The Heart Wears a Tshirt in the Pool

It's so cold in this house. I know I have to wash my hair but the idea of taking off a single article of clothing is enough to make my skin shrivel. And I have no will to clean anything up but I keep spilling. I have turned the light off in the kitchen.

I was behind a girl at the grocery store today who was buying a single carrot, a single tomato and a box of tampons. I resisted the urge to throw sausages at her.

I'm awake and wishing I had things which I obviously do not have at this current moment in time. LIKE FOOD

I'm currently just finishing up a message to Cyrus about this neat video I just watched and thought I would post something here, making the point that I'm not totally anti-social.

Life recently has been interesting. I've met a neat new person (which I consider a breakthrough in Parksville), and I've hung out with her a couple times over the the last two weeks. Mostly just going for walks and baking/ watching movies (sofar). She's one of those girls who are too nice for kicks and is really easy to talk to. I also just had a coffee date with Carm, which is awesome because I never see any of the marimba people anymore. 

That being said, there has been a lot of quiet moments in between. I've filled it with either reading or working on this ancient architecture course I've been pushing through. Tonight the lectures were on "Christianity and the Roman East", "Early Islamic Architecture" and "Early Hindu Architecture"- all super interesting on it's own, and something that stuck to me were two concepts that I'm going to share with my lovely ladies--->

1) Outdoor vs. Indoor space. In the sense of how they built temples in the past/ kept not to congregate inside but to have for whatever gods, vs. Indoor religious spaces and having a roof and walls around you specifically for you to come to just do that. I'm pretty sure it was the Christians who navigated that route. But I could be wrong.  It's just funny to think that architects, maybe 1000 years ago, would be able to build buildings that you necessarily couldn't go inside, nor could anyone else. I don't think there would be willing participants in a big way who would fund that now. 

2) Domes = The heavens. 

That's about it, I'm heading to bed. 

it's only a paper moon

Well news: Takahashi got sent back to Edmonton after receiving a massage from a 16 year old girl at an esthetics school downtown. Apparently someone recognized him.

And because every post of mine includes a comment about Marketa's dog, you will be happy to know that I buried my hands into the deep fur of his face yesterday. He has take to staring deeply into space and barking at nothing. He is driving Marketa nuts.

Other than that, not a lot is going on here. My room-mate is supposedly going to Alberta tomorrow, for good. And oh yeah, I'm convocating on Wednesday. I wonder if it would be too sassy to thumbtack my degree to my cubicle at work...

hahaaaave a donut, Sarah Chezick

I celebrated my first day back to work yesterday by forgetting all of the myriad of passcodes and secret handshakes that it takes to do my job.

This house feels so very empty without Danielle. I am used to coming home to find her snuggled up in the armchair with a bowl of something and a glass of wine, maybe a few candles lit. Now I get home and the whole place is dark, cold, quiet. Doesn't help that there is a rapist that just moved in to the neighbourhood. Apparently supposed to be serving a triple lifetime sentence but is somehow living in a halfway house with an ocean view. Every grunt and wiggle from the nighbours has me reaching for my steak knife. Maybe this is the best month to be living with a tall man. Too bad he is never home.

And of course fate would have it that the detective that was part of the team that put the infamous Balaclava Rapist in jail to begin with is living across the street from Marketa. He is a tall older gentleman with a slight Irish accent and a sweet wife. When I take M's dog out he usually strains toward their house briefly before giving in to walk with lesser mortals. Mr. T is not shy about who his favourites are.

I've been watching the Great Gatsby for three nights in a row and must conclude that it is not very good. First of all the actors are too old. And I know that sounds needlessly picky. But do not pick an all star cast of middle aged blonde people for a movie about young love and brooding, Baz Thurman.