A day in Ontario

Well, Mom and I spent the morning in the attic doing wallpaper with my favourite ancient radio blasting Q-92 close by. Setbacks were many, but the outcome was very positive for all concerned. The radio station even chose to take a short break from the usual bilge by playing Dust in the Wind.

After Dad and the kids came home from church, we (at my mother's suggestion) packed the car and headed off to visit Dad's two spots of land. One is about forty-five minutes away in a semi-suburban neighbourhood of very western Quebec. The other is located near Lancaster, (very eastern) Ontario. Being pre-mosquito season, it was actually quite enjoyable. Apologies for anyone who tried to call (especially my loyal fans, of whom there are many)...we were out of town.

The first spot is a lot, fit for house-building, with a beautiful, directionless, and often bug-ridden creek at the back. I love it because it's the awesomest thing ever to drive down this tidy street past all the big brick houses in our dirty van and stop in front of the space covered in grass and small trees (and it's hard to tell the two apart) where I believe the neighbourhood delinquents go to drink and smoke. I love it because it's a small spot of wilderness in an otherwise overly domesticated world.

The second is way, way bigger. We're talking acres and acres of farmland that Dad owns out in the west. Farmers grow crops there. There's a river and an oak orchard and a beaver dam and a frog pond and hundreds of trees that we planted. Ordinarily, I have an aversion to fields and farmland, which I denounce as boring and...well...domesticated, domestic. But I love this place. Last year I took some awesome pictures there.

My brother and I ran all over the place. I even filmed a bit, which is unusual. Every time we go there, the place seems smaller and smaller. I climbed one of the hills around Frog Pond in four steps today. I remember when those hills were the Everests of my world.

Of course, that doesn't put me above rolling down them in the grass.

When we reached the river at the back, we discovered a tragedy. Nearly all the trees along the sides of the water had been cut down and left, to rot or burn, in an unfortunate multitude of bonfire piles. Apparently it had something to do with a word I have forgotten meaning to clear out the riverwater.

I was heartbroken. Then I was angry. If you happened to chance by that particular Ontario river on that particular Sunday at that particular place and you saw a girl throwing dead corn plants into the water and furiously shouting, Damn your bloody river! ...as Alicia says, well, that would probably have been me. Don't think time will wear away my rage, though. If anything, it will morph into a deep hatred of powerful government that will slowly eat away at me from the inside. (Alternatively, I could learn from this and mature into a hardened but clear-thinking adult. Oh, I make myself laugh.)

I did speak to my friend the old oak, though. I suppose we must adapt and move on after episodes of such destruction, like those in Indonesia after the tsunami. It isn't always easy.

We stopped at Dairy Queen (the place to be in rural and semi-rural areas, evidently) before turning back. The Ottawa Classic Rock station wasn't being picked up by the car radio, so my dear brother and I provided the entertainment, as we had on the way there. We sing in the car. I know it's very very...I don't know...but...we do. In fact, we reached a milestone today by singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall in its blissful entirety. Neither of us could have done it without the other.

The Kid also made a bet with himself that we would arrive by six thirty, and this was the subject of much debate on the way home. Eg. Well, if you win and yourself doesn't pay you, I think you should beat yourself up. Etc. My family is very strange. (By the way, have you ever read that E. E. Cummings children's story with the little girl named I who meets the little girl named You? I didn't think so, but it's a great story. I love that guy's work. I also like Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus.) When we got home at six twenty eight and a half, he leapt out of the car and cried, "I win!"

Got to run now, there's more wallpapering to be done....

Quiesence perhaps, but noise as well.

And....

For all my brave words about a hopeful breakfast, I had a hard time falling asleep on Friday. It was as if all the hunger I had not felt during that day burst upon me at nine thirty pm. All I could think of was food, and it was not pleasant. I finally fell asleep with an aching stomach and dreamt that I was a ghost.

Yesterday was pas mal, although nothing of note happened except that I brought Kiwi upstairs. Oh yes, and we went to see that thing at the museum and I had a pear, walnut, and brie cheese sandwich for lunch which was very good. (Even more so than it would have been normally.) I'm sorry I never got your call, Rachelle. We should go biking today. After we figure out the wallpaper, I'll call somebody.

Sun Day.

I wonder if things will happen.

It's always interested me how when people don't have a watch, they ask, "Do you have the time?" It's a polite thing to say, but I always want to say something like, "Time for what?" or "No, do you?" Think about it, and it's a lot stupider than calling a friend's house and asking if she's home.

I went on the famine mostly so I could feel what it's like to go to bed hungry. I've realized, however, just how different the 30 Hour Famine would be from actual famine, starving. WE know that at the end of the thirty hours we can sit down and eat a big breakfast, but there's no hopeful promise of relief on the horizon for people who don't have anything to eat. Going to bed with an empty stomach is much easier knowing that any headache or stomachache is temporary and nothing more.

