Turn me on, I'm a radio.

My biceps are bulging and sore from the giant move fandango yesterday. The hostel is only ever so slightly less charming than I hoped it was going to be in the manner of a not quite brand new bathroom and the fact that for some reason, the hallway outside my room (of course, only THAT hallway) always seems to smell vaguely of sewage. However. My room already smells like me (read: patchouli and laundry detergent), my tea set is on display, and I'm almost entirely unpacked. Last night I went outside for a cigarette with the hopes that it would help me better complete my Writing 307 assignment, and two french men were sat two tables over saying something about cheese and c'est bon and hostels. I think there was something about sandwiches in there, too. That would probably make sense. I have a view of the oldest operating synagogue in Canada. I've got a very interesting bookshelf/storage locker extravaganza going on, which I enjoy very much, and my room appears to be dark much of the day, considering my window faces east. I'd complain about this, but I spent all summer bitching about the fact that it was light all the time and how could I ever expect to be a poet if the bloody sun was shining all the time. I need to buy a new desk chair because the one provided is possibly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture on which I've ever sat, but otherwise, things are peachy. Tomorrow, probably, I'll go grocery shopping. I'll post pictures soon. Promise.