That's not a euphimism.

Well, it's a start.

Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't leave and come back. That's your job.

Dan: And you left him, just like that?
Alice: It's the only way to leave. "I don't love you anymore. Goodbye."
Dan: Suppose you still love them?
Alice: You don't leave.
Dan: You've never left someone you still love?
Alice: Nope.

*Sigh.* O, Closer.


Can I ease your pain till the morning comes?

Pretty much, I almost died today. But on the bright side, everything's packed. I have to spend my last night on campus using res sheets and WestJet is going to charge me a lot of money to check everything (actually, I probably won't even get all of it tomorrow because my connecting flight from Edmonton to Calgary is probably going to be one of those planes that feels like it's going to fall out of the sky at any given moment because by all accounts, it looks too small to carry so much weight), but I don't even care. Now that I'm going, I'm going. Just get me the hell out of here.

The day in PackFest Fiascos:
PackFest 2006 Fiasco #1: Chelsea has run out of space in her bags prior to the half way point.
PackFest 2006 Fiascos #2, 3, and 4: Looking for another bag has driven Chelsea to thrill briefly at the sight of Canadian Tire, cry in the middle of the store upon discovering they are fresh out of hockey bags, and decide that boxes are far better than duffels anyway.
PackFest 2006 Fiasco #5: Chelsea can't find a box.
PackFest 2006 Fiasco #6: The box she does find isn't big enough.
PackFest 2006 Fiascos #7 and 8: Chelsea is too spatially retarded for words and thus faces $80 in WestJet overage charges.
PackFest 2006 Fiasco #9: Chelsea no longer cares.

Knowing me, there will be at least three more of these tomorrow. One involving the airport shuttle, one involving check in, and one involving me sprinting through the Edmonton airport with a laptop on my back and a valise in my hand trying to make my connecting flight. *Sigh.* I hate travelling.

For now though, my last evening in Victoria, there is a beach and a joint and a Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream bar with my name on it. Until I have to crawl into bed, this will be a good night.

Night vision goggles are available at the bookstore.

I'm wearing mascara for the first time in months and my eyelashes are longer and thicker than I ever remember them being.

I'll miss the Bean and the ocean the most when I'm gone. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave only to go back to a city that's brown and dry and only has two kinds of trees and gets snow in the middle of May. I don't want to. I'm being childish and unreasonable because it's late, but going back to Calgary for the summer has just struck me as the most profoundly awful idea I've had in my entire life.



Fresh paint in the air
when I walk to the bus
a chinatown lamp post now
fire engine red
but I close my eyes
to the color.....inhale instead
wishing for some way
to photograph smells.....to store them:
tiny vials in precarious stacks
which would line the crevices
of the mind

I'm gone and aching
for this street
I could shut myself up
in the bathroom.....lights off
where vision is only peripheral
to the processes of recollection
pry the tops off
wait for the senses to blur and
bleed together like watercolors
and watch as the odors of oil and varnish
bloom across the insides of my eyelids
in hot crimson swatches


WRIT 100, Scene Four: Drama

Problem: Half of your final is made up of complete bull shit.
Solution: Bull shit your way through half of the final.
Result: Receive ninetey percent.

Genius. Take that, Pore Face.

Dark Roast

Chinatown has cherry blossoms
second time this year
they're fuller now but
more fragile
and a static wind rythm
sends petals pirouetting
through the street
to a tune of

she loves me.....she loves me

I keep an eye
on them to
distract myself from you
in the corner
smelling of fabric softener
and patchouli
of course
wearing a smirk simple
and delicate as spring
foliage that begs
for admiration

and I pretend not to
see but I do
your lips
like these flowers
voluptuous kisses
turned skyward
aching for a sweet breeze
to blow them away


I know who you're waiting for.

Because it has just gone summer, I have the profound sense that I can do anything I want. Take that, school year. Watch me rebel. The sun is setting and the walls in my dorm are growing increasingly bare and I want to spend as little time in here as possible between now and Saturday morning. This room is nothing if not completely depressing when it doesn't really look like mine.

I woke late today because I was kept up until four o'clock in the morning by something/ someone I'd really rather never think about again. As a result I've spent all day rushing to get change do laundry eat pack four boxes do recycling take out garbage etc. I hate feeling like I'm in a giant hurry when I really have nothing pressing to do.

