i said please talk to me

halfway between the fresh produuce section and the weird, large, high ceiling-ed part of the grocery store, i suddenly remember that i'm forgetting something.

"SHIT!" i blurt out, "the onions!"

however, what you must picture is me- ipod playing, maroon scarf trailing, basket swinging- standing stock still in the middle of a central aisle that is filled to the max with people pushing carts filled with cans and boxes and bags of foodstuff.

i catch no less that seven people grinning as i swing drastically and backtrack to the vegetables.

and i'm going to buy this place is what i said

i'm fighting with robin's computer- as a pc user, i find the mac somewhat difficult. [sssssh- don't tell anyone, but even finding IE was pretty much impossible- i used messenger's link to your mailbox and then went from there. damned foreign shiny sparkly oh-so-pretty apple compie...]

anyways, last night was like a reversion to second year- helloooo leeds sleepover! after forgetting to bring x-men [which we were going to watch in the grand tradition of meg-and-robin sleepovers] we opted for sleep and proceeded to snuggle into the more comforatble-than-hell leeds bed. sweet blessed sleep, however eluded us.

especially with me sitting bolt upright laughing hysterically at the though of first year joe's chalet in the swiss mountainside.

you see, in second year latin class, there were twelve of us. and all of us, save one, were of the female variety. in an attempt to make joe feel less awkward, we started making up stories about who he REALLY was- because no sane boy would have chosen that class with that group of girls. eventually, we decided that he was obviously the heir to the swiss rolex fortune- however, because of some nefraious plot to kill him, he was hiding out at carleton. luckily, though, some of his wealth allowed joe to keep up certain aspects of his former life- hence the chalet in the swiss mountainside.

man, no wonder i got a B- in latin- i was too busy imagining a soap opera involving goats, a swiss fortune, and a mountain chalet to pay attention to cicero.

whoops?

you're such a moral, moral man

i just got in from church.

although i was raised catholic, and proceeded to muddle my way through all of the pomp and circumstance of catholicism [including being confirmed] i've always questioned the depths of my belief because at my core, i cannot support the notion of abortion always being wrong, or even consider condoning the idea that abstinance, and abstinance alone, will stop the spread of AIDS in africa.

however, there's some sort of comfort to be had in ritual- especially in a ritual as old as the catholic mass and the profession of faith.

of course, i'm still going to hell regardless, probably more so after today because i only left twenty five cents for the candle i lit under the statue of the virgin for mike when the sign clearly said fifty- i swear to the holy mother i'll leave the proper fifty cents next time, but a brother's got to eat.

[hell, i tell you. HELL]

everything i can't remember

bono cut off his hair.

although incredibly simple, sensationalist news, i have to say that i've been going "yesss! yesss! thank the christ child!" for about twenty minutes now, because really, that old hair was getting kinda creepy.

yesss! yesss! thank the christ child!

once upon a time when the world was just a pancake

despite the weight pressing on me, making it hard to move from place to place, i've spent a good deal of today smiling.

in an attempt to trace the reason for the consistant revelation of my teeth to the world, i've only been able to come up with a drunken man named paul vomiting all over me as motivation.

fucked up, i know. but then, everything's fucked up from time to time.

i can follow the path, i can read the sign

i'm having problems with saltwater running down my face.

halfway content, most of the time

there's no denying it.

[it could be just about anything, i realize, ranging from my mad obsession with the x-files, the fact that that second coffee i had with peter and his younger brother was a bad idea, that i over play justin timberlake, that my desire for a double bed is actually quite tangible, right to the fact that i'm madly in love with john cusack].

what i really mean though, is that there's no denying that fall is here. i could literally taste it on the wind today, roaring up between buildings, making my choice of a skirt rather more risqué than i had planned.

the promise of snow is more than somewhat tantalizing to me- but in between there is just so much that i think i may burst.

i want tea. and i want to press leaves in heavy books. and i want to lay on the grass in a sweater gazing at the sky as those clouds that only fall produce scurry past. i want to bake goods that are spiced lightly with cinnamon and nutmeg and cardamom and make soup that causes people outside my door to pause in appreciation before coming in for a bowl. i want late nights and wool socks and roaring wind. i want hair in my face and shoes and ringing pavement. i want orion's belt. i want to divulge secrets that aren't even secret.

i want something i can't even describe.

levitate- lift me up

after reading six chapters of art history and mopping a floor that probably hasn't seen water and soap since the middle ages, i procrastinate by reading about what i was doing this time two years ago.

between the random guffaws, i can't decide if it's good or bad that everything's basically the same, minus my penchant for running out into the world wearing wool sock and sandals with dooey in my purse.

and the comments are gold.

if you wear that velvet dress

hands down, the best thing about last night was laughing so hard that i saw black spots dance before my eyes and had to put my arms above my head to breathe. this all resulted from justin accosting jeremey and i in the kitchen, demanding that we help him with sock puppets, and then tipping his hat as he made his way back to the living room.

the worst part of the evening? the last glass of wine i had was more horrific than my homemade danger, and i had to dump it down the drain. [i hate wasting wine- it's too good to be dumped unceremoniously down into old pipes and slowly filtered away to the land of liquid waste].

also majestic: stumbling home with kate and watching the second half of indiana jones and the temple of doom while eating homemade coffee cake and drinking the elixer of saint jude. [aka water- it's a bit hard to describe how holy my nalgene is unless you get up close and personal with it].

i think that that movie- and harrison ford- made me realize when i was about eleven that shirtless men are quite fantastic.

now- two hundred pages of reading.

without pants.

i will not take these things for granted

this morning i woke up with the ghost of a hangover and the feeling of something i couldn't quite put my finger on.

