::alio!::

LASTs

Killing a scant amount of free time before I head off to school. Things are crazy busy right now. You should see my stack o' books that I've gone through. Then the stack I still have to go through. And then I have to make notes on all of it. Except this weekend is moving weekend for the Pie, so it's not going to happen any time soon. Good times.

Last class today. There are a lot of lasts happening this week. This *could* be the last class I take ever (if I suddenly decide not to do a PhD). Just like tomorrow's hockey game might be the last time I play with the girls I've played with for the past two years. And Friday night will be Andy's last night in the house he grew up in.

And I can watch the last of the snow disappear from my front yard!

lotta type

I keep reminding myself to put some new pictures up on Flickr, but things have been a little busy. I have a deadline of 13 April for three separate 25-page papers, so it's kind of looming. I'm creating this huge document with all my notes on it. So far it's 16 pages of 8-pt Arial font with 1/2" margins. That's a lot of information, and there's a helluva lot more where that came from. I figure I'll have about 50 pages of notes when I'm done, to use for all three papers (they're kind of connected, so that's why I'm doing it all in one).

It's also, if you didn't know, only six days until Pie's moving day. So there's that to think about as well and prepare for. Perhaps I should clean out my car . . . Perhaps the Pie should clean out HIS car . . .

Special Crunch

Fridays are interminable . . . especially when the boss man doesn't book any appointments.

Lots of work to do this weekend, so I don't know how around I'll be. But then again, I always say that at crunch time and it makes no discernable difference. Ah well.

Postie

Looks like I'm turning into a postwhore here.

Ah well.

It feels like Friday today.

Although according to my coworker Sheri, I say that every Tuesday that I have to work a full day.

So I'm a repetitive postwhore.

Taking my dad to his first hockey game since the days of the Original Six tonight. This should be fun. I'm making him wear my Hossa jersey, because you can't go to your first game and NOT wear a jersey. It's a little snug on him, but it will do. He's very excited.

Of course, I feel kind of like a dork. You all know how I set my savings account so I couldn't take anything out of it? Well, I put too much into it, and the money that was supposed to last me two weeks lasted me two days. I now have a balance of $1.29, which is rather humiliating. So I had to borrow money from the dadster so that I could take him out on the town. Alas. There's always VISA, but now that I'm debt-free, I'm not too keen on using it all that much.

That's all I got right now. Meeting Nicole for lunch today. If anything special happens today, I'll let you know.

First Contact

So, I did it.

I wrote, edited, and just now sent by registered mail my letter to Mr. Big. Now I'm all nervous. Will I hear from him or not? When? Will the letter be returned unopened? I did suggest in the letter that if the answer was no he could let me know so I could do something else, so I'm hoping for a reply -- if he reads it. He may not. Alas.

So I'm nervous.

Cross your fingers.

It's not you, it's me

Man, being a depressive SUCKS.

Don't get me wrong, some days it's totally manageable. Most of the time, I can deal with it. But sometimes I just ITCH for some Prozac.

I have some days, days where I can't sleep (well, okay, that's most days), days where I feel crappy or tired for no reason, or when food doesn't taste as good as it should or where I don't really feel like mustering the interest to even just roll over in bed. But those are only some days.

The neat thing about being depressed is you get these nifty mood swings, so for every four or five days where I feel like crap, I get one or two days where I'm deliriously happy and giddy for no reason whatsoever. And no amount of antidepressants will make me give that up. It's almost worth it for those hours of unbridled and random bliss.

But when I get stressed out (and I do this often), I get more easily and more deeply depressed. The smallest things make me miserable for days or angry to the point of rage. If my favourite shirt isn't folded right in my drawer, I could (and sometimes do) burst into tears. Or someone cutting me off in traffic will make me white hot mad for hours afterward, and (although I try not to) I sometimes take it out on other people.

And it's totally ridiculous, because I KNOW that my reactions to things are irrational (just because it's cloudy doesn't mean the world is out to get you and your family is going to get struck by lightning and die in a thunderstorm), but all I can do is give myself a stern shake and tell myself not to be so silly. It only sometimes works. And then I get paranoid about talking to myself . . . but that's another story.

Essentially, what I'm trying to say right now, with papers looming on me and a whole lotta other shit going around, is that I'm fighting several demons right now and if I HAPPEN to not appear to be the normal, happy-go-lucky person I usually am (which is a total facade, anyway), or if (God forbid!) I should freak out at you for some totally irrational or inane reason, try not to take it personally. It's just me and I'm a little crazy at the moment.