I have sufficient material for a long, introspective post, but I don't want to talk about it.

No one's coming home.


Suppose I say I am on my best behavior.

I hope that was code. It wasn't, but I hope it was.

Packfest 2006: Scene I begins tomorrow. I have to take down the shiny wall. I would talk to you all night about how weird it will be to go home, but you're already gone.

I miss you. No. Another you.


Any place but those I know by heart.

I'm not dead, but I don't really feel like talking, either.

Within one week of leaving for Calgary, I've run out of shampoo, tissues, hand soap, toothpaste, and laundry detergent. I hate it when that happens.

Most of the afternoon was spent at the beach. I'm a lopsided lobster for the first time all year. It was twenty degrees out today. I really should have bought aloe at the drug store. I'll miss this.


Huffy Suncatcher

I've been ill all day. Some combination of the worst cramps in the history of human existence, Ezra, and the stomach flu.

But on the bright side, I'm not pregnant. Thro yo hands in tha ai-ya.

I went too far with that one, didn't I?


Squalid things:

Dead tulips.

I suppose they would have lasted longer if I didn't leave them directly above the radiator. They're jaundiced now; the petals are thin and crumpled as silk, or scar tissue. I would know.


Maybe you'll read this.

Sometimes, like today, I think this shouldn't have happened.
There was no pink gown involved, so this shouldn't have happened.

I need a nap.

And maybe you won't.

Tragedy has struck:

My moccasins are so old worn and out that they have to make a trip to the dustbin of life.

Maybe later, in my print journal, I'll write them a eulogy. OR! I'll keep them as indoor slippers instead because I can't bear to let go.


Some Sort of Giant Insect

Miraculously, progress is finally being made on the Women's Studies take-home final. Granted, I've only written a hundred and fifty words in the last hour, but you know what they say about slow and steady.

I think I would spend a lot less time wallowing in the tragedy of my life if I didn't make a point of seeking out information I already know I don't want to hear. Like this. I knew it was inevitable, but... Oh, I don't know. I guess I just wanted it to be me. Even though, yes, I am acutely aware of how ridiculous that is. Don't worry about reminding me.

I've felt funny all day. Funny like murky-brain funny. And after three cups of coffee I'm just realizing that it's because I want to go home.


Sarah and the Sea

There's something sort of inconspicuously romantic, you think, about mourning your various unrequited loves on the beach. Ironic maybe, on a Sunday afternoon, considering all the children and laughter and couples. But you're not wrong. You're beginning to think that maybe the ocean is the only thing on this planet that won't break your heart and if you had a tent, you'd pitch it on the sand and stay there until you had to go back to Calgary. Or until the police took you to jail. Whichever. It doesn't matter at this point because this whole situation is just getting completely ridiculous. So ridiculous that camping unlawfully on a sea shore to drown out the voices in your head actually seems like a feasible option. You think about all this while you smoke the last cigarette in the pack and bury the butt in the sand. Yes, you think, as the tide changes. This is an intimacy which requires no one. And maybe people would call that sinister. Maybe you'd agree. Maybe you'd agree because it is so tempting to wake up three hours before dawn and run into that tide fully clothed just to see how far you can swim before you get too tired to go back.
floating warm on the bottom
you heard your heart from the inside out
a slow throb against the rib-cage
surprised at drowning's tenderness
and persuasion like the huge hand
of a lover pressing you down
- CF


21-40 of hundreds

I don't need the reminders. They're all gone.


Faux Past

I bought myself tulips this afternoon. They are the colour of pearls and lips flushed and plump from kissing. A perfect combination. They're sitting behind my computer so I don't have to look at the awful SUB travel mug in which they sit drinking. I had nothing else suitable. Juxtaposition at its worst, and yet so telling of life in university residence.

Even though I went downtown with Stella and my readings, not much work vis a vis the take home final has been accomplished today, but I'm okay with that because I have time. I did, however, make a mix of songs I'd want you to send me if you were to apologize with a burned CD. If you were to apologize. I don't know why. Because I'm stupid enough to think about these things. I mean really. Sometimes I wonder if I have hidden reserves of hopeless optimism saved just for you. I should work on that. Like, now.