i've thought about this all day- through historiography [the class of stupid-ridiculousness that was actually quite enjoyable today], through my shopping at bulk barn, through various and sundry transit adventures. it niggled at me while i cleaned my house, grated carrots, was yelled at by a ropgers lady and stayed with my as i nearly did a face plant on elgin. even when talking with les, strolling through south keys [yes, again] i still couldn't put into words what the feeling was.

i'm still trying.

maybe it's contentment. no, really. i know how bullshit classic thirteen year old webjournal-esque that is, but maybe that feeling i woke up was being content. last night was fun, but not just surface fun. i drifted from person to person and all i felt were happy thoughts and good things. oh, there's the regular hums drama and the underlying currents of tension and stress that exisit in any group of fully incestous-type relationships like ours, but for once there was nothing catty, no glances across the room, no people avoiding each other.

people talked- that drunken induced talk filled with random 'no, man, i really love you' lines and the classic 'you know?' that seems to end everyone's sentence. but even the shit talk, the stuff that would normally seem wrong or out of place, flowed just as a sweet as molasses through the evening's discourse. and the best part is, on monday, in class, it'll all mean nothing and at the same time everything at once.

this isn't coherent.

when am i ever coherent though?

close your eyes and i'll kiss you

rum + tequila + wine = possibly the greatest idea ever.

ps- i love group hugs, especially from peter and tori and sara. i feel all squishy inside. yessss!

class in seven hours. eeeuughhhh

if you find me racing white horses

it's raining out.

fancy staying in? i'm low on good food, but with anna's tomatos, i'm sure i can make something pesto related that will feed your soul as well as your body. of course i'll have to escape directly after to check my teeth- even when you protest that there's nothing there. later, with soft mid-nineties music playing in the background and while we circle mugs of tea [mine is decaf earl grey, your is rooibos] with chilled fingers, we'll tell tales about bad things we did as children. i promise to only scald myself minimally when you recount that certain incident involving the police. later, after insisting that you have to leave five time in a row, i'll let you escape only after forcing you to promise that you'll head straight home, dancing in the rain between the spots of light that slowly fade- one into the other- along the sidewalk.

later, when the rain stops, i know it will wake me up.

i'm gonna warn my baby, woo

reaction to the ipod disater range from: compassion [james], outright horror [kelly], getting a chuckle out of my blonde and girly reaction [zach], to viewing this as a new and opportune time to use my feet and hands and hair as musical instruments [ben].

in other news- anna and i are talking on msn.

even though she only lives eight feet from me.

i've got rhythm

my computer just erased my entire ipod.

all of it. every last rare u2 track, every song that gets me through the day, every mashup, every memory, everything that saved me and continues to save me. it got rid of all the music zach gave me and the reggae cricket-guitar ben gave me. it deleted james' collection of the hip, zeppelin, every coldplay single every released. it demolished all of the cds i downlaoded in second year, and all of my mother's music that i had so pain-stakingly put onto it over the summer

i totally cried.

and now i have a headache. waaaaaahhhhh.

*cries more*

the sun so bright it leaves no shadows

coffee + classic u2 + egg and apple = gold.

in other news, i currently have a dismebered mannequin arm with webbed fingers hanging on the wall above my computer. i'm thinking that i must submit to the decoupage and turn it into a piece of art.

god i'm weird sometimes.

in the white room with black curtains

so, apparently i'm not as evil as i thought.

edmund- you know, that stupid fucking pigeon friend who had pigeon babies- relocated to MY balcony and now has stupid pigeon babies right outside my door! no wonder the hunger cries of the pigeon babies are so goddamned loud in the mornings! aaaarrgghh!

but i don't have the heart to evict them.

yet.

lock us in a cannery with your accordian

thunderstorms- albeit late- roll across ottawa with surprising intensity, drowing the city in a deluge of water that catches bits of premature leaves turned brown and red by the slowly shifting sun. secure in my stolen- no, wait- LIBERATED- yellow slicker, i watch downtown as people crawl out of the woodwork to stand in bus shelters and overhanging entrances to escape the vertical flood.

i can't help but laugh at the frosh who are out for a night on the town. especially the girls- soaked to the skin in barely-there clothes, makeup running down their faces in a most astonishing array of colours.

i think i'm getting old.

i'll be alone, dancing, you know it baby

you know how when you listen to really good music that has the right vocals and the right bass-line and the right guitar rifts and the right back-up singers you sometimes get chills all up and down your spine and gooseflesh down the back of your arms?

stephen lewis had the exact same effect.

let's compare scars

melissa tells me her feet are like refugees claiming status.

i'm forced to assume that this is in reference to the fact that they are so dirty they may as well belong to someone else, or even somewhere else. regardless, i end up in stitches, bent over and finally noticing the small trial an escaping spoonful of ice cream has left on my bare leg, of all places.

two more sleeps and then i return to ottawa.

it's hard to describe what ottawa means in relation to the word home. when i think of it, i think of all the words people generally use to describe india. cracked up relationship, i know. but i swear that ottawa is to me everything that india seems to be to everyone elese.

addictive. sultry. deep. exotic.

there's more to it than that though. because the winter there is nothing like india. i think though, the same idea can be applied. one word adjectives hang in the air when i think about the way deep cold shrouds everything with a hardness and a clarity that doesn't exist anywhere else that i've been; even more astonishing is the way light filtered through barren trees or reflected off of windows across the street has the ability to instantly shift the mood of any situation.

regardless- and senseless odd musings aside- two more sleeps. and in between then and now, i have to watch constantine [asshole], finish packing, finish up some gifts [muahahahahahahha], and find a way to seperate from here.

it's proving more difficult than i thought.