my kind's your kind

i think it's generally well known that i love my bed.

any bed, really, so long as there's access to a foam pillow and a blanket. i've reached the conclusion that i probably spend far too much time in my bed, reading, eating [yes, horrible, i know], making monkeys, talking, day dreaming- just about everything.

perhaps, then, it should come as no surprise that one of my least favourite things in the world to do is to wake a person up. waking up not only involves being yanked from dreams, warmth and rest, but also necessitates the removal of one's self from bed. it always seems so violent- and sometimes it is.

however, sometimes it's also entirely necessary.

this morning, when i crept into my old bedroom-turned-guest-room to wake up zach after our half-godfatherathon, he jumped so far off the bed when i woke him that i think it took three years off of my life, not to mention a layer of skin from my hand where the hot coffee i was walking around with scalded my skin.

note to self- give up on waking people up. the power of the bed is obviously superior.

roman candle lightening love

the rain pours down in intermittant bursts, the sound and smell permeating my house in creeping tendrils, reminding me of things i always fear i'm going to lose.

i feel like something's shifted in me, that something unnecessary and hindering has finally broken. i've been too damned tired for too long; too afraid that some small reminder will send me over the edge, force me to tears at the most inopportune moment.

who the fuck cares if i cry in the middle of a shopping mall?

i was so certain that i'd figured everything out, that i'd learned how to ask. instead, i'm beginning to understand that i've simply realized that i don't know how, but am finding my way as surely as a blind man in a dark room.

i worry about what making it past this obstacle will mean. i hear my mother- the way i did when i was younger- laughing girlishly, telling me that worry gets you nowhere. i always wondered what she meant. some days i still do. but i think now i am beginning to understand how it all works.

call me and i'll prove it.

we can't stop now

there are no words that can accurately describe this city.

[this impression may or may not be flavoured by the fact that i have spent the last forty eight hours intoxicated, enjoying my balcony, wine and happy amounts of marijuana immensely].

my love has come home

mom and james and i just finished watching the new world.

beautiful scenery and massive historical issues aside, i simply must compliment mr. farrel on his eyebrow grooming. those suckers looked fantastic, eeriely symmetrical and darker than his hair.

now i can't stop staring at men's eyebrows.

that's what i like about you

six am wake up + sunburn + thirty degree weather + garage sale + douglas coupland's newest novel = pure and utter majesty.

now i have to go and buy way too much cheese and way too many eggs. and then, i need to hop on the fantastic and magical schwinn and leap into georgian bay. it takes years off the life of my heart, yes, but on a day like this, it's too fucking amazing to miss.

i am so excited that my toes are tingling.

in other news, i'm convinced that duckie has eloped with a strong, dark irishman who has swept her off her feet. there may be a bit of turmoil in the first weeks of their relationship- specifically pertaining to the involvment of guinness with breakfast and the necessity of wool in every aspect of one's wardrobe, not tomention that pesky fascination she has with a certain drummer- however, things will work out and when i'm forced into visiting them, it will just suck so hard to have to sleep in their guest cottage.

i'm guessing his name is o'connell.

hawt.

i'm not the alpha ending

my feet are stained black with old motor oil, cobwebs strung in my hair and dust seems to have permeated my entire being. my contacts are scratchy and i can't seem to stop sneezing. however, our "barn" is now easy to access and we've a huge pile of stuff to garage sale.

in other news, i can drive legally for four more years. go me.

in other other news, i really really REALLY have to email the girl i love in dublin and call the girl i love who spent st. patrick's day in dublin. maybe i'll pick a day that makes more sense.

unlike me. the sense part i mean.

god i need coffee number sixteen today.

i feel summer creeping in

i hate to admit it, but veronica's gotten us all hooked on passions.

that wily alister. whatever will he do next?

it's so cold when you're dead

the past two weeks, in no particular order have included karokee, nickelback, flying fishheads, fishwork, water fights, watching passions and pretending to be surprised that alister was god, getting a haircut for free from an absolute tool, making sock creatures, curry times three, kevin and kelly and james and i ALL home at once and getting darther vader masks from mom, three paychecks, a roadtrip of truth or karokee majesty, building a cake with a t-rex dinosaur adventure on the top, vaccuum packed critters, finally meeting mike and his boyfriend josh [whom i SWEAR i know] and andrew and seeing duckie's house, sleepovers, barefeet, whiskey [so much fucking whiskey], gracelessness, laundry, xmen, dancing, and music exchanges.

all in all, it's been a pretty righteous two weeks.