I wish I could curl up in an afghan by an open window while C recites "Tongues of Men and Angels" and feeds me Philosopher's Brew tea and homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. If I was allowed to fall in love with her I would. But it's not like that's ever stopped me before.


Lines That I Don't Recognize

I'm almost amused by the amount of time I spend hoping for impossibilities. Almost.


Winning a battle, losing the war.

I want so badly not to want you, but I do. Except I want you to be thoughtful and sincere and nurturing, which you weren't. Not with me, at least. I want it to be like the best day of our lives always. I really want to know why it wasn't. I will not call, I will not email. Somewhere underneath all of the idealization I know I had to do this. But...

Oh, nevermind. There is only one solution to this problem, and it is Stop Listening to the Kings of Convenience and Start Reading Away Laughing on a Fast Camel.

This light has drawn the blind.

English finals make me stressy. I should remember next time to stop writing when the anxiety attack starts. It was fine though. I finished early. I picked up my play, which was also fine. That leads me to believe that my drama mark, which was not posted when I went to pick up said play, will be fine as well. I ate a grilled cheese, watched some O.C., and now I feel much better about life.

Tonight my sister changed my mother's MSN name from Susan to Bridgemaniac!!. My mother barely knows how to use MSN and won't be able to figure out how to change it back. My sister will be gone all weekend and my mother's bridge partner Sammy is going to laugh really, really hard when he sees it. Not all of you will find this hilarious, but it is. I miss that girl.
Bridgamaniac!! says:
goood for u, do a mr.clean hi five
Bridgamaniac!! says:
u dont need ppopoopoy pooping up ur life
girl says:
what the hell is a mr. clean hi five?
Bridgamaniac!! says:
when the lady in the commercial high fives the wall because hes not actually there

Tied up and twisted, the way I'd like to be.

My English final is in an hour and a half and right now I'm particularly bitter at the utter uselessness of first year classes. I'm dreading coming back here in the fall. But I don't know if that's just because I'm currently under a great deal of academic stress or because I keep forgetting that I only have to do freshman year once. I don't know if it matters which, if it matters at all. I don't have time to think about this right now, but I can't think about anything else because what does it matter if I don't want to come back. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for wet sleeves and a runny nose. I don't have time. Symbolism in petrarchan sonnets awaits.
Oh, fuck.


Set List

I should really go to more concerts. Sarah was so great that I almost wish I went with someone so I wouldn't be alone in my state of post-performance well-being. I know who would have enjoyed it, but I'm keeping my mouth shut.

Oh, I loved you
and I guess I still do
everything was going so good
I thought something bad might happen
and then it did
if you know the difference
bettween bad and good
thought that I'd know
but I cross my toes
and thats how it goes

I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still, verdictless life.

Something about the quality of the air in Victoria shifted this morning. It's cool and humid and smells like a combination of laundry detergent, freshly mown grass, and seaweed. Something reminds me of that first morning in Winnipeg, but I don't know what it is. Sigh. Winnipeg.


You don't need my secret midnight calls.

I hope it's nice out tomorrow. I don't want to wait an hour and a half outside for Sarah in this. Then again, perhaps no one else will either. On the bright side though, at least the Rainy Day Mix is coming in handy.

It's going to be a long, long day.



5:35 p.m.
This is my froggy homework: "Unfortunately whilst staying in a gite, you discover that your bicycle has been stolen. You decide to put an advert in the local paper. In French, write what your advert would say."
My advert reads, "Merci beaucoup."
- Our dear friend Georgia Nicolson

The Rainy Day Mix

Could I Be Your Girl - Jann Arden
Passenger Seat - Stephen Speaks
Educated Guess - Ani DiFranco
Things To Forget - Sarah Harmer
Hurricane - Lisa Loeb
Rainy Day - Guster
Ice Cream - Sarah McLachlan
Black Eyed Dog - Nick Drake
Hopeless - Train
Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley
Pictures of Success - Rilo Kiley
Morning Song - Jewel
Watching the Rain - Katy Rose
Such Reveries - Duncan Sheik
Sweet Misery - Michelle Branch
Urge for Going - Joni Mitchell
As Is - Ani DiFranco
Champagne Supernova - matt pond PA
The Gypsy - Amanda Marshall
Victoria - John Mayer
32 Flavors - Ani DiFranco
Here Nor There - Andy Stochansky
Rain City - Turin Brakes
Crash Into Me - Dave Matthews Band
Split Screen Sadness - John Mayer

It's raining. I'm the worst homework doer ever.