Ta.

Luck o' the Irish?

So, I'm Irish. Well, I'm really Scottish. Actually, I'm from the Isle of Jersey, but they all came from Ireland originally.

But I don't really understand the pull of this particular Feast of St. Patrick. It's like St. Valentine's Day: it is a celebration of a martyr and everyone has forgotten the real reason behind it in pursuit of their own laviscious . . . um . . . pursuits.

I mean basically, St. Patty's Day is an excuse for everyone, regardless of ethnicity, to get smashed. That's what SATURDAYS are for. Canada Day. Christmas. New Year's (also a lovely Scottish holiday). Why do you need a reason? At least on Robbie Burns Day we celebrate Scottish culture by lifting a Tennet's the Poet himself.

But all this hoopla for a bunch of snakes?

Luck o' the draw

Just about to head off to bed after a day of laundry, slacking, bed-buying, and essay-marking, but I thought I would announce that this week seems to be my lucky week. It's only in the little things, but considering the fact that I am the unluckiest person I know, this is pretty amazing. Hear me out:

Sunday: Rhode Island: Providence: Providence Place Mall: J. Crew

I buy a dress for myself as Andy's birthday present to me. I also pick him up two pairs of REALLY cute boxers (one is blue with yellow polkadots, and the other is orange with green shamrocks -- my lovely Irish boyfriend).

Anyway, we're at the counter and the guy asks me if I'm a college student, right, as I mentioned below. I say yes, and get my 10% discount. But what I didn't EVEN NOTICE was that the boxers were on a 2 for 1 deal. So I got a pair of boxers for free and didn't notice until just now. Lucky lucky me.

Monday: T.F. Green Airport, Providence, RI --> La Guardia Airport, New York City, New York: Hell

Did I not TOTALLY scrape out of there just barely? The airport was shutting down around me and I escaped with very little effort on my part. I think I was sitting in the airport the least amount of any of those stressed out folks. I was super lucky there.

Tuesday: Ottawa: Work

Actually, nothing happened on Tuesday, really.

No, that's a lie. I helped Andy fix Travis' computer. I had some good ideas. Not really a lucky thing, just a different perspective. But still. Nothing exploded.

Wednesday: Ottawa: School and EQ3

I got an email from my professor about my presentation that I gave last Thursday. He loved it. He said it was perfectly set out and incorporated all sorts of theory and was INTERESTING, to top it off. He then gave me a whole bunch of sources to look at and most of them I already HAVE. And then he gave me a 9.5/10, which is good, because *I* thought I talked way too fast, and totally ran over time. Lucky for me my prof is a hardcore hockey fan.

Then I went out with the Pie to buy a bed at EQ3 (the one he's been talking about for the past two weeks). So while he was getting the deal done, I was given the task of picking out a scratch 'n' save ticket and scratching it -- I got him 20% off, which is a rare find! So he saved $100 on his bed. Lucky me!

Andy thinks that posting about this will ruin my luck for the rest of the week, but I don't see how the rest of the week can be any good anyway. I have class tomorrow, which is boring as all hell all the time, then I have lecture and my discussion group, which is accompanied by a fuckton of late papers I will be picking up, and then work until 9, whereupon I miss the hockey game. Then Friday I work all day and then hockey. I am in no danger of jinxing myself at the game, because I already had my scoring spree last game. I can't possibly repeat that performance, even if we're two goalies short. And then Saturday is the day I mark thousands and thousands of papers. So having a solid four days is pretty good, I think.

Rhode Island Recap

I was right: Lisa has a Mac.

Anyway, I'm home. I will give you a full account of my exploits (and there are several) when I have the energy to type them out. So maybe later today, maybe tomorrow. I promise nothing.

11:05 AM

So I check my bank balance today to see how close I am to zero in my chequing account, because I only had a couple hundred in there before I left. But now I have over a thousand dollars! I got paid from Carleton and I got back my income tax refund (filed online on March 3). So I give that to VISA, which covers the debt I had before I left, plus the debt I incurred while in RI that's not posted yet, and now I owe VISA about $25, which I will give them at the end of the week when I get paid from my real job.

So I would like to announce that I am officially debt-free, just as I had planned (I believe I said I would be debt-free by the time of my birthday. TADA!). So now I can really start to save and capitalize on my new raise. Yay me.

I'll try to post my exploits at lunch time, but we'll have to see.

