like a bad indie movie

The past year of my life goes like this:
I drink more than I eat.
I smoke more than I drink.
I ingest more caffeine than a European soccer team*, and still sleep all day.
I have not written anything of substance since before I remember. I have slipped into the other side of melancholy, where there is no more creative--well, anything.
I feel guilty about this. It is too early to tell but so much life feels already wasted, opportunity bygone.

I fucked up at school. Nobody to blame but myself. So I guess I'm dealing with the self disappointment, and it is a lot worse than being disappointed by others. My life, in a sense, is at a full stop.
I have created a mess. I fucked up so beautifully that moving forward is difficult. Fixing things is difficult.
Owning up to wasted potential is arresting. Admitting it is leading to even more self loathing.
And yet.
And. Yet.
I realize, rationally, that from an outside perspective, I am whining. Self indulgently.

Mostly I am kept up by the fear of Monday. Of going in to see the registrar and possibly losing my temper. As I have every single time before (and thus have left as to avoid a scene).
The paperwork alone makes me want to run away. I am good at facilitating that.
I have done that four times in the last year now.
Time to be a "grown ass" adult?
Shit man, that is terrifying.

So life is like a bad indie movie. If it were French I would die. But since I'm technically Canadian it will probably just end up boring and somewhat saccharine.



*I don't know why I said a soccer team, nothing else came to mind

a sample of my Vic&theMachines essay

The Victorian Era, following the wake of the Industrial Revolution, was a time of immense ideological change. Those who lived during this period were still some of the first generations to live during the time of the invention of the steam powered engine, and subsequently all of the development it instigated. The ushering in of the Mechanical Era left an indelible mark on people’s perception of good versus evil. At play in many minds was a complex take on the simple adage (or proverb): “idle hands are the Devil’s play ground.” To others, “The Mechanical Age” represented a shift in morality by way of enabling the idiom “a means to an end” (Carlyle, 442).

These two aforementioned ideas corroborate and fall in line with many religious tenets, specifically those of Christianity. Where the adage of idle hands is self-explanatory when linked with fears about machines, the idea of machines being a means to an end requires some further explanation. The dawn of the machine age as the harbinger of capitalism is one of the most potent examples of the means to an end idiom.

With the benefit of modern day knowledge, hindsight is 20/20. Although it may seem anachronistic, religion, back in early post-industrial revolution England was, in a sense, still an unsophisticated system of classification for the “unknown” or the “unexplained.” This much is supported by (at least) the example of the Catholic Church’s stance towards science and the figures therein, such as Galileo, who tried to validate the empirical method. (However, this is not to discount the value of faith, etc.)

Post industrialist England’s (as well as Ireland and Scotland’s) constituents were predominantly of the Christian faith, belonging to one of its three major divisions: Catholicism, Orthodoxy and Protestantism (Britannica). Many of the ideological and philosophical shifts that happened as a result of the industrial revolution and eventual acceptance of technology and machinery presented valid fears for the religious populace. In a way, machinery and technology was another unknown variable threatening the status quo. That which is unknown is easily sensationalized, and technology in the Victorian era was still unfledged.

Enter Thomas Carlyle. Carlyle rebelled against sensationalism while (ironically) taking part of it himself, in one of his treatises: Signs of the Times he railed against mass printing technology:

The king has virtually abdicated; the church is a widow without jointure; public principle is gone, private honesty is going; society, in short, is falling fast in pieces and a time of unmixed evil is come upon us. (Carlyle, 441)

The same technology that enabled Carlyle to print his treatise also enabled the mass production of monthly, weekly and daily journals, as well as newspapers, etc. In Carlyle’s view this capability to print on a mass scale facilitated dissemination of, at times, erroneous or sensationalist material (440).

Carlyle, as an educated man, is clearly in a superior economic position to the rest of the British populace, and it is evident from the reading of Signs of the Times that he does not trust the average working man’s intelligence to accurately discern fact from sensationalism one hundred percent of the time. The subtext of Carlyle’s essay is twofold; he sees problems with the rise of machines—specifically with how this relates to the loss of faith, and the new allowances made for Catholicism in England. The Catholic Emancipation Act was no doubt influenced by the proliferation of written material. The populace could now form their own opinions and make better-educated choices.

