when my modern canadian poetry professor marks my final, it will be obvious to him that i spent this night, this last night before the exam, painting and socializing and getting high and laughing into the night because even our shadows were hilarious--or maybe he won't know that. but it will be obvious to him that i did not spend this night cobbling together evidence for a comparative essay on the poet's role in society or the apathetic universe or the superimposition of myth over reality like i'm supposed to, like i would have done if i was good.
something inside me is quaking, rupturing, and i don't know what it is. but i'm waiting. i'm waiting for it to break open and spill like blood, or as blood, onto the page or the canvas, or the floor.
the tarot will not comment.

how to feel like you are high even though you are not:

go to rebar for dessert.
don't decide between chocolate cake and apple pie.
order both, with coffee, put them side by side in the middle of the table and share.
eat both. do not save any for next day leftovers.
walk back to her apartment, listen to joni mitchell, and spend the rest of the night painting the blank canvasses she's had since she was thirteen.
-i just had a breakthrough.
-me too.
-this is going to be the sea.
-MINE is going to be the sea!
laugh a lot, about nothing.
watch the angles around your torso soften.

if you think i'm not a good voyeur
you are wrong.

dear universe,
when am i going to stop being so sad?
when?
love,
chelsea.

i'm holding a lot of tension in my butt.
theatre seats apparently don't remedy this.
i can't believe i have to deal with another week of all this stupid academic bullshit.
multiple choice english tests.
i feel better now that there is a YYJ-YYC flight at the end of it.
but, in the film i watched tonight, nicole kidman's character wore old jeans and moccasins and scarves and smoked a lot of marijuana, and even though i don't smoke a lot of marijuana anymore, i wonder if i've started something. what are those things called.
trends.

if november was the official
chelsea takes refuge
month, then december will officially be the
chelsea drinks a lot of beer in a lot of funny places
month.

i am having fun.
fun. i remember what fun is.

tonight i ate homemade soup in janine's bed while we watched life aquatic, and i learned a difficult but important life lesson, and the universe rewarded me when i got home to a heated apartment.
yes. it's been seven days. and my furnace works again.
i'm going to sleep naked simply because it's warm enough.

seriously.
weirder and weirder and weirder.

zonino?

this whole cold apartment thing is making my life weirder and weirder.

But why don't you do something?




I am trying to write a poem

-phyllis webb

my sole sources of warmth right now are:
tea, and
a space heater the size of a stereo speaker.
i feel like i'm about to come down with pneumonia.
brit j. bates wonders how the universe can justify this.
i wonder which karmic debt i'm being forced to pay off.
when i considered the possible downfalls of living in a one hundred and fifteen year-old house, Broken Furnaces didn't really cross my mind.
it is, however, kind of amusing that this only seems to happen when i have portfolio revisions to do.
but only kind of.

so,

apparently there was a gas leak under the sidewalk running along my block.
yeah.
i went outside for a cigarette at six thirty and there was this tripod erected on the corner with a seven-foot tall neck and a face made of fire. the city officials had to burn all the leaking gas so it wouldn't seep into the groundwater, or something.
a man walked by with his daughter and told me it's a good thing i didn't light that cigarette an hour ago. his daughter was seven and tugged on his hand and yelled,
dad! let's go watch! i think it's going to EXPLODE!!!
and i said,
i think it's already exploding.
and then she showed me her stuffed penguin, which apparently connects to the internet (lol @ technology?) and told me that second grade is supercalafragalisticexpialadoshus.
at any rate, while i was in yoga, the furnace in my house was turned off for safety reasons and now i am COLD.
i guess i will not be writing my giant gwendolyn macewen paper here tomorrow, unless i want to die of hypothermia.
i wish i conserved more body heat in shavasana.
the answers to my problems are as follows:
shower,
tea,
product of pakistan socks, my afghan, and my bed, all smelling of laundry detergent,
daytrip to bean with stella,
mischa yogaaaaaaa.

ohmmm.

ok. it is way more disgusting outside than i thought it would be.
i guess i should know by now that december in victoria equals
monsoon season.

it's december.
it snowed this morning.
rumor has it we're supposed to get 20-30 centimeters in the next 24 hours.

i didn't do any work tonight.
i'm not going to do any work tonight.
i just watched the funniest movie.
and now i'm going to bed.
i am the lamest person alive right now.

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