I am worthless sounds compared to all your perfect words.

Yesterday was the last day of class. I bought a ticket for Matthew Good's Victoria show on the 18th. I had a revelation and ate Food That's Bad For Me and got completely ripped. Generally speaking, it was a good day.

I did not study for finals.

Today marks the beginning of the knuckling down. I just have to ignore my social life and I get much more work accomplished. This, I'm convinced, is at least part of the reason my GPA was so much higher last semester. Meh. Numbers.

I miss J. No, not him. Old Skool J. I don't know why, really. Maybe because it smells like spring outside. She always smelled like spring. Even in December. I don't know how she did it. I wish we were going to Sarah together.

It seems as though I'm going to have to go downtown minus my computer and my cell phone if I want to get any French review accomplished today. That being said, I'm out. Je dois faire mes devoirs.



I dream of shadows and driftwood
and you

your words
are water
brine on my lips
in this salt soaked night

rinse my inadequacy
take it out
with the tide
and I'll wade in the shallows
of your austerity
my search for
poetry in this scape
of semantics
so that come morning

I will long for the ocean
but won't know why

Out of My Mind, Into the Fire

I have to take my Writing final in two hours and all I can think about is how every time I pick up my course pack to re-read my notes I wind up thinking of something else.

"They should just push daylight savings time forward two hours. No one needs light in the morning anyway."
"Well right now, on the longest day of the year the sun comes up at five, so we'd get sun at six. But it would really kill us when we had to turn it back two hours in the fall. And we can't just turn it back one hour because that would be like, stealing time. Now there's a concept. The computers would implode, the stock market would crash..."
"I guess that just goes to show you can't mess with time."
"I guess so."

Tomorrow is the last day of class. Tomorrow I will camp out at the Bean all day, drink 10 dollars worth of coffee (which is a lot, with 1 dollar refills), and start studying for finals. Actually.


When she is kind she is lavish.

This is my favorite time of year. No one goes to class because it's the last week and nothing gets accomplished in class. I know nothing gets accomplished in class because I, tragically, still attend. Half the student body smokes pot on the lawn outside the library with every intention of studying for their finals after one more bowl. It's seventeen degrees outside and people are finally starting to wear their Birkenstocks without those big grey and cream wool knee socks so stereotypical of us West Coasters. I studied for my writing final on the lawn with the pot smokers and got things accomplished and caught a cute little sunburn. My Ani bootleg came in the mail and our Women's Studies take home finals were handed out with a five-day extention on the deadline which I may or may not use.

I don't know if it's the weather or Life Post Her, but everything's better. And this is the first time I haven't really cared if she's saying the same thing.


I'm not a miracle; you're not a saint.

"The end is near," she said as the tide backed away from the beach like a lover who has just realized he has been too presumptuous with his kisses.

If you want it, come and get it.

My dorm room is currently eight thousand degrees and I'm contemplating breakfast.

The blog turns three today.

I'm going downtown to study for my Drama final after my laundry comes out of the dryer. It's warm enough out today for gelato.

It's funny how one day things are so awful and then allofasudden it's all just... okay. That's where I'm sitting now. It feels good. No need for vindication or revenge or retribution. Nothing. Just okay. I've got nothing to prove this time.


Movie land came to Victoria and ate my life.

No, seriously.


Feel the wave.

Everything begins again now.

I'm not tired anymore.


Just need a couple vaccinations.

I'm glad March is over. A new month equals distance. Well. Every day equals distance, but this somehow seems more profound. It's easier to take in the morning; don't ask why. I desperately have to clean and then I'm going to spend the rest of the weekend writing my play and watching movies. Sooner or later I'll be so far away from this that it won't even matter anymore. Like the rows and rows of suburban houses you see out the window of the plane that's taking you far away from wherever you are that all look so small you kind of forget people actually live there. Just get me three thousand feet in the air, and I'll find some perspective.
28 days.