For Carlyle, the loss of arts and crafts inspired work and a turn to more assembly line type of work is correlated to a loss, and then a misappropriation and mis-association of faith. “No individual now hopes to accomplish the poorest enterprise single-handed and without mechanical aids; he must make interest with some existing corporation…” (Carlyle, 443) Carlyle is under the impression that if people put their faith in technology and machinery they are not leaving enough faith for Christianity, as if faith were a finite resource. Carlyle’s essay also illustrates a fear of the shift of faith from one form of Christianity to another (497). In the essay, Carlyle sees Christianity as the “crowning glory of life, soul and modern culture” (450) he espouses a Protestant view of religion and Christianity by talking about it in terms of simplicity and as faith starting within a “man’s soul” and by natural efforts, (a view very in line with Protestantism).

Carlyle observes, “Men have lost their belief in the Invisible, and believe, and hope, and work only in the Visible…” (452). Carlyle’s hypothesis of the shift in faith and beliefs was prevalent during the Victorian era. The discourse of this issue, as well as the issue of ideologically conflicting sects of Christianity eventually made its way into some of the fiction of the time. An example of this type of discourse takes place in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Stoker’s novel brings together three major issues that were commonplace during the Victorian Era, the discourse of Protestantism versus Catholicism and the way it relates to reverse colonialism (which, for the sake of being concise, will not be discussed here at length), the sinister implications of the loss of faith, and finally, the way in which technology manifests itself in Victorian Era Europe.

Looking back through time, specifically following the notion of how technology and machinery influenced the way of life following the industrial revolution, it is clear that there is an ongoing subtext pertaining to the uses and attitudes towards it within Dracula. Two compelling challenges within the text are: Where is the discourse regarding the two sects of religion leading, and how is it related to the idea or metaphor of machinery and technology? This paper proposes that if looked at retrospectively, Dracula is actually a text that espouses modern views toward technology and machinery. It does this by simultaneously comparing and contrasting two sects of a faith, while assigning each a positive and negative value. Furthermore, Stoker aligns specific technological elements and characteristics with characters within the text. These characters, then pitted against each other, through close examination are revealed as associated with specific faiths, ultimately affirming two things. Dracula effectively confirms the idea that technology and machinery is beneficial for humanity, and, secondly, that it does not have to interfere with humanity’s attitude toward faith.

smashy, smashy

Look, I'm not saying I'm actually omniscient. But there is a degree of knowledge that you partake in when you're part of all of this "social media" (fuck that term leaves a dirty taste in my mouth). It can make you feel like you're surveying the world from your lair. But this information overload is sometimes deafening. Alex, Anth and I were talking about this a while ago, Facebook/Twitter/etc., to an extent it's for those of us who like stalking. But not stalking stalking. Just... can't stop our curiosity. (We watched too much James Bond growing up) And although it doesn't literally kill the cat, it can wear on someone.

I partially use it as an escape, but it is also a compulsion. I hate the idea of not having cleared my cache in google reader. Lately I'm trying to leave it alone, or not go through everything, to test myself, maybe. And then I realize, the reason that I read so much...escape. It's all just a distraction, but from what?

So I went and met with someone on Tuesday morning, and in our hour or so together, he helped me understand the reasons behind the formation of the thought patterns in my brain. Not fully mind you, but it was a start.

It makes me want to run away to somewhere where there is no internet, and where I can't keep tabs on things.

But the idea of not keeping up with my daily trickle of information terrifies me.

Because:

The idea of being irrelevant terrifies me.

Hm, progress.

How can one person have gotten this far under my skin? That I'm willing to drop his class this late into the semester, and leave school for a year?

I can't deal with people's expectations anymore. I can't deal with my own either.

I love this guy.

Guy's name is Michael Hainey, Deputy Editor of GQ.