That might be part of the reason I haven't actually been hungry today. I had one fifty-second episode of stomach pain, and that was it. It's a good thing I missed gym though. Aside from not being able to hand in my late pass and a slowly dwindling Clan, today has been a really good day. The only really sad part was that today was Janie's last day (nanny for my family+sibs who's been with us nearly fourteen years), and that still has not sunk in. I'm not entirely sure what we'll do without her, but I think I should move upstairs and just get that worked out.

posted by Eilinn MacCallum 2006-04-28

Exaltation, to be.

Shortly before my last meal.

Eleven is the awesomest number.

My piano teacher is a very nice person and an excellent teacher, except that sometimes she seems to focus on what I find the wrong things. I can't get the rhythm (and that is a cool word. the closest thing to a vowel is the y) of my latest piece. I've been making most of it up as I go along, and she doesn't seem to notice or think it's important. Then she stops me during another piece to explain that I'm not doing the slurs right. I spend the next ten minutes playing two notes over and over to the beat of relâche, soulève, relâche, soulève. Every once in a while, she'll jump up and exclaim, "That's it!" I cannot hear or feel any difference whatsoever between those occasional perfect slurs and my other attempts, but I nod my head and make a mental note to find my horrible metronome.

Ah well. Like I said, she's a nice person, and I owe a lot of my abilities in piano -- whatever they are -- to her.

I realize that much of my blog is spent on my rants about things I hate. (ie. lipgloss) Well, I apologize, but I'm going to bring another one into the scene. I really don't like it when people say, "You're the kind of person who would...." First of all, seeing as not one of my friends is inconsiderate enough to say something like that, if someone says it to me, it is invariably someone who really doesn't know WHAT kind of person I am. Assumptions can be annoying, but assumptions that are false and unsupported are often hurtful. This makes me angry. It makes me want to stand up and yell, "Yeah, well you're the kind of person who makes false, unsupported, and hurtful assumptions!" Doing so might be hurtful in itself, but at least my declaration would be supported and possibly true.

Of course, these assumptions are typically not ones I care to hear, the less so if they are true. I realize I seem like a terribly unadventurous, opinionated, self-righteous nerd, but there are some things you keep to yourself. (Unfortunately for all of you, there isn't much I keep to myself.) I'm sure (I hope) I'm not the only one who feels this way. Everyone else is just too considerate to say so or too easygoing to be bothered too much by it.

So, after all this, I must conclude that today was actually a nice day, even though every single period of school was an utter waste of time. Comme d'habitude. I'll see most of you demain, and don't take anything I said here personally (even though none of it applies to anyone reading). I just needed something to say.

At ease in the thick of chaos.

Scrum. Scrummy scrum scrum scrum scrum....

Talking with Isabelle in English class today, I mumbled something about how I don't really like to talk about myself. Hearing this, Ariel said, "Well then why do you have a blog?"

Good point.

So I shall begin to talk about myself after this story about four people named Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody.

There was an important job to do. Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it. Somebody got angry about that, because it was Everybody's job. Everybody said that Anybody could have done it, but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn't do it. So it ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

I've realized just how paranoid I am. Here's a transcript of my thoughts upon seeing someone walking down the hallway looking upset.

I wonder why X looks so upset. I hope nothing's wrong. Maybe they're upset with me. Oh no, I hope not. Have I said or done anything mean to them lately? Or they could be pretending to be upset. Maybe they're pretending to be upset because they saw me coming in the hallway. I wonder if they're trying to tell me they really don't like me and they wish I wouldn't talk to them so much. Oh, no. I feel like such a jerk. Nobody likes to be followed around by someone they can't stand. Should I still talk to that person? But what if they hate me? They'll think that not only am I boring and annoying, but I just can't take a hint. Oh, no.

Paranoid, I tell you.

Today seemed like a really good day. Lunch was hilarious. I hope Kelsey, Arthi, and Jocelyne are having fun without us.

Here I am, my head happily a-clutter.

After Math

And then I'll take some blood and write on the wall That's not the name of the song!

I didn't actually walk to or from school today. Rachelle's dad drove us there and my dad picked me up after photography. (The new roll was a disaster. The only one that really came out was Dad's Boolean Axe.) And as some will discover tomorrow, there's a locker outside 209 with no fewer than twelve locks attached to the handle. I wanna do that too. Alanna saved me in French class, which was not only helpful but surprising. I didn't even know people still read this, and here she is knowing more about me than I do.

We began the day with math (hence the title. That and other reasons, if I can think of them). That was dull. French was dull, History was dull, Science was dull. Come to think of it, Day Four is horrible. I had to leave the Clan again today at lunch to go develop the awful roll of pictures, and my packback smells of apples. Certain issues are getting on my nerves, and making me think, which whoever reads this knows to be a very dangerous thing.