1:10 PM

I'll see how much of the trip I can get through right now.

Day One: 10 March 2006

The flight to Providence is bumpy and boring, but otherwise uneventful. I arrive at T.F. Green at about 330 in the afternoon, head down the escalator, and see . . . NO LISA. I figure, whatever, I have to pee and get money out anyway, so I do this and look around. There's Lisa, frowning intently into her wallet. We exchange birthday greetings and then she says, "Today has been completely crazy/ You will not believe what has happened." Firstly, she had a crappy day at school and was grumpy. Then, the driver's license that she was supposed to have received that day from FedEx (because hers expired on that day) had not arrived because the driver had fucked up and returned the package to Downsview ON for no apparent reason. So Lisa had to pay extra to arrange to have the package delivered on a Saturday, even though it wasn't her fault, and she was now driving with an expired license. She had also, upon arriving at the airport, gone to the ATM only to discover that she was overdrawn $114. So we book it to the bank before it closes (in Providence rush hour traffic on the I95) to find out what was going on. Turns out that her rent cheque, insurance cheque, parking cheque, and all her cheques all cleared on the same day -- her birthday. Well shit. Luckily, I had in my hot little hands a cheque from her mother for $3000. And Lisa had a little one-time use get-out-of-jail-free card that reversed her overdraft charges. So that was all good.

We went to Taste of India on Wickendon for Lisa's birthday dinner, and then headed to the Grad Center Bar (GCB) for drinks. I think I only bought myself one or two, but I definitely had about four, plus the wine we'd had at the restaurant. And for some reason, every time I had to turn to wave at someone I knew and hadn't seen since I was in Providence two years ago (once), and every time I had to use my arms to give an approximate size for something I was talking about (once), my drinks would inexplicably go flying across the table. The first time, I soaked Matt, and the second time I splattered Austin. After the second tim, Sam and I decided I shouldn't waste any more good alcohol. Then Nate and I set up a plan, as the bar closed around us, for him to seduce Lisa (this is his girlfriend, so it's all right, ladies and gentlemen). I had the spare set of keys to Lisa's place, so Matt took me home. We missed Lisa's drunked fit outside the GCB when she refused to wear her shoes home (she does this every time she is drunk. She ended up wearing Nate's socks home, which were black by the time they got there. Nate had to pitch them. Matt and I stayed up for a few hours talking before we fell asleep. I first met Matt in his freshman year when I was a sophomore and he was Nate's roommate when Nate and Lisa first started dating. So we get along splendidly, and spent many hours catching up.

Day Two: 11 March 2006

Matt and I went back to his place the next morning (he lives in the apartment below Nate) to watch movies and wait for Lisa and Nate to wake up. Then Lisa and I head to her car, which is parked in a lot about a block away from her place, and we recall the conversation we had the night before where she complained about the small size of her space, and how the lines weren't parallel, and how there was a large white sedan on her driver's side that kept parking over the line and screwing up her parking job. So we get to the car and there's a note on her windshield. This is from the driver of the enormous black Land Rover that parks on her passenger side. The tone of the note is unbelievably rude (it starts with "Honestly, Learn how to PARK" and continues from there). It said that her parking jobs were consistenly "piss poor" and the asshole concluded the letter by leaving his full name, Scott William Dunn, and his cell phone number. So Lisa called him and chewed him out that very minute, explaining that it wasn't her fault that she was over the line (and folks, this is never by very much), that it had to do with the sedan, and if SHE had left a note to the sedan, it would have been much more polite. Then she hung up on him while he was still talking. She was very angry.

But things were only to get worse.

We picked up Nate, because FedEx was delivering to his mailbox, and headed to the Post Office. No driver's license. So Lisa called FedEx. Again. And chewed them out. Again. And they were far less than helpful. Again. Like they were making stuff, up, saying that Saturday delivery is not necessarily guaranteed to arrive on Saturday, even though you pay extra for the service. And other complete and utter bullshit like that. They kept repeating that "all signs point to your package being there Monday." Which, of course, is three days too late.

We go back to Lisa's place, where she sleeps for a while and I mark papers and try to avoid her roommates, who have taken this weekend to go crazy. Then we decide to follow up on our plan to go with Sam to Wrentham, MA, site of the largest outlet mall I have ever seen. But when we got there, the parking lot was absolutely full. I mean PACKED. Thousands of cars, many parked illegally. We drove for half an hour and didn't even get out of the car before we headed back.