First saw him on the Sart, and I just love how mischievous he seems, even when he's not grinning. Pure cartoon character. Looks like he'd have good stories. Oh and he reminds me of Alan Ruck circa Spin City. +a billion points for the hair

photos c/o Sart and GQ.

Vienna

The bridge between Handelskai and Neue Donau stations. Cold and dusky. Just a touch of fog.

A long barge cuts a swath perfectly across the middle of the Danube.

That's why.

uhhh...Mr. The Plague?*

All I want to do is dick around, read and make notes on poetry. Play with my notebooks and get some, you know, semi original thought down, move forward somehow creatively for myself. But I'm stuck with this 16 page behemoth of an essay that was due a week ago. I'm getting docked some serious fucking marks. Which is why it's 4:30 in the morning.

This prof is really getting to me. He knows my name, he knows my name and he won't call on me by it, despite the fact that he calls on everyone else by their names. Mabye I'm imagining it but I can sort of feel contempt? So part of me really wants to impress the shit out of him, and the other part thinks it's a lost cause, and I really just want to...piss him off. I want to get in his face and be like "I know you think I'm a fucking idiot, and I just want to PISS YOU OFF." But I don't say anything, and I go to class, and I let him think that I'm dumb. Or something.

And it's stalling the rest of my life right now. I mean...other than this bronchiolitic plague. (bronchiolitic is a perfectly cromulent word). So I have this other essay due Friday that I haven't even started yet, but I will, and then I have this other 4 page thing due on Monday, and I work all weekend, in a building that makes me sick (or so I hypothesize). On the 18th I get to fly away, so I hope I get better before then. But guess what? I have class until 2 that day, and in class I get this take home test, that I have to hand in on the 20th. I think I'm in Bratislava that day. Oh and I haven't read like....half the books for that course (Nabokov). But I have been taking ridiculous amounts of notes and I love the prof, and the books are short, and amazing. So I'm sure I can catch up between Monday and Friday.

If this plague relents.

*it's a Hackers reference

questions

So I'm reading this article on Boing Boing where Richard Dawkins is talking about universities employing people who believe in Young Earth Creationism as scientists and geologists, etc. And at first I was feeling sort of as if he were being a bit harsh (as he is wont to do), but then I suddenly thought:

If you don't believe in a universe that is fourteen billion years old, why are you an astronomer?

Granted, it might be to find evidence of God, or to disprove that the universe is that old, etc.

But then why are you publishing research studies that conform to the concept a 14 billion year old universe? Pretending to everyone that you believe it? How can you live a lie?

I'm sincerely curious.

a day like any other

The girl opened the door to the charming house unassumingly. She had been trying to decide what she wanted to make for dinner when she spied the boxes in her peripheral vision. The realization that the light was on in the kitchen and that someone was moving about in the house caused a feeling of loathing and anxiety to settle in her chest. Her energy was being conserved for cooking and learning purposes, not semi-awkward small talk in the transitory spaces of the abode. It wasn't that she disliked the people. The people were nice as long as they didn't invade her personal bubble of thought. She liked to think of herself that way; walking around the city surrounded in an invisible cloud of words.

Ignoring the urge to set her bags down and flee, the girl took her jacket off and greeted the figure standing on the stepping stool.

Conversing was proving to be easier than she assumed it would be.

The figure in the kitchen, a woman, and for our purposes the owner of the house, began telling the girl that she was cleaning out the cupboards and had just finished with the fridge. As her story progressed her tone seemed more and more agitated.

The girl amiably agreed that it had needed to be done. She had wanted to help but found herself distracted by school and life. Her apology was sincere. They moved on to the weather. It had been extremely cold the past few days and her realization of exactly how much the heating bill came to (as per the owner) made her wince as she handed over the agreed upon share of money.

They chatted about the girl's looming deadlines at school and impending move away from the charming house. She said that she felt it was under control, even if it meant that sleep and seeing her friends for the next week or so would be minimal. How foolish.