Wow. It really looks like I had a horrible day. It didn't feel that way at the time, but now I'm depressed. Sigh. Allow me to go perform some music therapy and pull pictures off the walls.

OLT: Can your voices just crack and be done with it already? I mean, come on!

Strangeness manifests most clearly to a friend.

Another Day, Another Forgotten Dream

I wished something would happen today. Purely because things usually don't, and today would have been a good day for them to start. Unfortunately, my life does not seem to want to be exciting. I suppose that my role is and always has been that of the observer. The documenter. Instead of being the one to go down in history, I would be the one to write it. But how dull is the spectator's part.

I hope for adventure. That, I assume, is one of the main reasons I do not live one. Those who have things happen to them are typically the ones who don't want things to happen to them.

So I watch, as relationships form and are torn apart, as people change and grow distanced from another, as the rain pours down and the sun comes out, as the football flies through the air and is caught, as the person who once confided walks away. I am not to be trusted, for though I will keep secrets and not pass judgement, I will not forget. And as the rain beats down outside, I think of you and of one hopeful dream.

Yeah, this is what happens when I'm left with myself too long. Most of the time neither of me can stand the other. We often end up depressed, and pensive. Such a burden, occasional perceptive thinking in our everyday world.

friendship causes pain

Sunday evening

I'm so tired.

I wish I had something to read. I'll write tomorrow -- I'm just too near asleep right now, I'd only be dreaming of my fingers hitting the keys. I'll miss Lisa, though.

How perfect would be a peaceful world.

The Burglar

So (my) Dad decided to bring me home so that I wouldn't have to sit through the kids' swimming. I actually cleaned up around the house, fed the bird, and repotted a plant while I was here. I was pulling things off my wall and tape off those things when I heard someone come into the house and stomp around downstairs very loudly. Being all alone, you would imagine I'd be afraid, seeing as I usually am. I wasn't. I went to the staircase and proceeded to make a lot of noise coming down. I found no one there, but the door was open and I heard kids yelling outside. Maybe they had come home early, or maybe it was (my) Mom, as I had originally thought. I grabbed an armload of stuff and went back upstairs.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten that one of my parents had no idea I was home, being on call. In the space of time that saw me descending and reclimbing the stairs, my poor alarmed mother rushed outside and used a neighbour's cell to call the cops about the break-in.

Suffice to say I have yet to be arrested, but things may get interesting when my father arrives in a few minutes.

Close up

So I finally finished rereading LOTR. The fact that I read it slowly and for a second time is probably the reason I am not currently wandering around the house aimlessly in my post-lecturum dreamstate. I actually went out and shot an entire 36-exposure roll afterward. I was given some pretty strange glances, taking pictures of old tires in other people's yards.

Although my storytelling skills will never match Jacob's, let me tell those of you who have not heard the story of the Amazing Magically Disappearing LP. A decade down the line, this post will be used as conclusive evidence of my madness. Ironically, the record is or was Dark Side of the Moon. I distinctly remember finding it among my parents' collection one day. I pulled it out and looked it over reverently before putting it back, on top of all the other records.

A few weeks or a few months later, I went back to find it. (My father had recently purchased a replacement needle for the one I broke when I was four on EBay, and I was putting it to good use.) Well, guess what. I couldn't. I pulled out every single LP in the cabinet and put them all back again. No Floyd. As if this wasn't disturbing enough, my parents' reactions when I told them of the tragedy were very strange.

Dad: "I don't remember that one. Would it be your mother's?"
Me: "She told me it must be yours."
Dad: "Hm. Well, I suppose it could be."

Explain that to me. I find a record, which subsequently disappears from the cabinet. Nobody else seems to know of its existence. I check often, but it has never reappeared. I leave it up to you to debate my sanity...I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time I had hallucinated.

But I know it was there. I know it.

I'm not zoned out. I'm tuned in.

An addition regarding music.

You know how some people cry during movies? I cry during music. Yes, I am aware that it's not normal. Only sometimes, anyway, and only certain songs. They're not even very emotional, typically. Well, not in the way you might imagine.

The only way to keep from crying, usually, is to sing (at great risk to everyone within a two-meter radius). The music is much more important than the words, so focusing on the words keeps me from falling too deeply into the ebb and flow of guitar.

Someday, I think when the song is over. Someday I'll play like that.

Fred finally wins a badminton game...and others

I have so much to write. It's lucky I type fast. I hope I won't forget something.

Yesterday I had my guitar lesson at five. As usual, Neil and I had some interesting discussions. Of course, when I say discussions, I really mean him talking and me listening...an arrangement that's fine by me. Yesterday we were (he was) talking about that theory about the threads. Every particle is connected to every other particle through a certain number of threads. Something like that. I really like the idea. I've also heard an idea where sometimes some cells have more bonds to others than...er...others. Maybe if person A is very close to person B (maybe they're twins) their particles will be...connected...more than with the average dude's. I'm sure I'm getting something wrong here, but I like the idea anyway.

