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.