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.

Leaving

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

then......when
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
not

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.