Because in the next instant she was informed that she would have to move her belongings tout suite. As in before the first of the month. That was perplexing and presented a plethora of new, seemingly insurmountable challenges. The girl, again, had to fight the urge to run away. The half unpacked groceries and thoughts of dinner were what kept here firmly rooted to the ugly vinyl floor. Grin and bear it, she thought. Her eyes glazed over as the owner continued her diatribe about how the girl needed to pack up her belongings almost immediately, etc., and concentrated on chopping red peppers.

When she was finally left to her own devices dinner progressed at a steady pace. Once it was done, she washed the dishes and took her plate upstairs to eat. When she was done eating, she poured herself some Scotch. Perhaps 'some' was an understatement.

She slowly and methodically looked around her amusingly messy room, thinking about all the books she had amassed at her age. The notebooks, photographs, and concert tickets; all mementoes of experiences and days now long gone. She waited until the Scotch took its desired effect, sat down in her chair, and firmly placed the muzzle of the Glock behind her ear.

And as she pulled the trigger, her last thought was "Have fun cleaning this shit up".

It's one of those days.

shower thoughts

I know I said I was going to sleep but the shower always makes me think random thoughts. And since this is my blog I can say whatever the hell I want. So....

you know how sometimes you're performing a task or action and it jogs your memory? Say you're putting your hands together just so and you think of Mr. Burns, so you say "excellent". Well I was in the shower minding my own business, washin' my hair, when out of nowhere I thought: "Shampoooooo meeeeeee"-- in my own defence it was lathering really pleasantly. Back to the quote though, raise your hand if you've ever watched Captain Star. (oh em gee, it's all on the youtubes now!) So Jones (the 9 headed guy) gets this carpet and it spreads all over the planet and every now and again it says: "Shampoo me" in a mellifluous voice. It's brilliant. Or insane. This is what I had to come online to tell you about. Clearly I have no life. I'm not going to write about the show and its satirical bent and how Scarlette is totally Spock because then I'd be here forever. I just wanted to direct you to the awesome.

In other news, I went to the Prague Deli today. It's really home away from home since my mom doesn't cook anymore and I haven't lived with her in seven years anyway. I was listening to people speak Czech and Slovak as much as possible. There are many interesting words that don't properly translate into English. I'll write about those another time though. I started thinking about this in the shower. It's a curse, this inability to make my brain STFU. The trouble is: Czech and Slovak are similar languages. Many of the words are the same, except for the words for the months and some other ones that I don't really remember. So I was looking for a towel and thinking "zatraceny uterak" which roughly means "damn towel" when I realized "zatraceny" is a Czech word and "uterak" is a Slovak one (I'm too tired to accent these properly). Oy. So then I started thinking about which word would be proper in Czech, and it definitely wouldn't be "rucnik", more like..."osuska". Rucnik is more of a handkerchief, and it must come from the word "ruka" which means hand. When I think about it, the literal translation of it would be something like "a handy" (amusing) so it wouldn't work. Osuska works because it means "something to dry with", satisfying.

Don't get me started on the transition between feminine/masculine tenses depending on conjugation, preposition, conjugation of adverbs, conversion to plural, blah blah blah.

When you're born into it, language is easy. You never really try to pick it apart, until you learn another one...and start thinking about useless things in the shower.

anger and cars

Another strange day has passed by. Resetting your circadian rhythms is not easy, but I think I may be close to succeeding. Whatever that means. I woke up so that I would make it to class on time (for maybe the first time all year, shaddup) and the TTC completely bungled my attempt. I now understand why, but this morning I was livid. Decided to cut my losses and do some reading at the one place I maybe do love in the city: Crema. The macchiato tasted extra good. Got some reading and writing done and realized that I've been writing in my notebooks more, probably because I've made this blog public, which is okay. It might just mean that some people get less of an insight into my life. (I have no pretensions, I know only like....3 people read it) But just in case...