We went back. We showered. Then headed out to the local sushi joint for David's birthday, then back to his place for chocolate cake that his mother mailed him from home. Then home, where we watched Wayne's World 2 with Nate until we fell asleep, and that was the end of Day Two.

[more later. I have to get back to work now.]

4:56 PM

Day Three: 12 March 2006

This day nearly passed without incident. We got up and I drove us (no license for Lisa, remember -- although Providence is INTERESTING to drive in) to the mall so I could hit Victoria's Secret. I also ended up buying a dress at J. Crew, which is lovely. I got a 10% discount because I was a "callege student" (I almost said no, because I still have a college/university split in my head). Turns out I'm a PERFECT size 8 at that store. And I mean PERFECT. In every way. I've never had a set of clothes fit me so well.

On the way back, we stopped at RISD (Rhode Island School of Design, the Julliard of art schools) Works, which is a store that featueres designs by alumni and faculty. If I had several thousand dollars to spend, I would have spent them there. I believe there's a website for them, as well. Yes, here it is. Check it out.

We went back to Education Hill and headed to Lisa's lab, where we spent the next three and a half hours doing homework. I marked ten whole papers in that time. We then headed back to shower before meeting Nate for dinner. After our meal, which was lovely Italian, we picked up some neat ice cream from Coldstone's on Thayer, before dropping off Nate and then the car at the lot. I made Lisa fix her parking job until it was absolutely PERFECT, to avoid any unnecessary conflict with the asshole Land Rover. We were leaving the lot and munching on our ice cream when who should pull up and start to turn into the lot but the black Land Rover! He saw us, because Lisa had armed her car just at that second, so he saw the taillights flash and knew it was her. We saw him. I pointed at him and said, "Well, look who it is!" He stopped suddenly in mid-turn, reversed sharply, and peeled out down the street, tires squealing in his efforts to get away from us. I think Lisa scared the crap out of him when she talked to him. It made the whole nasty situation seem a little funnier, in the end. Lisa looked him up on the university website, and it turns out he's a big, ugly, dumb jock who belongs to a fraternity best known for the roofies it slips to freshmen. Charming, I'm sure.

We marched home in glee and watched the rest of Wayne's World 2, and talked for a bit. It was around midnight when one of Lisa's crazy roommates started doing the dishes, the recycling, and taking out the trash. Very loudly. Then there was a horrendous crash and *apparently* Lisa's favourite painting (done by her former roommate) just randomly FELL off the huge mantlepeice. Just fell. Uh-huh.

Day Four: 13 March 2006

We got up in time for me to have a shower and pack and then met Sam at my favourite restaurant, Spike's, for a farewell hotdog lunch. Lisa had to go to class for an hour so I was deposited in a swanky computer lab where I played online computer games on 21" flat screens for a bit, and then Lisa took me to the airport, where I said goodbye to Providence for the last time, and then my airport adventure began.

I ended up at first in the wrong check-in line, because, although I was flying with a certain airline, it was being operated by someone else. Thank you for telling me. I stood in line for half an hour behind some dumbass who was causing trouble for the ticket agent before I found this out.

I trundled across the airport to the right ticket agent, who refuses to serve me personally and makes me do it online. Fine. But then I only get one boarding pass, when I'm supposed to have two. So she's obliged to serve me personally, albeit in a not-so-polite fashion. She can't even get me a real boarding pass, and tells me I'll have to check in again when I get to La Guardia. I make it through security and wander over to my gate. Just as I get there, the lady at the desk pages me. She tells me that, although my flight is at 400, the plane coming from New York that was supposed to get there at 200 has only just arrived, because New York is experiencing very low ceilings. So she's going to put me on the earlier (but two hours delayed) flight to ensure I get to New York on time to get my connector. So I end up on a bigger plane with a double seat all to myself. Yay.

We're only in the air about an hour when we land in New York. I wanter disconsolately around the terminal, trying to find a sign telling me where the international ticket gate is. I finally end up having to go through the security exit in order to find the ticket counters. They are all for US Air. I ask around for international, and someone directs me to the far side of this long hallway. I line up, and wait ten minutes for the agent there to stop flirting with a girl and come and talk to me. He then promptly informs me that I am in the wrong TERMINAL, but doesn't offer any information about how I am to get to the right one, until I adopt his brusque manner and demand directions from him. He says, "take the A or B bus, down there and to the left." I head down the stairs and to the bus stop, where all I see are city buses, and these weird coaches that want to charge me SIX DOLLARS to drive me to the main terminal, which, I can see, is about a ten minute walk away. So I walk. New York smells TERRIBLE. At least at the airport. And it's full of cabbies yelling and honking at each other.