After that, I had supper at St-Viateur with mom, Dayı, and Duygu (my uncle and aunt). I then went to a piano lesson with Victoria Kasuto (that's not how you spell her first name) at...um...seventhirtiesh, I believe. I can't remember. She helped an awful lot. For one thing, one of the pieces I thought I was playing for the exam isn't actually on the list (!!! that's 14% gone automatically). I very much like the way she explains how you have to "sell your piece." She compares it to the merchants at a Turkish bazaar (she's from Istanbul, interestingly enough). You will gravitate toward the person whose wares seem the most interesting because that person is the best at selling them.

This morning as I was walking to school, a sparrow swooped low over a road and was hit by a passing car. Instead of screaming my lungs out at the unconcerned motorist, I flew across the road to where I saw the sparrow fall. Dazed and confused but probably unhurt, the bird made no attempt to fly away as I approached. I desperately wanted to pick him up, just like Kiwi. I hope the little guy is okay.

Which brings me back to Alaska last summer, and the boat's pet bird. Said bird was a Vancouverite by origin (or so we believe) who decided to stow away on the week-long voyage. Because it was summer, the climate was not too harsh for the bird to make a trip on the top deck. Every time we went to eat, I would bring some bread out to feed our little friend.

Anyway.

We started football in gym, and I actually managed to both throw a football properly and kick it, something I have never tried before. Better than this, however, was my music test. I played it sans fautes until the very last note, at which point I completely forgot what I was supposed to be doing, put the wrong fingers down, and squeaked like a frightened rodent.

Ms Purdy: "Good job, Anne."

According to Annie, I got 20 anyway.

Badminton. The first game might have be the worst one I ever played. Ugh. I don't want to talk about it, which is very good news for you guys. I wasn't playing my best the second game, and I made a lot of mistakes, but I won. Same girl I played my first game against. Yes, well I'd like to thank my friends and my parents and Ms Wright for supporting me, and especially for that golf-style applause there. (Shruthi is probably the reason I didn't suffer another miserable loss.) Congrats to Emily for winning her very first game. We're so proud! Sniff sniff....

On the way home, I sat on a park bench under the shade and wrote down whatever came into my mind. I must have looked pretty strange.

I'll see you all tomorrow.

You are my star.

A quick one

I am way overbooked this afternoon, so this will be short.

Today was good, good...although Kelsey disagrees. It was orwfully nice to get out and walk around in circles with Alanna, Kelsey, and (until he caught sight of his other friends) Alec. I didn't crash into anyone, although I almost wish I did. Now I sit here writing this without socks on. I want to go biking all the time this summer.

Beannachd Leibh.

An orb of sunlight, warmth, and strength.

Back at school

Top three quotes of the day:
3. "C'est exactement comme ça, sauf différent." -M Lemelin
2. "I don't have any writing utensils." -Kelsey
And tied for first place:
"They torture the baby veals!" -Alec
"A lot of people are average height." -Kelsey

I've had many a good conversation today. Examples: Isabelle and Kelsey; Alicia and Alanna; Isabelle, Kelsey and Alanna; Alicia; Kelsey and her rugby friends. Et cetera. Otherwise I have been very far away. Actually, most of the time today, I wouldn't feel like it was me talking. I heard myself speaking almost as if I was listening to the radio in mom's car.

So the conversations (particularly the one in math) were a highlight, as was watching Kelsey play rugby. (There, I wrote about it!) But when I look back, the day seems pretty much wasted. I didn't really get anything done, for starters. I guess it was fun, but tomorrow's gonna be awful. Then thursday is the last tournament. I shall have to defenestrate my badminton racket.

At least I'm not insane.

What should I call this one?

Overheard at Strathearn Park:
"What's the score?"
"14-14."
"For who?"

I really should get out more.

When I'm home with nothing to do, I tend to lapse into I-know-I-should-be-doing-something mode. I feel guilty about having free time. I'll spend those days eating cranberry sauce and surfing the online radio stations, signing into MSN periodically to see if any of my favourite contacts are bored too. It's worst on days when I have nothing to read. Then, only the piano or my guitar can save me. (The clarinet often works too.)

Today wasn't that bad, though. We went to the "old-fashioned greasy spoon" for lunch at one, which only contributed to the mounds of junk I've eaten today. (Two popsicles, and way too much chocolate. One of my easter eggs was filled with rum.) However, throwing the baseball around with Dad was a welcome relief.

It's loads better than school, anyway.

I discovered Rumours among my mother's CD stash yesterday. That should keep me busy for awhile. Of course, I still have to get out to HMV for those albums I've been meaning to pick up for months.