The incident this morning made me angry enough that I didn't want to be around irritants. I spent the day, post coffee, vacillating somewhere between moods. Actively trying to pursue the good. Seeing a friendly face helped. It diffused the rage and clicked me into a completely different movie which is necessary. Some sort of distraction or positive misdirection. (Does that even make sense?) The rest of the day was ...surprisingly productive. Didn't revisit the room cleaning though. My rationale is that a) a mess is indicative of genius and I'm a genius, 2) because I'm a genius I know where everything is. See what I did there? With the genius and the number/letter.....oh never mind.

Bumming around on flickr for the past 15 minutes has brought some other stuff to my attention. Specifically re: my skills at organizing my crap. This goes with that whole messy room thing. Like the fact that I take photos of all these awesome cars on Toronto (and other) streets and I don't know what half of them are. Fast forward a bit and I'm on Hemmings blog. If you've ever read the Gernsback Continuum and liked it, you'll love this site. Mostly sexy vintage cars. It popped into google reader a while ago, probably via fffffound and it's been captivating me since. There's one specific car that I have on flickr that I just can't place, so I'm playing matchy-matchy now. It looks like a vintage Corvette convertible and then it doesn't, it's kind of frustrating. I'm sure if I don't find anything in about an hour I'll just give up and email them.

No there is no point to me telling you this, I just think that vintage car blogs are cool. I'm also rueing the day that I lost the framed vintage Le Mans postcards in a breakup. Grr.

Take a peek at some of these:

So pretty, all from Hemmings, oh they do motorcycles too.

Upon further research it looks like the car I'm having trouble pinpointing is a ....Buick? Maybe?

Oh also...hood ornaments are boss. Let's talk about those soon.

school and stuff

I feel so logey lately. I'm sitting in my chair in my mess of a room procrastinating, what else is new? Pizza's in the oven, beer's in my hand.

Yesterday I basically slept through the day, even though I had three classes, I was exhausted. I don't know what it is but it started mid-Sunday, I lost my chutzpah. I know it'll come back, I just have to fake it until then. I attempted to jump start this process by buying a new pair of running shoes, it helped a bit. This semester's going to be intense (how lame that I'm saying it halfway through the first month) but there's a lot of work to do and I've got no compunction to do it. It's not even that I don't want to read -- it's the physical act of opening a book.

You must be in shock, what? Barbara? Not open a book? That's fucked up!

Kind of, you see I know once I actually DO open a book I'll have to keep reading and reading and reading, and there's so much crap to get done. A response by Jan 31st, a major essay by Feb 1st, then an essay by Feb 8th. Oh, did I mention that I'm moving....again? Yeah, same day as my major essay is due. So perhaps my mind is trying to calibrate how I'm going to get all of this done in such a short amount of time. I'm not really working at the moment which could prove to be problematic somewhere near the end of February or possibly March. I'm not very concerned about the move this time around, I'm actually looking forward to it. For one thing, not being in the neighbourhood I grew up in will be nice. No more bumping into people from high school. Except for Alex, I bumped into him today on my walk and he seemed bummed (which was nice) that I wouldn't be around to pop into starbucks. My one regret is leaving Crema behind (my favourite coffee shop) but I've consoled myself with the idea that I'll get a bike and use it to get up there.

I look forward to having a kitchen basically all to myself and not having to hear people walking around, not having to make small talk. (Not that I don't like that) I just feel very insular at the moment. I'm taking in a whole lot more information than I ever have and I need a lot more down time to process it. Shit's getting kind of serious at school. Maybe I'm a bit scared of that. The fact that I have to get into grad school and the fear that I am not good/intelligent enough. I struggle with feeling like I don't translate so well on paper. I'm trying to rectify this -- it's not that easy. I get B's in school and I feel like a loser. Like I should do better. I don't apply myself as fully as I possibly could. Maybe I should, you know, go do that now then....

