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Monday, January 31, 2005

i can't force myself out of bed. every morning. the motivation just isn't there. and i don't care about any of it.

( make me smile today. make me laugh. tell me that i'm fun to be around. i'd like to feel like myself for a little while. would that be alright?)

Sunday, January 30, 2005

what did you say? what did i say? something got me hysterical that night so maybe we should forget it even happened. yes. forget.

saturday. work. still drunk for the most part. coffee can't save me anymore. it's part of the decor. just furniture. but the night was fun. spinal tap. finally. and there's always room for more sealab and mr. show. iain drank the sunset passion. pink and fruity. mike threw himself down the gorsebrook hill on the way home and fell into a big hole. i wasn't in a playful mood anymore. sometimes i'm just rotten company.

(easy now. easy. be careful. don't get yourself into trouble like you always do. you always do this.)

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

i really need someone to take my place. seriously. someone take it. it's a nice place to live and this whole process is giving me ulcers.

also, i lost my cell somehow, and along with my destroyed laptop, this is shaping up to be another fabulous term for me.

fuck everything.

i better get some good luck soon, or i'm just gonna pack up and steal away in the dead of the night. i'll be a hermit in the woods and grow my own vegetables, hunting lost children as they wander through my path. i'll swing from the trees in my underwear and yell nonsensical syllables at my victims before swooping down upon them. vengeance will be mine.

i need a drink.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

i left halfway through my jazz class. third stream. jazz-sax Bach interpretations and classical male choral pieces with improvised clarinet solos overtop. i couldn't listen. they played one song and i sang another one in my head. ella fitzgerald in my ears and thelonious monk tapping out of my feet. no dice.

(iain was right. i should have skipped altogether and gone to tom's)

i love walking through the city at night after a huge storm. three storms in this case. the sidewalks are mostly cleared, and all along them the banks on either side are piled high from hours of shovelling. i walk through white tunnels, on narrow paths. the air is so cold that it numbs my face until it feels like it's not mine anymore. unnatural. lifting at the edges and threatening to slide off at any moment. on the way home, i counted all the spots in the snow where someone had fallen, or been pushed playfully, leaving the unmistakable mark of splayed legs and deep hand prints where they heaved themselves upright, laughing, shaking snow from their hair. eleven in all. we are a fun-loving bunch of people.

before going inside i made three more. all bizarre. all obviously planned. a series of dance moves frozen in snow. figure those out, haligonians.


Monday, January 24, 2005

i haven't been this lazy in years. i checked the dal website at ten-thirty this morning and victory danced all the way back to mike's room. this is the second time in one week that the snow gods have given me the day off and mike still has to trudge across the street to work.

the kegger was nuts. my first time inside of a frat house. the movies really don't lie. at any given moment you could see some shmuck attempting a funnel, full plastic cups of flat, sticky keg beer being slopped onto an already sticky floor, a black light dance floor with almost-strangers groping each other in the neon dark and parades of boys walking up to the kitchen with party-sized joints between their teeth. all in all, an awesome time.

we left the party around two, walking in the numbing, blinding cold back to my apartment. we weren't even inside long enough to warm up, packing bags full of clothes, books, food and mystery booze and heading immediately back up to smith street. we were prepared for serious hibernation. upon arrival, we cracked open a bottle of wine and promptly fell asleep to the warriors. i don't think we even made it to when cyrus gets shot. i cannot dig it.

yesterday was spent in a blissful hangover, slugging back cup after cup of perfectly potent coffee. fogburner. ahhhhh. we created a bubble of good company and food, with the storm roaring harmlessly at the windows. i set foot outside only once, dragging my feet through drifts to rent some movies. Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark (finally!), Storytelling (not terrible, but also not highly recommended), and the ever-classic: The Pink Panther strikes again (how can anyone NOT love Peter Sellers?). The bubble was reinforced. Everything was perfect.

I have yet to go outside today. I have no regrets. Graeme made us pancakes today. I read a hundred pages of my book. the weather stops everything for me, lets me catch up, wrapped in the comfort of thick, wool blankets and fuzzy socks and the kettle gently whistling from the kitchen.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

i just got woken up by an early phone call from an aussie. he's coming to look at my place for his girlfriend at ten. then another person is coming at ten thirty. and then work work work.

last night was 'feed the boyfriends' night at my parents' place. scallops and salmon and venison and potatoes and grilled veggies and fruit salad. barry told story after story about thailand and cambodia. mike regaled the family with stories of leigh, the ancient, jewish, manhatten-born bush enthusiast who now lives in halifax and has adopted mike as her new grandson. she writes him cheques for ten dollars for duct-taping down linoleum. he told me that there is so much furniture crammed in that it is all rendered non-functional. her walls are plastered with zen mantras and pictures of kittens. i'm so jealous that she adopted him and not me. so jealous.

i'm supposed to go to a keg party tonight, but i won't be able to if i have to move in the morning.

here's hopin' for a big snowstorm.

