put out a delightful array of snacks, people came, we played my Mad Magazine board game(which is bilingual-badly translated french on one side, english on the other). T was dubious about the game at first because he didn't live the beauty of Mad in his childhood but he was soon convinced of the superior quality of that board game. Then we played the Simpson's version of life, almost to the end all while consuming various enjoyable beverages and warmed by the lovely fire as the river iced and creaked and cracked. We went to bed around 3am and a couple people stayed over.
The next day for me, was even better. It's been so long since I've had people over, I wasn't even sure I could do it anymore. However, I did and I felt like such a functional human being. We woke up very late and I made omelettes for everyone, we all went for a little stroll along the river and then they went home.
T and I were exhausted but it was nice. We NEVER stay up that late. We normally act like we are about 70 years old, so it felt novel and fun to be living like the youngsters do. (I am only half kidding people. I really am this nerdy.)
We spent the rest of the day exerting as little effort as possible, just reveling in our success and what better way to do that than curl up on the couch with blankets and a bowl of rice noodle soup and watch Logan's Run? I'll answer that for you, there is no better way.
Good times.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
flossing dos and dont's for dorks
I had this dental problem recently. I grind my teeth. I have managed to push one down more than it should be, which makes it easier for stuff to get into the gums. So some stuff got in and that doesn't sound too bad, but it was MURDER!! IT killed my entire head. I felt like I had a giant, molten, ball of lead in my gums. I took advil, tylenol, gum freezing stuff, nothing made the pain go away for DAYS! The dentist told me to floss like crazy and eat only soft food for a week. So...
I have been diligently flossing and taking care since then, but I made the fatal mistake of economy. I bought some dental floss for work and decided to opt for the cheaper kind, instead of the deluxe smooth tape kind. Mistake. Mostly, I had been concentrating on flossing the problem tooth on the bottom right of my mouth(this is at work mind you. I floss them all each night. just so you know I am dentally dedicated.). Today, I decided to do them all. Well, the rest of my teeth are much tighter together than the problem ones and I got a huge chunk of mint green floss jammed between 2 teeth on the other side of my mouth.
Brilliantly, I tried to floss it out with the same floss, in a panic, and got more jammed. It was literally ripped in half as I had to yank it with all of my might. So I feel like I have a bulldozer trying to push my 2 teeth apart and I KNOW this is going to cause the same kind of problem that I just had. I am frantically trying to figure out what tools I have at hand that I can jam in there and wedge the floss out with. Pen? Nail file? Paper clip? The pressure is increasing between my teeth so I grab my wallet and make a run for the drug store.
It's busy as hell because it's lunchtime. I'm pushing people out of the way to get to the good floss. I find it, rip it open and start flossing my teeth in the middle of the aisle. A lovely sight for all I'm sure.
I finish and line up. The guy in front of me has a bottle of orange juice and I'm jealous so I go get one, but I don't want him to see that he's influenced me, so I look at some other stuff before I get it. Meanwhile, I'm still holding on to the rather bloody piece of floss I used. Must have looked real sane. I get my orange juice and line up. As I'm waiting to pay I'm thinking what I will say to the cashier in french. At first, I think I'll tell her I opened the floss as I had an urgent need.
She says "bonjour" to me and I blurt out with great importance that I have already opened the floss and decide mid-sentance not to elaborate any further.She looks at me and nods a little warily and rings it in, no questions asked. Why would she? Why did I think I had to address it even?
In summary, I am a spazz.A spazz who will now have the other side of her mouth killing her and be eating mashed potatoes and soup for the rest of her damn life!
I have been diligently flossing and taking care since then, but I made the fatal mistake of economy. I bought some dental floss for work and decided to opt for the cheaper kind, instead of the deluxe smooth tape kind. Mistake. Mostly, I had been concentrating on flossing the problem tooth on the bottom right of my mouth(this is at work mind you. I floss them all each night. just so you know I am dentally dedicated.). Today, I decided to do them all. Well, the rest of my teeth are much tighter together than the problem ones and I got a huge chunk of mint green floss jammed between 2 teeth on the other side of my mouth.
Brilliantly, I tried to floss it out with the same floss, in a panic, and got more jammed. It was literally ripped in half as I had to yank it with all of my might. So I feel like I have a bulldozer trying to push my 2 teeth apart and I KNOW this is going to cause the same kind of problem that I just had. I am frantically trying to figure out what tools I have at hand that I can jam in there and wedge the floss out with. Pen? Nail file? Paper clip? The pressure is increasing between my teeth so I grab my wallet and make a run for the drug store.
It's busy as hell because it's lunchtime. I'm pushing people out of the way to get to the good floss. I find it, rip it open and start flossing my teeth in the middle of the aisle. A lovely sight for all I'm sure.