Of course my heart is in it. My heart is always in it. My head is the sensible one.

Happy easter, then.

I spent this morning listening to the music of conversation and trombones down the hallway and thinking about...stuff.

I've come to a sort of realization. It's difficult to explain, though. I'm not sure what it means, either. It's that reality is small. No, I don't think I'm going in the direction you believe I am. I don't believe I have a direction yet.

I was thinking about books, and how each storyteller explains and describes in their own unique way, so that even though there are so many books, each is original. (Perhaps this is part of the answer to my music puzzle, as well.) Each author's world, therefore, is different.

Yet we only have one story, one history, one reality. Perspective may differ, but the basic storyline runs the same for all of us. We have never known of another story, and we struggle even to comprehend the one we have taken part in for a million years.

Fire that does not burn.

Losers are awesome!

So the three of us went to see Ice Age 2 (being Jenna, Rachelle and the great one). Which was an excellent idea (that I take full credit for, of course). I mean the getting out, the getting about. Not staying home thinking we should be doing something. And seeing as I spent a total of 1$ on my ticket (the guy gave me a child's and I'm not complaining) and 266 grams of candy, it was a deal. We weren't at the dollar cinema, no. I have Cecelia to thank for this.

Although we saw a number of people as we were arriving (and leaving), no one we knew seemed to be there at the same time. (Lucky for Cavendish. Also lucky for Rachelle after her tripping-over-garbage-can episode.) I really owe a lot to my parents, though. Comme d'habitude.

Oh, and I saw Jacob too.

Tomorrow we get to eat turkey. I really mean it when I say my dad makes the best turkey I have ever tasted or heard of. I watch him the night before, sometimes, making the stuffing, emptying containers of poultry seasoning...a master of his craft. I watch the way he mixes the different kinds of raisins. The turkey is never exactly the same.

Someday, I'll make turkey just like dad.

Anyway, happy easter/passover/etc everyone...Kelsey eating her cousins' chocolate, Ariel with her Tofurkey, Jenna naturally (I can't believe Kyle's so tall. That shouldn't be allowed to happen.)

The perfect mix happens by chance.

A complaint

Pulling off the wallpaper wasn't enough. Now we have to wash off the glue.

Did you hear me?

Wash off the glue.

Wash off the glue underneath the 20-year-old wallpaper.

Using sponges and scouring pads.

And our bare hands.

I think I've made my point. But you know. My hands are still covered in glue, and all I managed to take off so far is a corner of the big wall.

And I thought the bathroom would be easy.

easter eggs are awesome

My jeans are getting really ripped.

Not the dark ones (the tightest pair of pants I own, which would be mild for Kelsey). The old blue blue ones. I thought at first that the fraying at my heels gave them character. Well, now there's a gash the length of my finger just above the hem in one, and a smaller rip in the other. The fraying is out of control.

I realize that loads of people (such as construction workers) wear faded jeans with large holes at the knees, but loss of material due to treading on with sneakers seems to be a style shared only by a select few.

It is character.

Anyway, today was alright, I spose. I really wish I wasn't so spoiled, though.

Dreamstate aftermath.

Therapy and Poetry

Alanna uses Let it Be and lavender. I play Simon & Garfunkel in bed, swaddled in sheets (as Ariel once mentioned). That's what I did tonight. Then I read the Lord of the Rings for an hour.

Here's the thing, then. I have no idea why I'm putting it here. I'm secretly hoping that no one will read it, but at the same time I want someone to say, Well, moose, this is...interesting. Then they'll cough something about how I denounce Eragon and then go and imitate a poet's style. Badly.

Poem.
By Moose.
Inspired by whatever.
Penned in science class, Thursday April the 13th.
Arthi's birthday!!
The parents' anniversary.
I'll stop now.
Here it is.

I prefer to watch

the shadows, dancing under
your feet – and think of summer.

light barely to see
by, a candlelit face

and as your entire

being basic and breathtakingly
turning blends
with wind and water
and all things encircling

I who watching am a dream
(and dreaming reborn)

Another day in the life

I love it when it rains. I love how before it rains you can hear the spaces between everything. I love how after when the sky clears and the sun comes out it smells of freshness.

So today was pointless, as most jewish holidays are. That hypocritical Jacob missed school, as did many others. English was hilarious, of course. Dr Gordon informed us that the lesson plan had been changed and asked us to take out our Language Power. At this everyone in the entire class except Gaby got up and headed for the door and their lockers.

Science was incredibly dull, as Kaj was also missing and Alec found L'hallucinant passage vers Krullin more interesting than me. I'm considering posting the "poem" I wrote that period, as Alec read it when it was only an idea. Of course, it is a shameless Cummings ripoff, as much of what I write winds up being. Just not as good.