Friday, January 21, 2005

today is moving day. crinkling up everything i own into little newspaper balls and packing them all into boxes. everything must go.

questions yet to be answered: just what exactly IS under my bed? Did that corpse decompose under that pile of laundry? will the mice discover my plot to escape and send in their troops?

time and packing will tell.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

what the hell...

there is a message for somebody in everything i say.

the computer is here. it runs. purrs like a kitten she does she does. no more of those late nights, anxiously chewing fingernails and checking my blog every hour on the hour to see if i had somehow managed in my computer-less state to drop you a few meagre words in all the darkness. oh no! i have returned, dear bloggers, stroking my ego and kicking some ass on the side. there will be posting! yes! posting of a most illustrious nature, with all the questionable content you have come to expect from me. the whiskey temptress. (who, at this moment, is having a wee power struggle with the poison, but is confident of future victory.)

everything is going to be cool now. real horrorshow.

(except us if you don't get up off your ass and call me, motherfucker. i know we fought over something stupid this morning, but i'm as stubborn as a goddamned mule and you know it. i can't call you. i can't. you have to call me.)

no worries. no worries.

Monday, January 17, 2005

if i was eight, i'd be outside playing right now. instead i'm inside, nose pressed to glass, waiting for it all to be over.

mike and i spent the morning hiding out in his windowless room. no windows mean no hint of the outside world. through the wall we could faintly hear the low rumble of a slowblower.

"close your eyes and pretend that it's a lawnmower you're hearing. it's summer."

but i couldn't do it. i closed my eyes and focused every part my brain on summer, warm air and sticky lemonade. salty breeze. canada day fireworks and that buzzing sound that those giant beetles make when it's really hot. summer. summer. summer. no good. that sound is a snowblower and the world is buried in a layer of jagged ice and crunchy snow.

maybe if i played for a while it would be better. it's a snow day. who wants to go sledding and throw snowballs at old people?

Sunday, January 16, 2005

entering week three without a computer... 

this is becoming problematic. i have to do my assignments at Smith Street...so far, i've been here for three hours and all i've accomplished is watching anchorman. riiiight. (by the way, not that funny. you guys way overhyped it.)

i read all of A Clockwork Orange this afternoon. my brain was flooding with images of rape and destruction, all peppered with russian/made up slang. droogies. devotchkas. litsos. rookers.

i'm feeling a malenky bit tired and all these bezoomy slovos make me smeck.

still. productivity is high. tasks are underway. this weekend was fun. iain finally saw the warriors and liked it. (this was important)

i'm excited for Corey Feldman night. rawr.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

i didn't get chosen to be the general fiction editor of Fathom. i'm the submissions director. that means that if i don't do my job...no one else has a job to do. that means serious leg work...running around, talking to large classes, putting up posters, harrassing the gazette people and generally getting the word out that fathom needs submissions. there is no glory in this job. only work. *sigh* i'm ashamed to say it, but what i really wanted this time was glory.

that in mind....dal students:(ben, curtis, kaitlin, jon, sean, etc..)

send any short prose or poetry my way to be potentially published! woo!

Sunday, January 09, 2005

i'm so pissed right now. i can feel the anger creeping up the back of my neck and settling behind my eyes, cold and throbbing. there is a difference between you and i, whether you like to admit it or not. there are nuances you never understand. i'm sick of explaining. nothing changes. everything is stagnant and rotting.


what am I supposed to do
I lost my shit because of you
nothing can stop me now
I don't care anymore
nothing can stop me now
I just don't care

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

lately, i've been thinking about the underdog. the self-loathing dreamer. the one who has nothing to begin with. who is mocked, pitied, or worse, overlooked completely. but then it turns around doesn't it? there is always a moment where they shine brighter than the sun, and it's always at that single too-perfect-to-believe second when everyone that needs to be watching is watching. redemption. that's what it's all about. Jeffery Lebowski. Seymour from "Ghost World". Harvey Pekar. Napolean Dynamite. i watch their triumph with my knees clasped to my chest, smiling wildly behind my hair.

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