I finish and line up. The guy in front of me has a bottle of orange juice and I'm jealous so I go get one, but I don't want him to see that he's influenced me, so I look at some other stuff before I get it. Meanwhile, I'm still holding on to the rather bloody piece of floss I used. Must have looked real sane. I get my orange juice and line up. As I'm waiting to pay I'm thinking what I will say to the cashier in french. At first, I think I'll tell her I opened the floss as I had an urgent need.
She says "bonjour" to me and I blurt out with great importance that I have already opened the floss and decide mid-sentance not to elaborate any further.She looks at me and nods a little warily and rings it in, no questions asked. Why would she? Why did I think I had to address it even?
In summary, I am a spazz.A spazz who will now have the other side of her mouth killing her and be eating mashed potatoes and soup for the rest of her damn life!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
future spring of the past
We are all going to hell in a handbasket. It's January and it feels like late spring. I keep getting strong sense memories of past springs. Being in the present is next to impossible lately, I'm so overloaded with smell and feeling memories. 4 springs in particular keep popping up.
Spring #1: 7 years old, it's easter, I'm in my grandmother's backyard in my fancy dress and mary jane's. I'm full of chocolate and the wind is blowing and my coat is open and the sun is shining and I can smell warm, green leaves.
Spring #2: 27 years old,working part-time at a pottery shop and going to art college "full time", it's just before Valentine's day and I'm walking in my neighbourhood, down the Danforth in Toronto. It's still cold but sunny as hell. I'm going to the chocolate store to get chocolate covered oreos for my boyfriend at that time. I encapsulate my whole life at the time by feeling like i'm in the center of things, loved and not worried about money. I'm still a kid.
Spring #3: 30 years old, on "vacation"(pursuing a ridiculous long-distance romance).I'm in Amsterdam in the early evening, walking along a canal(of course), with the sun setting, forgetting for a moment how unhappy I am with the person I came with. Even though there's alot of people, it's seems sort of subdued. Everyone is talking quietly and moving gently along the street.
Spring #4: 31 years old, in my first apartment in Montreal. Just begun a new relationship I know will last. It's an old, old place but it's mine, my first apartment that's all mine in my whole life and it's got character oozing from every corner. It's saturday morning and me and T are in the kitchen in our pajamas eating toast. I'm looking out the backdoor window onto the balcony and the sun is shining like crazy. My cat Hoovy(RIP) is weaving in and around our ankles and we are full of possibilities for the day.
So yep.
Christmas was good. I went back home and I miss it now. I miss my family and an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time. Shout out to you P. I don't have any friends or family here in Montreal. Just me and my T, which is usually all I need, but I'm feeling a little bummed now. After being around everyone on my home turf, being back in Montreal feels like I'm far away.
New years was 100% uneventful. Never really gave much of a crap about new year's eve.
Now it's here, it's 2007, we are all going to burn and I can't keep my head out of the past, but so it is. So it shall be? Something to that effect.
Spring #1: 7 years old, it's easter, I'm in my grandmother's backyard in my fancy dress and mary jane's. I'm full of chocolate and the wind is blowing and my coat is open and the sun is shining and I can smell warm, green leaves.
Spring #2: 27 years old,working part-time at a pottery shop and going to art college "full time", it's just before Valentine's day and I'm walking in my neighbourhood, down the Danforth in Toronto. It's still cold but sunny as hell. I'm going to the chocolate store to get chocolate covered oreos for my boyfriend at that time. I encapsulate my whole life at the time by feeling like i'm in the center of things, loved and not worried about money. I'm still a kid.
Spring #3: 30 years old, on "vacation"(pursuing a ridiculous long-distance romance).I'm in Amsterdam in the early evening, walking along a canal(of course), with the sun setting, forgetting for a moment how unhappy I am with the person I came with. Even though there's alot of people, it's seems sort of subdued. Everyone is talking quietly and moving gently along the street.
Spring #4: 31 years old, in my first apartment in Montreal. Just begun a new relationship I know will last. It's an old, old place but it's mine, my first apartment that's all mine in my whole life and it's got character oozing from every corner. It's saturday morning and me and T are in the kitchen in our pajamas eating toast. I'm looking out the backdoor window onto the balcony and the sun is shining like crazy. My cat Hoovy(RIP) is weaving in and around our ankles and we are full of possibilities for the day.
So yep.
Christmas was good. I went back home and I miss it now. I miss my family and an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time. Shout out to you P. I don't have any friends or family here in Montreal. Just me and my T, which is usually all I need, but I'm feeling a little bummed now. After being around everyone on my home turf, being back in Montreal feels like I'm far away.
New years was 100% uneventful. Never really gave much of a crap about new year's eve.
Now it's here, it's 2007, we are all going to burn and I can't keep my head out of the past, but so it is. So it shall be? Something to that effect.
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