Here's a question: Would you rather lose control of your mind or your body? Would you rather go mad or develop some muscle disease (or be paralyzed)?

I had a lot of good ideas for this post, but I've pretty much forgotten them. I hate it when that happens. I'd just like to say, for the third time, that summer is definetly coming. I'd better be ready. Beannachd leibh.

Inspiration born from emotion.

Elsewhere mind, as summer approaches

I am so taking Global Awareness. I actually loved listening to that debate, and even being a runner. Annike and Talia were great, as were many others...(the best argument by far was the one about Charlie Brenchley's hat). Halfway through fourth period, I realized that the arrangment was alphabetical, which was a great help in delivering messages.

It feels much more like summer than ever today. After school Rachelle came over and we ate ice cream. Then I, um, went to guitar...I love guitar lessons...and now my brother's been gone about forty-five minutes too long with his friends and mom's gone out to look for him. He'll be in trouble when he gets home, but seeing as he doesn't have a watch and didn't know what time to come home, it's quite understandable.

I have to read Alanna's blog now...as apparently it was inspired by mine...(I really need a synonym for flattered). I can't write much more...my mind is elsewhere. I'll post something I wrote awhile ago and forgot to publish.

I'm sure this has happened to you.

You have an unusually clear dream one night involving a person you have not thought about for a long time. Five minutes after you wake up, you have nearly completely forgotten the dream. Later that day, you run into that person at the supermarket.

Here's another scenario.

You're walking to the park, and for some reason you choose to take a different route. When you turn a corner, you come across a group of guys beating up a little kid. You break up the fight and send the kid home, safe.

Call it fate, call it the hand of God, call it your sixth sense. I believe there is a reason for everything, but not a reasonable or logical explanation for everything. How is it that you can know who's calling before you pick up the phone?

I think everyone has a certain sixth sense. Some have it stronger than others, and some have it more strongly in a certain area. There is the occasional prophet who comes around defying logic and reason by foretelling things hundreds of years in the future and predicting his or her own death. Not everyone is a psychic, but everyone has intuition.

I have been told that my sense, although far from phenomenal, is probably quite stronger than the average person's. This may be true, although my "foretellings" are hard to pinpoint. I cannot tell you when I am going to die, but sometimes I know that someone has died before anyone else around me does.

Intuition. Perhaps.

--lazy moose posting an old idea

Startled speechless.

Will anyone else sponsor me for the famine?

"War isn't about who's right. War is about who's left."

(Quote courtesy of Alanna)

Do you ever feel like just an accessory in someone else's life? Like you only exist as a personnage figurant, to add colour and mood to another person's story. I feel like that all the time. I also feel that I'm the centre of the universe and everyone exists in relation to me.

In case anyone was wondering where I was at lunch, I had to go home to get my gym shorts. Congrats Alanna regarding that bronze at provincials! Oh and the same to the improv team...did I say that already? No? Much better than my recent provincials experience. (By the way, I get to miss science tomorrow to watch the Global debate!)

I played significantly better than last time at badminton, comme d'habitude. I did lose every game (comme d'habitude) but as I am fond of saying about tournaments, It's the thought that counts. I was thinking about that birdie going over the net. I was thinking about it, and someday it will.

As a side note (but of course, this is all side notes), the bamboo Kelsey gave me for my birthday is doing well. Each shoot has grown to nearly twice its original size. I haven't become wealthy yet, Kelsey, but I'll let you know.

Anyway, here's something I wanted to talk about. Music class.

Of course, there was that bit where Kelsey started the whole class discussing the "meaning of music." "Opened a kettle of worms," as Ms Purdy said. Nevertheless the best came (comme d'habitude) from Alec.

"Hang on, this could actually be a really good question. Go ahead?"
"Well, you know the upside-down square thingy...."
"The rest, Alec?"
"Yeah, you know, the rest thingy...."

Indescribable. Priceless.

And English of course was fun, seeing as we spent most of it trying to come up with a song that fit better than "Good Vibrations."

Anyway, I'll stop talking now. I feel this is going to be a really good summer.

A rainbow of emotion.

Just another post.

Highlights of today:
1. Marco dancing around in winds singing, "Doing doing doing."
2. Being told that the door was open.
3. Having my blog come up in conversation. I wasn't aware that most people knew it existed, and here I am being complimented. My head feels like a balloon.

Things I have come to realize:
1. I have a mental block against bringing my history book home.
2. Dancing around without shoes on yelling about chopsticks is not the most effective way of stalling.
3. Writing a blog really isn't as difficult nor as time-consuming as I thought it would be.

I watched about two minutes of Kelsey's rugby practice. Basically she ran into something, rolled around on the floor, got up, and fixed her hair. How's that for entertaining?

