just pick up, i know you're there

walking home, the dust that spreads across the ground is stirred into the air by trucks and cars raoring by. the grit gets in my mouth and my first thought is of summer.

something seems to be hanging over ottawa. maybe it's the unseasonably warm weather we've been having. i see so much skin on the bus that i swear it's june and thirty degrees outside, not the end of march and maybe pushing sixteen, in alcoves protected from the wind. maybe it's the fact that every university student is holding his or her breath, wating, tesning, thinking- three more days of classes and then a few simple tests until summer starts. or maybe, maybe it's the need for a good, solid day of cleansing rain that makes this weight like wet wool drape over the buildings and stir the windchimes on the otherwise silent streets.

whatever it is, i love it. and i hate it. and i love it.

and you can dream, so dream out loud

when i fall into kate's bed, it's just that: a fall. my legs are so numb from the copius amounts of alcohol i've consumed that i can't even register and perform the correct motions that make up walking.

last night, robin, kate, kate, liz and i got dolled up and hit barrmore's for their no-cover retro eighties night. strobe lights and bubbles are the name of the game while billy idoo sings about masturbation at levels high enough to leave you deaf for three days. normally it's a dry event, but last night we hit the sauce before, during and after.

and oh my what an after.

after getting home, stealing the wine bottle and parading morgen, the six of us put on u2 and spun around the dining room, bottles and glassles slipping haphazadly through our fingers, the floor bouncing with our feet and the sounds of drunken happy beautifulpeople filling our ears and eyes and memories like fireworks on a hot and still july night.

liz and i danced for hours until, having finished the two bottles of wine, we collapsed into the two chairs and i apparently waxed poetic about the lack of cleaning skills on the part of my roommate's and the drama of secret love from last year, or so kate tells me as i remmeber talking and being clear in ym head, but can't- in retrosepct- recall a clear word of what i said.

when i woke up this morning i could taste happy.

we don't wanna go

the three of us- the two kates and i- sat on the couch in companionable silence for most of an hour this evening watching what not to underwear, quietly munching on popcorn and chocolate chips.

later, after kate s. and i have tried to watch the bbc production of troilus and cressida [and failed miserably] i make my way into the other kate's room, conquer her bed where she eventually tells me the story of my future boyfriend.

according to kate, he's taller than me, one of my acquaintances has him as a friend [she suggested peter as boys hang out with boys more often that not], smokes on occasion and when stressed, likes to cook, understands red wine, is willing to put up a bit of a fight, is a coffee fiend and has a maybe regular name, a maybe not regular name.

if you know him, please tell him to call me so we can begin our future relationship that will not end in tragedy or with me throwing anything.... or so kate tells me.

hahahahhahaha.

we know a secret- it happened some time ago

in grade eleven my brother and i shared my sister's old computer for the webbernet and school projects.

of course, it was filled with random games, old snips of poetry, weird word files, paint pictures, photos and music. even then, despite the illegalness of it all, james and i whored as much music as we could from just about anywhere we could. i wasted- if that's the right word- hours downloading random mp3s fromvarious sites just to have them, just to hear something new.

one day i stumbled across some of colin hay's solo work- because yes, the man from the land down under continued making music even after men at work broke up.

his voice is mellow, and soft. and it sounds like grade eleven.

for the first time since october, i woke up with a smile on my face.

got me in a trance and i can't explain

adventure? did i ask for an adventure?

oh if i weren't as drubk as i am right now i would tell you about crackers and slapping down a big wad of bills and bagels and cream cheese and meat sticks and a BACK RUB?!? oh fuck me and the first years- ahahahah wait till i tell robin. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA.

but now- sleep. of the drunk. yesssssssss.

the time has come to say fair's fair

i like the way the word veracity rolls around in my mouth.

the past week has been a blur of three a.m., word perfect, mugs on the floor, bad music, and scratchy eyeballs due to contacts being in too long. outside, the mud is starting to have that promising smell of good things and squishable-ness. if that's even a word.

i walked home today, stopping to buy nine apples, eight pears, seven mushrooms and on-sale lettuce that's only a wee bit brown around the edges. just over the canal- which has turned brackish with melting ice and the run off from the road- i run into kiersten and lindsey in a bus shelter. they ask in chorus if i'm coing to alcesties tonight.

you see, every year the college has a dramatic reading to thanks its mentors, and then, after the reading, there is ALWAYS a reception that involves platters of fruit and cheese and wine.

gallons and gallons of wine.

free wine.

needless to say, i smell that adventure i asked for the other day on the horizon. i also smell a possible hangover and a load of fun, but mostly i smell an adventure. look out batman, look out.

