catching up

so this is what happens when a chronically sleep deprived individual is able to sleep for as long as she wants: 13 hours of really weird dreams...

the one this morning that involved 3 close friends, a chicken and a lot of toasters. WTF??

I am spending time by myself and doing things I love: reading non-school related material, making cookies, watching movies.

not waving but drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been to cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh no no no, it was too cold always
(still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

~S.Smith

cross eyed with times new roman...

which, I guess is better than going blind from staring at ariel or comic sans all day... I can only imagine the response of my very distinguished professor if I handed him my thesis written entirely in Treefrog. Or Webdings 3.

not to fear, 'tis but the ramblings of a diseased mind. which is now seeing the world in black and white with serifs.

Remember Neas? all those afternoons in the castle with Martin, staring at fonts...

apparently the only solution to this ailment is to cut the crap and go out to face society. Eat pizza exquise first, drink wine out of a paper bag. Dance ass off to the sweet tunes of the early 90s...

"it's like that, and that's the way it is - Huh"

the plumber cometh

tomorrow morning. sometime before 10 am. Which is funny, since I haven't been awake before 11 in about a week. Or 3 days. When one goes to bed at 4 in the morning, drugged on NyQuil, one has difficulty rising to do her sun salutations at the appropriate time.

Fortunately, a night of the intricacies of Canadian immigration policy and the Indochinese boat people await me. (Who was saying that I don't get out enough?) If all goes well, I should still be awake at 10 am to let my landlord and the plumber-god-who-will-fix-my-drainless-tub into my humble abode.

And it's hovering around zero tonight, inside the walls. Maybe he can fix my heating while he's at it...

achievements for today:

1. laundry
2. buy milk

not bad for six hours awake.

the leaving is getting palpably near, and I can no longer pretend that life is going to continue as normal. I finish university next week. I will be back in BC by mid June at the latest. I will work/play my way through the summer. In October... travel? become a cashier at Safeway? start painting a picket fence in Calgary? ride a motercycyle to Cairo? curl up in a ball and hibernate? These are decisions I feel completely unqualified to make.

Not suprising though. Since my Saturday night when I succombed to a winning combination of dehydration/low bloodsugar/stress/exhaustion I haven't had the energy to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, except that I live alone: no roommates or family members to cook or wash dishes for me. Don't get me wrong, I love living alone-maybe when I have returned chez famille, I will write down all the virtues of living solo- but right now I could use a manservant. I was told that the term "manbitch" would be more apropriate, but I am loath to use that particular term because of connotations with Pulp Fiction.

Have been inside way too much today. but it's rainy, and I am lazy.

"take a holiday in spain...

leave my wings behind me
drink my worries down the drain
fly away to somewhere new..."

the ER on a Saturday night is not really where I was thinking of...

small things...

sleep solves so much.

and one of the lost boys has been located. this one's been in the israeli army for the last 3 years, and hasn't been heard from in about 2... we spoke briefly this afternoon, and he'll call tomorrow.

suddenly everthing seems ok.

God, I'm glad he is safe and alive.

jealousy.

Nobody will ever say that I am the world's most compassionate or kind person. Really, I'm not even close. I lack tolerance, perspective and general good will.

But usually, usually, I am able to be happy for my friends when good things happen to them. Most of the time I can harness my generosity of spirit and be genuinely glad when they get good jobs, find nice boyfriends, achieve stunning marks or win vacations to Cuba.

Lately though, I have been singularly unable to conjure up joy for the lives of others. In particular, one of my best friends.

It's nothing big: she is pretty much set for post-graduation plans, has enough money to do whatever traveling she wants, and (this is the kicker) is being courted by a most wonderful man. When I say courted I mean it in the old English sense: he sends her funny, intelligent and articulate emails, he brings her flowers and he knows when to leave her alone to study. (which isn't particularly old english at all... just classy and grown up...)

And while objectively I am happy for her, inside I want to die. I want him to let slip some grossly inappropriate comment, or to have bad table manners. I want her to decide it's not worth it. I want to stop feeling like the wicked step-mother in the manger.

I've had enough time alone with my mind to realize that most of this is my own hysteria: the panic of being spewed out into the real world, the lack of sleep, the remnants of a horrific love affair that left me questioning my worth as a person.

It's not terminal. This too shall pass. And as much as I live by the adage that denial is the first step on the road to healing... I have to get this out somewhere. I wish I could be funny about this, witty and humorous and insightful, but right now I feel ravaged, and paralyzed. Like my heart has the kind of 'road rash' that you get falling off your bike aged seven. It goes away eventually, but in the meantime it hurts like hell and looks really bad for what is, realistically, just a surface wound.

"wake me up, wake me up, it's one of us that's screaming"

it's late...

... and I am listening to the Killers.

the hell has commenced and it's exhausting just thinking about it.

end of tunnel light comes in the form of a possible escape with dear friends, and some news of the lost one.

my darlink brother has started a blog too. he is cool and writes really well. Unlike his sister whose brain has started to melt out her ears...

anyways, check it out kids:
here

bed for this muffin.

what every daughter wants to hear...

"your father is 2/3 of the way up a tree on the end of the extention ladder. He is tying a live powersaw to his waist..."