I reach the main terminal, and, with a few wrong turns (there are still no user-friendly signs here) find the Air Canada ticketing desk. I can't check in online, because apparently I'm already checked in. Surprise surprise. But I still have no boarding pass. Then this guy comes along and tells me to go and see this other guy, WHO WAS SO NICE. He told me I was the luckiest girl in the world, because my flight, which wasn't supposed to leave until 800, was likely going to be cancelled. He had another flight, which was supposed to leave at 400 but was still there (this was about 545), and I could catch it if I ran. So I ran. Through security. Down hallways and escalators. I made it. There were two gates going to Canada, one to Toronto and the other to Ottawa. This area was filled with four hundred very annoyed and swearing and sweating people who had been there all day, because all flights to Toronto were cancelled. And I got there, got on the plane, and we left at around 630. No one on that plane (where I also got to sit by myself) was actually supposed to be on that flight. I had to stand in line for an hour at customs when I got home, but I escaped New York pretty easily, and through none of my own doing. People just went out of their way to make me very very lucky.

And that was my trip. I'll post the pictures I took (mostly drunken people you won't know, but I will), on flickr when I have a second.

booger the buses

Bloog, so out of it. I've been reading all day and my mind is jelly.

I stopped taking the bus a few years ago because I felt angry with the long wait times and bad service. I discovered that walking the 7km distance between my house and school was far faster than waiting for the various forms of transportation that never actually got me exactly where I wanted to go.

Today I looked up the fares on the OCTranspo website, as I had to make a trip downtown and it was too cold to walk. Did you know that they are charging $3.00 for a trip now? And they have recently passed new rules so that people with disabilities who are in wheelchairs and the like no longer ride for free! Why? So you can gouge another penny from someone who likely can ill afford it? All for a transit system so inefficient I believe we should scrap it all together?

I have recently visited both Montreal and Toronto, two cities who have remarkably efficient transit systems, whose vehicles actually deposit you at your destination -- not a fifteen minute walk away -- at far less cost. And their systems are so much bigger!

Why is Ottawa's system so crappy?

leaving

Heading out to Providence, Rhode Island in a few hours to see Lisa. I will be back Monday. I will try to keep you updated, but I think she has a Mac, and PuTTY doesn't work on those.

Have a great weekend,

Out.

Postnatum

As far as birthdays go, that one wasn't bad. The day itself was great. The dinner less so, but that was mainly due to the company. I had a cake that was a hockey rink, with lines and plastic goal nets and plastic players. Two red forwards and a blue goalie. I pretended it was Belfour and smashed his face into the icing before tossing him into his own net. Then we ate the cake.

I don't know what it is, today, though. I've got the blues. Post-bday depression, perhaps? Maybe a lack of sunlight recently. Or just the fact that I had one beautiful day off amidst total chaos, and now I have to go back to the real world -- a more stressful one, actually, as I fly across the border tomorrow morning.

For whatever reason, I'm feeling a little down today. I think it means I need chocolate.

24

I tried to sleep in, really. But it just wasn't to be. Luckily, I get to start my DAY OF NO RESPONSIBILITY! Except I just remembered I have to go to Lisa's mother's to pick up a cheque to take to Rhode Island with me. So I left Emi a message.

You know it's going to be an interesting day when the first birthday wishes you receive are from an eccentric Celt that you have never met (thanks, Ted!). Chel, I know you called. I'll be around for a bit and then Andy's taking me out, but thanks for the wishes, all!

. . . I just made you feel so very naked . . .

My favourite song these days is "Naked" by The Trews. I recommend you all take a listen. For those of you who aren't into the Trews, this song doesn't sound a whole lot like them, so you should listen to it. For those of you who are in to the Trews, well, you'll like it anyway.

More bulletins as events warrant.

Oh no he didn't!