Ugh....Dickens.

the final frontier

One morning as I stepped off the Bathurst streetcar I noticed posters all over the Big Bop (a former concert venue in Toronto) advertising 2001: A Spacey Odyssey would be played at Bell Lightbox. Now I'm the consummate imbiber of SF film, but I hadn't actually seen this masterpiece until the summer before last. My parents were in Cuba and I was still living in the house in between apartments and making sure my brother wasn't having parties every night. It was a pretty good night and my friend was surprised that I was a) patient enough and b) I understood (which I found funny). I'd been meaning to take friends to see it with me this time around but I find myself feeling rather solitary as of late and I hemmed and hawed and finally made the decision to go tonight.

This was only my second time seeing it. It's somewhat akin to the experience of re reading a favourite book. You notice things that you maybe didn't notice before. On top of that, who wouldn't jump to see this masterpiece on the big screen? I specifically remember thinking that I was cursed for not being around when it was in theatres. The colours alone (so damn warm) were enough to warrant a $12 entry fee. It is, as always, a complete assault on the senses. I may be spoiled by the fact that my parents have THX surround sound but this was a whole other animal. Every part of me was immersed in Kubrick. I had forgotten that it began with the Dawn of Man. The first time I saw it I remember musing out loud to Theo that I wasn't sure if the apes were real or actors. (professional mimes it turns out) And then the monolith. This time around, as the apes were crowding around the monolith trying to touch it, I was thinking just how much it looked like worship. I mean they were only trying to ascertain whether it was safe to touch, etc., but once they were all around it with their hands on it, it looked religious. Absolutely fascinating. How is the monolith responsible for evolution? Why? What is it? What does it mean? I've never really looked into it but I have this huge "Collected Stories of Arthur C. Clarke" tome sitting on my shelf so...

After the apes came the part with Heywood (giggle) Floyd. This is why Kubrick is a genius, his visual effects still hold up. The cut between the bone and the satellite which spans 4 million years is the epitome of the "less is more" ethos. It works, and it doesn't feel schmaltzy 40 years later. I could watch this film for set and costume design alone. The attention paid to the most minute detail makes me giddy. Actually, stylistically, it reminds me a lot of Truffaut's Fahrenheit 451. Both directors were incredibly attuned to design. From the PanAm flight attendant suits, to the packaged space food, the design of the spaceships, the placards with information, etc. The iPad wasn't out when I first watched it, but don't the screens Dave and the other guy watch their interview on remind you of them? Normally I'm really good at spotting errors so I'm either in love with this film or there are none. (Wes Anderson anyone?) So finally Heywood shows up on a PanAm spaceflight (Hey Richard Branson, you ripped off Kubrick!) and before continuing to his rendezvous on the moon hangs out in a sexy lounge with some Russian allies (pictured above). This time around I noticed something I hadn't before -- the women had these really awesome bags, and damned if I wasn't sure they said "Aeroflot" on them in Cyrillic! I can't find any pictures of this but I want one of those bags, they were sexy. And wouldn't you know there was another monolith on the moon.

Then we got to my favourite part. Hal and Dave.

Keir Dullea is probably one of the most underused, underestimated, subtle actors out there. The other night while we were watching Battlestar Galactica I made the remark that unlike so many other characters, Kara Thrace (Starbuck) actually had the facial features for acting through a goddamn helmet. Privately to myself I couldn't help but think that she had really expressive eyes. Same goes for Keir Dullea. He must have been chosen specifically because he looked so incredibly sympathetic. My theory has always been that HAL didn't kill Dave first because Dave had always treated HAL with more respect than the other guy. (See how important the other guy was? I don't even remember his damn name) So much of the film is centered on Dave's face. The constant sound of breathing in the space suit already provides an underlying sense of claustrophobia. Add the helmet and the pod to this and you would think that a man could go crazy, but Dave has a graceful resolve. Most of Dullea's acting is done through his eyes (and face). The concentration when he's retrieving Frank (I had to look that up), the pain and regret when he realizes he has to let Frank go. The calculated refusal of panic when he can't get through to HAL, the slowly dawning realization that HAL will not open the pod bay door. The set of his jaw and the anger when HAL cuts off communications. Another great effect is the reflection of colour on Dave's face in the pod, the blinking of the lights following his commands being punched into the pod's computer interface. It all adds so much.