my love for you

snapshot:

kate's room. i'm on her bed, her things carefully scattered around me and pushed to one side all at the same time. kate's perched at her desk, attempting to get an outline for a presentation that has been postponed indefinately because of a strike down on her word processor. morgen's in the doorway, wearing kate's curious george pj pants, telling me about an essay that involves plato. the other kate walks by and the smell of her shampoo drifts slowly through the air, leaving a trail behind her.

god i fucking love these people.

see the sunlight in her song

three naps in one day.

i have to say that i think that may be my personal best since first year in april when every time i slept it counted as a nap because i was entirely nocturnal for most of that month.

at least we were together holding hands

it's true what they say about the full moon and it making people crazy.

kate and i left the house just before noon, planning to walk to the bank, hop a bus, grab some fruit and then come back to homework and laundry. once we got outside, though, it was hard to stick to that plan. even though st. patrick's day isn't until next friday, ottawa sure did have a parade wherein there were many scary [and stoned on shrooms, i'm convinced] leprechauns and lovely men in kilts. i've not seen anything like it ever in my life. kate and i stood right near the ends, mouths agape,laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

and enjoying every minuteof it, of course.

and then we did make it to the fruit store, and i bought a pineapple. it's said that smell is the strongest memory- pineapple makes me think of so many good things all rolled into one that whenever i buy one my teeth hurt from their continuous exposure.

we strolled most of the way home, made vegetable sandwiches and i sat in a chair with the sun on my face, bright lights dancing on the inside of my eyelids for over an hour. kate came and sat down eventually, and we nattered about next to nothing for a good while. when i finally got up, the world had that washed out look to it, everything a few shades duller than what they usually appeared.

on my way to leslie's, on a whim, i pick up a bouquet of flowers. when i walk through the market, men and women alike pause and watch their bright colours slowly arc through the air as i swing them mercilessly around, my red scarf clashing horribly with my pink sweater and my sunglasses protecting me from a sun that has nearly gone.

coming home after meeting bob-bert, eating too much cake, and watching sense and sensibility [hugh laurie's in it, you know] i just can't help but laugh at the antics of everyone out and about. me included, of course.

most are saying its the weather. others are blaming it on the fact that it's a saturday. the words 'march break' echo out of every conversation as an explaination for what's going on.

it's the man sitting on the pavement, an old hat out in front of him for spare change, though, that has it right.

"full moon fever!" he cackles to no one, pointing up at the orb that hangs just above the walkway between one side of rideau and the other. "full moon fever gets 'em every time."

heaven knows it's high time

when i wake up, it's to the sound of edmund, the tinkle of wind chimes and the radio muffled by the pillow that has fallen on it.

a brief and wonderfully unseasonable bit of warm air has descended on ottawa and people- including me- have gone crazy. eating breakfast, a piece of apple brushing my lips, coffee dripping on my toes, u2 blaring in the background and ketchup down the side of my hand, i liken it to bambi when the creatures are twitterpated in the spring.

the day smells good. it feels good, having started with laughter, music and good conversation. and with the sun shining the way it is, i have to say i haven't seen a better looking day in a long time.

it smells like adventure.

your eyes as black as gold

you know what's really sad?

skipping school to work on an essay so you can do good in school. there's something horribly wrong with this picture in my mind, but i keep allowing it to happen. i blame essays due late in the week- who plans ahead enough to actually work on them on the weekend? i mean, honestly.

and they were dancing and singing

before i go to bed, i generally eat a bowl of rice krispies.

sometimes this is a good thing. milk actually does calm me down and i like the noise cereal makes a lot. however, sometimes it's a bad thing because food before bed inevitable makes me dream of the most random things- everything from dating a childhood friend [that was more like a nightmare, actually] to having a conversation with the rock in a fancy posh ladies' bathroom.

last night, i had no cereal and still managed to dream that i was at a concert in toronto in the cityTV building. gordon downie was playing, and he kept referring to how great it was to be in the nation's capital. and i was so fucking pissed. i mean, here's gordon, a freaking canadian and he's referring to toronto as the nation's capital. and not just once, but between every song, every little anecdote, every time he could he just threw that reference in.

of course, i know the real gordon wouldn't do that- instead he's just thirll me by singing words like 'riot' and by doing that dance that only he can do.

i read it when it came

robin and i come in through the front door, the semi-cold and exceedingly beautiful day framing us from behind. kate s. is sitting on the couch, a blanket draped across her legs, a book on her lap.

"oh, you just missed kate. and bob-bert!" she exclaims.

CURSES!

hey, look at me, causing a catastrophe

i just spent three hours creating a bodhisattva that has the heads of mother teresa, an ethiopian woman and bono for my introduction to buddhism class.

and i wonder why people look at me funny when i tell them what i'm taking in school...