So apparently I came in second out of ten for the in-school debating tournament. I haven't any idea how that happened, especially considering my disastrous performance at provincials. Of course, I have a badminton tournament tomorrow, so there goes my one-win streak.

I wonder whether artists, musicians, and writers get addicted to drugs for creative stimulus reasons. Maybe the first time, they happened to have a notebook nearby. Later, they looked at what they had been doodling and were surprised and pleased at the bizarre but beautiful things on the page. Then one day when they were racking their brains for ideas for an upcoming convention or some--thing, they decided to try getting high again. And again. And again.

Well, for all my brave words of "Writing a blog really isn't as difficult as I thought," I'm having a bit of a creative block now. I guess part of the reason would be the science test, when otherwise I'd be thinking (owing to a lack of anything else to do). Or when I'm walking home I'll start writing things out in my head, but today it was too bright out. Often I'll put what I've been thinking about in my blog, but that poses a slight problem when I haven't thought about anything.

I need sleep.

I'll follow the moon.

A short conclusion to a day at the beginning of summer. The moon is high and the sunsets glorious.

That bike ride with the Girls (as Dad says) was exactly what I needed. Actually, this whole day has been, contrary to what I believed it would be, very very good. (My little outburst there was a highlight, of course.) And you never know...tomorrow might be interesting too.

Sunday afternoons can be brutal.

Wow. Alienor was back in action today, and looking awesome as usual. I can totally picture her going to get her hair cut with her IV bag. Ah....

It's not easy being oldest. You hear that the younger kids often grow up differently, break away from what people expect after knowing the older sibs. Yet the eldest never has the choice of breaking away from the established path versus following it. There is no path. Sure, there are the paths of their parents, but it has been a long time since they have been used. The trail is faint, and sometimes, there's an old log or a stone blocking the way. The grandparents' paths are so overgrown with weeds it's hard to know where they are. The forest is wide open, and this ultimate freedom can be staggering.

T&E are off to see Ice Age 2. I'm here. Thinking. Watching. Listening. Next weekend will be wallpapering, I believe.

Yeah, so no one failed church.

Saturday, April 8

I'm a little unsure as to what to write today, except that I hope Alienor gets out of hospital soon. Nothing I've done today is of interest to anyone reading this. In the spirit of being cool, I suppose I should post something witty or dangerous, but I feel less like catering to your desires than ever. Sorry. I want to go biking, but I have too much to do for me to call up Jenna or Rachelle without feeling guilty. If one of them called me, I'd go of course, but it's a bit cold anyway.

I'm awfully sorry about leaving Kim and Joce in the lurch yesterday, but I didn't have much of a choice.

I guess I'll log off this and write something. I'll put on some music or continue rereading the lord of the rings. Or I could always do my math homework.

hanging on in quiet desperation

A thanks

I just want to thank all those who have actually taken the time to visit my blog. Kelsey, Jocelyne, Ariel, Alanna, Alicia, Ran, Isabelle, Rachelle, and of course Jenna. It helps to have an audience.

Why I Missed School

I hate lipgloss.

I don't know what otherwise pretty girls see in the constant application of a substance that makes their mouth shiny. In the spirit of conformity, perhaps. Ugh. I see it as far worse than layered, straightened hair. The latter is a fad. Lipgloss is eternal.

Anyway, how did I do at provincials? Well, let me put it very bluntly.

Dead last.

How do you spell désastre?

I knew I was bad at debating, but I didn't know I was that bad. I still don't think I am. I'm not entirely sure how that cute grade seven from Herzliah who used up a minute and a half out of the five he had to speak and talked into his tie managed to pull off a better score than me.

So ends my love affair with debating. We really had something going at the beginning, but I don't think either of us realized, at the time, what we were getting into. Lately, we've only been continuing in the false hope of regaining what we had, but it's time we separated. Now we can both go back to the people and things we love.

Something about blue eyes.

I guess this is April.

Sometimes when I'm standing on the corner waiting for Rachelle in the mornings, I'll look at the passing cars and wonder what, if someone from a hundred years ago were standing right beside me, that person would think about what is so everyday. The older, more boxy cars would be beyond them (and are frankly beyond me), but I'm speaking of the new, smooth, curved, shiny ones. To them, they would seem a lot like those pods in science fiction movies with the doors that slide up and off so you can get in. And yet I don't feel like we're any smarter, more educated, more knowledgable...more futuristic than that person is.

My teacher's grand piano is so shiny-black. I like to watch my hands reflected above the keys, moving as if controlled by another.

But let me take the time, now, to make something very very clear. DON'T CALL ME SHORT. Many people have certain things they are sensitive to. Kelsey is sensitive about her voice (although I don't really know why). Isabelle is sensitive about eyebrows. I personally cannot take someone randomly saying, "You're really short," (which incidentally I am NOT, being above average height I'll-thank-you-very-much) without feeling like I'm about to explode. There, we have that cleared up.

