it was business as usual

the heat is hanging here again, like wet wool draped on unsturdy forms.

i've spent the largest portion of the last forty eight hours of my life in my room, reading until my eyes blur, investigating methods of pickling, listening to albums that reflect ten years ago. oh, i've escaped for periods of time- i mopped the floor, i ventured out for bread, for dinner with leslie, for a movie. but mostly it's been myself and the vox, hanging out with pickle recipes and spending time just thinking. and thinking.

and thinking.

when i started university, i had this image of what it would be like to graduate. to be frank, it wasn't anything like now. i assumed i'd be much more put together, living on my own, having a job i actually genuinely cared about. i pictured a lover. a cat. plants in the windowsill. i had this imagined world of a kind of posh reality, with too-bright colours and ikea-ized furnishings.

i'm not that put together. my hair continues to defy any kind of sense- common or not, and my wardrobe has one suit inherited from my mother and manufactured sometime in the eigties, i am quite sure. i live in a six by eight room, filled to capacity and then some with tastes of africa, photos, craft supplies, books on philosophy and sock monkies. i have no cat [however i am working on stealing pumpkin, the cat that belongs to our neighbours and who has become accustomed to having afternoon naps in our house].

i don't have a lover.

i have plants, but not in winowsills because that's impossible inthis house. they all live in wird places, sprouting from out wine bottles and strage plastic containers.

posh is the last word i would use to describe this reality.

and despite being so separated, so removed from the imagined life i had so effortlessly pictured four years ago, i can say with extreme clarity and more truth than you'll ever believe- i think this is more than perfect.

it is

[as an after thought, i need to stop with the random, far in between, posting full of enigmatic thoughts and bring back the ridiculousness of every day that currently is. because lord knows there's enough ridiculousness in my life to overwhelm a medium-sized nation].

out on the wild windy moors

toronto- or, if you love douglas coupland, tranna- holds this kind of mystique for me.

maybe it's the huge buildings, their windows reflecting beams of sunlight and strange images back and forth until all proper form is lost. maybe it's the masses of people, yelling, tripping, strolling [because they don't ever seem to just walk i that city] down streets with names that demand attention: bathurst, queen, spadina, dundas. or maybe it's the way the subway rumbles under you as you're sitting in a park, having coffee and enjoying the sunlight.

i don't know. i just can't place it.

i can, however, place the kink in my neck, the buises on my knees, the faint stinging in my hands and the undeniable sense of warmth that has seeped into my joints from the live music that echoed off the wooden seats and the high ceilings of massey hall last night.

yeah, all that, it's what i like to think is contentment embodied. compliments, this time, of the epic wilco daytrip to tranna that is, i believe, going to remain impressed on me for longer than i can possibly imagine.