There's such a world of hurt and incomprehension and then the dawning of acceptance after Dave goes through the stargate and ends up in that gorgeous room where he is to die. And then the monolith. Always the monolith. I feel like I'm skipping so many things but this is what stands out in my mind. The part I find hard to reconcile is HAL. I still love HAL, despite the problematic nature of his dissent. There seems to be a relationship between HAL and Dave and when Dave is finally cutting HAL's head off (so to speak) he looks upset. (I may be imagining that) HAL's decommissioning is one of the sadder parts of the film for me. While I don't particularly care that the other four people have died as I'm not invested in them, I still find that getting rid of them was so easy surreal.

Dave going through the stargate is the pinnacle for me, especially in terms of how it makes me feel and what it makes me think about. It's a beautiful sequence, and I wonder how Kubrick did it, but that's when I start questioning my own mortality. I know Dave's death is imminent, and suddenly he's thrust out into this void where he can see thousands of galaxies and nebulae swarming around him. You can tell he's in frightened awe. And while on a 52 inch tv screen that can be fun and pretty, in a movie theatre it's ominous and terrifying because it makes you realize how insignificant you are compared to the universe. And I think that's the point.

new year stuff and apathy

I'm forcing myself to write. I feel like I haven't finished something, really finished something in a while. The last book I read to the end was Cleaver by Tim Parks for my British Contemporary Fiction course. That was a month ago. I'm not completing reading articles, writing entries, anything. Apathy has been prevalent for a while in terms of...input/output? The problem is that there are too many interesting things out there right now and I want to be part of all of them. Conversely I take part in almost none because I can't make up my mind. Or something.

Christmas is also a bit stressful around here. I don't know how much I want to partake anymore. Usually it's the one time a year when the family acts as if they were normal people. I should have realized something was when I walked in and noticed that we didn't have the good china out. Way to half ass it. Tim and myself are at age of majority now so there may be less pressure to make Christmas exciting but it's the one time during the year where all of us are at the same table, literally. It was almost more depressing than if I had stayed home and did things on my own, but I wanted to give my mom her gift. I was really pleased with her reaction, rampant laughter and joy. She loves these little guys (top photo). We used to have one and I lost it way back when, she had forgotten so this was an unexpected thing.

In other news my stepfather loved his leopard print Snuggie.

I hate when there's social pressure around the holidays. If I'm such a curmudgeon this early on, wait till I get older. I'm going to be one of those old people with a shotgun. (This amuses me greatly)

So what else has happened since the beginning of December? I went to Los Angeles, which was great. There's something about Toronto right now that's got me on edge and I think I was starting to head down a strange path. The darkness of winter closing in. It was a good decision. Flying on its own cheers me up like nothing else, but looking out the window over the San Francisco salt ponds (gorgeous!) and then landing in Los Angeles and coming out to a perfectly sunny day with clear skies was idyllic. Then it rained for the rest of the time I was there. And I didn't care. Which is weird if you don't know me. Normally I would take this as a personal affront. For some reason it didn't matter. What mattered was being there and soaking it in. It felt good, somehow everything just rolled off my shoulders. The knot in my chest reappeared when I got back but smaller, somehow. Needless to say I miss it, but I'm not worried because I plan on going back. The first day Emma and I went down to the beach so I could dip my toes and we saw baby seagulls, that was cool. They ran around really fast and played chicken with the tides. The drive back to Emma's was full of lush green foliage. It felt more like Europe or more specifically the Dalmatian coast than North America. Especially right at the edge. That might have been why I was so happy. Also, the food. Best green peppers ever. No joke.

NYE passed by in a flash, we didn't make a huge deal of it but it always feels like a chance for a reboot. There are things that have been bothering me since I came back from LA and it seems correct to implement the solution in the new year. Mostly I think there will just be a culling of the herds. Simply: if you've been treating me like crap, I'm not dealing with it/you anymore. So, other goals - to take school more seriously, to finish things I start, and to learn how to drive. Gah, my writing feels so disjointed lately, I think I need to work on that too. More later.