Anyway, I shan't be at school tomorrow. Good luck Alanna at provincials (and Vicky/Dory if you guys are going), Jacob at his improv, and Isabelle at explaining to me exactly why and how "(heart) Kelsey" came to be engraved on my folder. It will be a tiny bit quieter.

I can't wait for soccer! Soccer! Soccer!... Oh and Jenna/Rachelle my bike has been fixed AND I found my helmet...spring is nearly here, or so the weather would have us believe.

Like my father's reversible vest.

In Stark Contrast to Yesterday's Novel

1. Subway was closed.
2. I don't want to go to debating provincials.
3. I haven't written a new poem today, partly because I'm still working on yesterday's. I started one, but wasn't feeling particularly creative.
4. I still can't believe Kaj's excuse for missing school yesterday. Dust surgery.
5. I knew it would snow.

It blows my mind, too.

Memory and Magic

My second day of blogging. I feel that I've really achieved something, although I still doubt that I have the discipline required to continue with this.

For one thing, it can be very difficult to think of something to write. In my first post, I made a fleeting reference to a "public diary." Well, that oxymoron just doesn't fly, because I could write anything in a diary, but here I actually have to think of something that (a) I'm willing to let other people see and (b) other people might be mildly interested in.

I was thinking about this in science class today. I think about many things in science class, mainly because there is very little else to do. Kaj (being the only person around me who is never actually working on science) can be depended on to alleviate the boredom, but not to be in science class every day.

I thought about how everyone radiates heat, and then I wondered if it were possible for someone to control that heat, or focus on a specific object. And if it were possible to light a paper on fire through the power of one's mind, that would fit the definition of Magic that so many stories have provided us with. After a few fruitless attempts to set Mr Lemelin's computer alight, I returned to setting words down in my agenda and drawing pyramids on my science notes.

The assembly today was well done, although the song may have been unnecessary. After all, sometimes clichés are the best thing. I couldn't help but notice that the candle meant to symbolize the future burned brighter than the other two.

I've been thinking, though. (Dangerous.) I just can't understand the point of us being alive at all. Fast forward a few hundred years and nearly all of us will have disappeared into the sandstorm of time. (Sands of time is just too peaceful.) A tired topic, but think on it still.

When I mentioned this to Isabelle (briefly, before the math test...she was taking out her pencil case, searching for the eraser directly in front of her), she told me that she didn't really mind. Why would she want people evaluating her personal life long after she was dead? Perhaps, Isabelle, but does that not give you a sense of futility?

Of course, we as people don't need to be remembered for our deeds to have an impact on humanity. The butterfly effect, over time instead of space. (For those who don't know, a butterfly can flap its wings in Brazil and set off a storm in Texas.) On the other hand, what's the point? What's the point of contributing to society? Where are we going, anyway?

My vision for the future is this: In a few thousand years, we'll have become so completely dependent on our technology that we cannot fend for ourselves. It should be a small matter for the aliens to obliterate our species.

Farewell, Mrs Nickolakakis. One thing is certain: you will not be forgotten quickly.

I realize that these fairly large paragraphs are completely unappealing and un-bloglike. I'll get the hang of it eventually.

I'm not depressed, I'm just pessimistic.

For all youse with unusual names and such

If anyone objects to me using their first names on this page, let me know. I'll use middle names.

A Rambling Introduction

Well, here I am doing something I never dreamed I would. Blogging. Posting my thoughts on the Internet for anyone -- or more accurately no one -- to read and judge. What made me turn to what I once denounced as pointless? Was it spontaneous, born out of boredom? Perhaps. I have a number of reasons, none very good.

Of course, it started out because it was something everyone was doing. It's been something everyone was doing before, but for some reason I paid it more attention this time. Why? It could have been Kelsey. "You should start a blog." Upon further questioning, she told me it would help her to get to know me better. I am certain Kelsey knows me as well already as she would if I wrote daily public diary entries. I am also certain that Kelsey would not benefit from knowing more about me. You see, I'm a very boring person. Yet my interest was roused.

The thing about blogs is that, although it's basically a way of talking to everyone, you're allowed to take back, revise what you say. Which is excellent for me, of course. The words never seem to come out right when I'm speaking. Here, I can talk for long, utterly useless paragraphs and not need to worry. You can hear me now, my friends! Whether you will choose to is an entirely different story.

The third reason, and by far the best, is the button that says "Publish Post" directly below my cursor. I just press that button, and I'm published! Talk about instant gratification.

I'm afraid this blog, if it lasts past a week, will not be a very interesting one. You see, nothing actually happens to me. My life is good, but extremely boring to relate and read about. Besides which, I somehow never seem to have time in this boring life to do things such as post blogs. We shall see, I suppose -- you, whoever you may be, nearly as much as I.