In the midst of watching the Sens TRAMPLE the Lightning. Just saw Vermette get checked from behind into the opposition's bench (a faux pas), then saw a scrum form wherein Vermette's helmet was ripped from his head (this involved pulling off the snaps that do it up, not easy to do) and then slammed down on top of it, knocking Vermette on the noggin (a major faux pas -- intent to injure, especially with a foreign object, is a bad, bad thing). Then watched Schubert, who was so incensed at the whole thing that he wrestled a referee to the ice (a HUGE faux pas -- it's like shooting a cop -- abuse of officials is not something you do). Granted, the ref was half his size, and likely tripped a little as Schubert tried to work off some of his energy, but still. He must've been mighty peeved. However, he seems to have apologized, because he was on the bench when the period ended (that would normally count for a game misconduct), while the guy who hit Vermette on the head with his own helmet was long gone.

Interesting.

I read in the paper this morning that Kirby Puckett had suffered a stroke and received emergency surgery. It was announced after the first period tonight that he had passed away in his home this evening. He was only 44. I think I still have one of his baseball cards from his days as a future Hall of Famer with the Minnesota Twins. He, aside from the Alomar family and Mr. Conseco, was the only baseball player I really knew anything about.

It's also two days to B-Day, folks. I'm trying to organize my life so that I can be responsibility-free for the whole day: get to sleep in, spend the day with my boy, go skating, have a meal and movies with the family, and no homework the livelong day.

Things are on schedule for that, with a few minor hiccups. I have just found out that we are to be joined for dinner that evening by someone I don't particularly like, and I rather resent the fact that this person is going to be there, but there's nothing I can do about it, so I have to suck it up. There's always something to interrupt my birthdays whenever I spend them within the city. Actually, even when I don't, something serious always mars them in some way. Like the time I crossed the international dateline and missed my birthday altogether, and then arrived in Japan and my brother had forgotten all about it. They're like my Friday the 13th. And they always involve getting old.

Half a Hat Trick

My body is very tired today. Not sore. Just tired.

I had a good game last night. It's funny how the nights where I feel like everything is going to go wrong, the nights where I nearly fall while skating in the warmup, are the nights when I play my best.

I had some good breakaways, my passing was nearly always on, I had a race to the puck (which I lost, but wherein I managed to slide myself to a stop before joining a scramble in front of the net), I had a few nice assists, and I scored. Twice. The first shot was to a wide open net while I was standing just outside the crease, so if I'd missed it, I would have been very embarrassed. The second one was five-hole on a second rebound during a scramble. I like those ones, because everyone is working so hard and yelling and then suddenly it's over and the goalie is pissed off. I would have had a hat trick, but Shelly tipped my shot at the last second before it went in. So it was a nice assist, at least. I haven't scored since November, so it was pretty good. Now I have five goals. I think I had seven by the end of last year, so I have two more weeks to get two more (I'm missing next week's game for my trip). Although, I have missed more games this season than last, and I've become a much better skater. It's also nice to note that I'm not the worst person on the team anymore. There's this woman who was there last year with me, and we were both beginners, but she was more sure on her feet than I was. But she doesn't come very often, and so I'm on a steeper learning curve. I see her now standing off to the side like I used to. She doesn't understand the trick of getting in everyone's way. Not only do you interrupt their shots, their passess, and their breakaways by interfering with them, but they have to avoid running into you and you have to avoid running into them and so it makes you a better skater. I think that collision I had last year with Carol where I bruised my skull was a good lesson in that.

Anyway, enough of the rambling. I have to get myself in gear. There's a lot that needs doing.

Grumps

This is a loooong Friday.

One of my students (a switch from another group) is having a panic attack because she doesn't yet have an essay topic and it's due next Thursday. How this is my responsibility is beyond me, but I'm doing the best I can, considering I can't meet with her in person and I'm illicitly emailing her from work.

I'm also alone in the office, as Sheri is home with a sick daughter. And we have no appointments. So it's just me and the bossman. Makes illicit emailing even more tricky. At least all are in good spirits today.

And I'm really really tired, for some reason. I definitely haven't been sleeping well, because the damned streetlight outside my windows is flickering, but I'm also just generally restless.

So I was a little grumpy earlier this morning.

But a memory just came to me, of something genuinely nice that a guy said to me at Zippers when I was visiting Rachelle. Totally innocuous, just NICE. And it makes me smile. So now I feel a bit better. Isn't it neat how memories can just pop up like that when you need them, without asking? Hm.

Had another dream about Sam's wedding last night (this is my second). Both involve exploits on my part that make me look ridiculous. And Damon was there. I poked him in the stomach and asked him how married life was treating him. He laughed and was lost in the crowd. Interesting.

I'm going to try to get out of here early today. I wrote my own paycheque this morning so I know I'm going to be paid. I need another vacation!