Loose Feet

My mom recently told me of a story that was crammed into her head when she was young - probably my age. According to someone, when you hear the sound of a train whistle as it passes, it's a sign that the weather is going to change.

This idea of connection, of bringing random elements of the world together in order to infuse all lost meaning back into our lives is a good one, I think. It's a necessary move that has taken us all too long to turn towards. I'm hard-pressed to identify one nihilist who actually changed things for the better. They may be remembered, but more often than not (I find) it is for who they are (their words) rather than what they are (their actions). A good dose of optimism will scare the shit out of some people, but in the long-term, will benefit the whole. So, yeah, let's connect.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going here. I guess that's why I know I'll always struggle to be a writer. I have literary ADHD, whether I'm reading or writing what's on the page...Back to square one, then. The funny thing is, when my mom told me that story, I couldn't help but reply that I had heard the train go by our house many times before and had never noticed a change in the weather. More often than not, the connection between my brain and my tongue goes dead and I allow cynicism to get the better of me. It's a terrible trait, and I hear it's degenerative, failing to give me hope for my later years.

Still. I heard the train go by while I was lying in bed tonight, thinking. And just for fun, I jumped out from between the sheets and checked the weather. GD. She might just be right. We're looking at thunderstorms tomorrow. And here I thought the beautiful sun and summer were here to stay.

Gotta find the train schedule...

Spring is in the air. I feel it, I know it, I believe it. Despite the grumbling on the street over the 'sudden' appearance of rainfall, everyone else knows it's coming too. Really though - this is Montreal, not Hawaii. Flowers don't just pop, they must grow from roots that chainsmoked underground during the winter. It makes them 10x more beautiful though, I promise. With the spring comes the arrival of my wonderful Greek neighbours. They've spent the entire winter hibernating amongst themselves, eating pogos and hating on the world. But as soon as it gets nice out, they'll open the door and toss all their crap out onto their porch and begin the wonderful love-hate tryst we've been working on for about 2 years now. I've always wanted to ask them (mid-screaming fight) why they chose to move to the Plateau in a student building when they hate young people so much. (And I mean hate). Unfortunately, I don't think they'd understand me. This is what diversity gets me.

Second question to pop into my head when downing coffee and porridge at 10 am. I wonder why it is that when I walk down the street and smile at a person, I get very strong reactions - in two different ways, unfortunately. Women often shy away, or even frown and look down, as though if they smiled back my original form would melt away and I would become the ugly purple-people eater they've always worried about running into on the street. Please...And in the majority of occurrences when I've smiled at men, they turn right and around and start making sexual advances. Since when did hello become such a heavy question?

(Ah yes, and we return to the pen and penis fetish that has been plaguing scholars for too many years. Kidding.)

Right. My fantasy. I smile at the man on the street, he comes home with me, next thing you know there are beautiful babies and trips to Disneyland and meetings with grandparents. This is how you and I both wanted it to go. Anyway. I just wonder why such small actions are so hard to pass on to people. It's not contagion, it's just being nice. But maybe that's too much for some people right now.

Incase you do want to see how I learned to finally grow up. (Hasn't actually happened).

http://amaroo.livejournal.com

No judgments.

In an attempt to push the burden of work aside for one more day, I returned to an old journal I wrote in during highschool. It seems my thoughts were a lot more romantic back then, and in many ways, a lot more creative. Years of droning professors have sapped every ounce of imagination out of my brain. Or at least, that's how it feels this late in the game.

Perhaps the best line of my teenage years..."Today I stuck my finger in my ear and my brain paused for a second." Still happens from time to time when I'm using Q-Tips.

Can't do this. Back to work. More about Opportunity: Seoul! (sounds like a fantastic television show doesn't it?) to come tomorrow.

In only 28 days (which my time calculator so quickly converted to 2,419,200 seconds) I will be presented with the ultimate title, that which will, according to the textbooks, take me to places I could have never before dreamed of. I will be...drum-roll please...a college graduate. Five years, millions of last minute tutors, thousands of cigarettes, coffee cups and oven baked pizzas later, I have jumped through hoops and will receive the diploma that will define me as a working-class woman in this grand world. I'm excited, and you should be too.

So in honor of this momentous occasion, I thought it time to join up with the vast network of internet lovers out there and begin my own blog. No need to prepare yourself. In many ways, it will be the same moaning and groaning you could experience in only two seconds of chatting me up outside the bar. But then, I guess I don't care. It's not for you.

Soon I'll be leaving for Seoul, to begin my journey across the continents and it would come as no great surprise that if I carried a journal, it would just happen to fall out while in front of the Korean McDonald's, or even drown in the street gutter. It's best, then, for you - or perhaps just for I - that I allow myself to engage with this online journal of witty repartee, if only to remember my experiences while on the road (and then compare them with Kerouac and redefine the entire notion of cool).

This is the beginning. But not the end.

Except it's not raining. I suppose it's overcast right now. A bit sunny. But not raining. So this time around, I can't blame it on the rain.

Something's gotta change. Because this just ain't right. I'm not happy, and because I'm not happy, it's not making other people happy. And before I know it, I'm gonna turn myself into the loner on the street who everyone's just too busy to take pity on.

Gotta figure it out, gotta figure it out. In times like this, I turn back to the wise words of wisdom we all came to know as little tykes. I think I can, I think I can.

Squash today, yoga tomorrow, indifference the next day. Sweet.

Skit: Two people find themselves crashing their carts in the middle of a busy grocery store downtown Reno. Burnt out actors from the 1950's, who suddenly realize they know each other from their time spent in the institution. What happens next?

I am so sick of writing papers.

I wonder when you walk down the street how many people actually look at you. And how many people just give you that once-over that makes them feel like they're doing something.

I'm sitting across from Buffy on a couch that probably a million McGill students have drooled on and I can't do my work. Why can't I do my work?

I'm not cut out to be a student. That's just it. It's harder than looks, you know. Go on, you can make fun of me. But this is really how I feel. (Really. I think.)

Lunchtime.

What do you think academics do with their life? Can you really imagine a life where all you think about is academics? (And when you're not, you're probably too drunk to think)
I don't really want that.

I'm love with the person who hates me and I hate the person who loves me. Sigh.

Another emo whining blog for people all across the world to reap up in their complaints against the growing world of technology.