----------------


[rumi]:
let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded.
someone sober will worry about events going badly.
let the lover be.


----------------

[watching all the speeding cars moving like you wish you could]

only one more week of schooling for me.  and then tests and walks in snows and gingerbread homes and twirlingtwirlingtwirling 'cause it's winter and i'm going to a masquerade.

my brain has been hiphopping between so many thoughts and things.  like: what does it mean to live here in this place where i am technically-but-not-truly poor?  and where lots of people are for real impoverished?  like: how do i know what i want and what is good and what is wise for me and the difference between the three?  is there for sure a difference between the three?

and how much sudoku is too much sudoku?

so those are my questions.  i am being ambiguous and lame as bloggers do, but it's what i am in the mood for.  i am in the mood for racing around and rolling in mud puddles and asking questions unending.  and yesterday i was in the mood for pineapple chicken and fashion shows and icecream and i got all three.  i think i am in the mood for taking what i want and enjoying it entirely.



you can never have too much sudoku.

tummies are hurting and minds and pretty much all my insides, actually.  my feet are doing okay, and my legs are less twitchy than average, so i guess i shouldn't complain.  but really, inside pains are kindof worse than outside pains, don't you think?

i say that now, only because my outsides are relatively wound-free.

i was thinking yesterday about what to do with all my journals and writings and things from the years.  i'm considering burning them [or maybe the less-dramatic garbage-disposal...mm, recycling-disposal].  i feel like maybe i will want them some time.  maybe i will like to look back on days gone by and reflect about how i have felt, what i have done, who i have loved.  but then i think, what if i am killed in some horrific turn of events before i have had a chance to properly dispose of them?!?!  it seems unlikely to me that whatever immediate family member [be it spouse, parent, sibling, whomever] given the job of sorting through my stuff would be able to resist taking at least a peek.  and i don't want any peeking.  i want my secret pasts to be lost and erased and i would also be very ashamed of all those stupid little weaknesses being exposed without my permission.

"As interest grew in serving in India, Tucker prepared a memorandum of instruction to all new candidates for service in India (they came by the hundreds), and St. John Ervine considers it one of the most heroic documents of mankind:

Service will be a matter not merely of being willing to go anywhere, but of wishing to live and die for the particular race to which you are sent. You will be absolutely alone and under close scrutiny. It will be essential to learn at least one Indian language. You must leave entirely and forever behind you all your English dress and habits. Officers will be barefoot. You will avoid the English quarter, but will always live among natives – sometimes in a cave, a shady tree, or someone’s veranda – or in a mud hut 16 by 10 feet. You will cook as they do, and wash your clothes in the stream with them. You have nothing to fear from the climate. The people are different and intensely religious. . .

Find out what their thoughts are before you share yours.

And if you are planning to return, don’t go.

We would not think of sending anyone out who did not plan to make it a life work."

well except marilyn.  it's a cover of sweet dreams, and it makes me happy.

the other thing i care about is that my parents are going to the exact place that i've been longing to visit.  except they are not bringing me with them.  they are leaving me at their house to keep eyes on my sisters, who are way too old to be babysat.

outside the coulee looks like i do on the inside.  afterall, spleen rhymes with ravine.  i'm all erosion.

 

funny how the most important things you don't share with the most important one.  i can talk about myself all day long [and often do, unfortunately], but i still can't pray about the biggest sadnesses because they aren't about me.  it's one thing to spout off facts and wishes to the semi-close friend across the picnic table, but prayer is different.  you can't bring it up and only go part-way.  you can't bring it up and only skim the surface.  you have to really acknowledge it and live all those things you're going on about.  and that sounds like a lot of work to me.

 

so i hide behind every tree.

 

maybe i should get on with my life.  see you in four days.

right as rain.

speaking of that, one week from today i will be near rainy toronto listening to membahs of parliament and mountied police.  mmmmmmhm.

 

it takes at least twelve hours to check my email.

 

 

[leave them stunned and stuttering.]

happy resurrection day, dudes.

i, i, i, i.  self-indulgent, no?

i want to know everything.

today nav and i did maybe the best thing we've ever done.  aside from perhaps that really killer moms & tots program two summers ago.  that was also very good.  oh and that time we broke a two-year-old's leg.  except that was more like awful than really great, and something i would not recommend to anyone.  just to clear things up.

my whole self is morphing into summer mode.  i feel the desire to spend time running around and stretching and breathing in more than i breathe out and chasing turtles and having picnics in boats.  sadly, i am making unsummery art and writing papers and studying [not studying?] for exams instead.  l.a.m.e.

in geography class today we did a survey on how we feel about invertebrates.  i discovered that i value invertebrates quite a lot, but that doesn't mean i want anything to do with them.  they live their lives, i live mine.

the streets are filled with fools.  i'm fairly certain i was mistaken for a homeless girl on the bus today, what with my general grubbiness and the extra-grubby sleeping bag i was carrying, stuffed into a too-small grocery bag.  ah well.  wouldn't be the first time.

winter just wasn't my season.

to do:

paint lots

build big box

buy sleeping bag

steal music

paint

study

write exam

take naked photos

tim horton's

paint

write artist statement

fret

paint

fret

meet a baby

videorecording

return overdue books

shower

paint

 

[not in that order, exactly]

 

i miss something.