My New Title

I checked my email this morning, and sitting in the inbox was what I thought to be a newsletter from the Anthropology Society, our campus club. I get these periodically and always skim through them. When I opened it, however, I found that it was not a newsletter, but an email from the president of the society, inviting me to be on the executive for next year. My position would be an "Advocacy Officer" and I would be responsible for organizing several smaller awareness initiatives throughout the year. He says, and I quote, "If you're interested, I think that you would be perfect for doing this". How's about that? Obviously I said yes.

Is there an opposite expression for "when it rains it pours"? Because I am having a run of good luck here! Two great papers back, a public thumbs up from the chair of my department, and now this!

Feed Proteus!

Done Third Year! (Except for exams)

Triumph! I handed in my very last essay of the year, and I worked super hard on it, and feel confident that it will be an A paper. Of course, now that I've admitted that I've probably jinxed it.

My last two classes went really well. The first we watched sections of two movies on blurring gender boundaries, and then had a small lecture on the book that we've been reading all term, Travesti. The book was facinating, and so was the lecture. I loved the class.

Then, on to the second (The History of Anthropological Theory) where we did course wrap up, and exam outline, and I got back my paper. This was the paper that I was rather insecure about. I wasn't really sure what he was expecting, but aparently I nailed it as I got an 86! That's an A, oh yes it is. Then, at the end of class I went to talk to the professor, who is also chair of the department, about setting up an appointment to talk about my doing a thesis next year. He said he was upset that he won't be around to be my student-teacher advisor, as he's going on sebatical, but was very eager to discuss ideas with me. He then got distracted talking to another student (as he is known to do - very absent minded man) and so I turned to leave. As I was just about to exit the classroom he called out, "Oh Haley! That was an excelent paper. I much enjoyed reading it". I turned all shades of red and thanked him.

Now I think I might take a walk down to the park and enjoy the absolutely beautiful weather outside today.

Loony Bin

I kid you not, this was an actual conversation that took place between two of my roommates:

1: Lemme what-it what and a one tiiiieme.
2: Search-search-search-surck.
1: Yo yo pot-pots. (This said to me as I made the mistake of opening my bedroom door)
2: Seeeuuuurgh.
1: Wanna go for a slurp tonight?
2: Diggy diggy.

It's official, I'm living in a mental institution, only the patients here aren't properly medicated.

New Addition

Today I opened the walksafe office (early dispatchers get the keys from security and unlock it) and found, much to my horror and surprise, an abandoned pet. Sitting in a small pool of dirty water was a small goldfish no bigger than a goldfish cracker. He was sitting at the bottom of the murky pool, and didn't so much as move a millimeter when the glass was tapped.

Next to this sad, pathetic looking fish, was a sign that read "please feed me and give me a home" on one side and "please do not kill me" on the other. Feeling pity for this small creature that has been left, I'm now told, for three days on this desk without fresh water or food, I promptly announced that I would take it home with me. Fitzy ever so kindly ran out and purchased fish food for me which I sprinkled liberally on the waters surface. I then -- being unable to properly change his water here -- stirred the bowl gently with a paintbrush to oxygenate the water.

The new addition to my family then, is a small but determined goldfish I have named Proteus. Maybe by taking him in and giving him care, Proteus will grow to love me and provide me with knowledge about the future.

Proteus gobbled down some food, as much as a goldfish can gobble, and is now happily swimming in circles.

Good news!

I got on both of the volunteer teams I interviewed for! I will be returning to the walksafe program, and also will be starting to work with the literacy team. Now in addition to school I'll spend one night a week walking people home, and one mornging a week reading to children. Such fun!

Now if only I can find a job...

Tired Monday

It's Monday afternoon, and I've been home since 9:30 this morning when I left work due to the killer migrane that came on. Actually, it wasn't a migrane, that's just how I explained it to my boss. Really it was like a million tiny, high pitched voices were screaming at me from inside my head, on a really really high speed. Like someone was fastforwarding a tape, only accompanied by a stabbing pain behind my right eye. My stupid right eye. It doesn't see, but it's painfully sensitive to light (squints and waters uncontrollably) and gets stabbing pains frequently.

This happens to me periodically, and yes, I have had it checked. There's nothing wrong with me. It is, as explained by my psychologist, a coping mechanism. It's my body telling me that something is wrong, that I am overstressed, and I need to slow down. Some people hyperventilate; some people get headaches; some people get nauseas; I get screaming high-speed voices. It's not the greatest, but I guess it beats an ulcer.

I came home, had a hot shower (relaxation stops the mental onslaught), and meditated. By this point it was about 10:30 and I had dulled the voices down to a gleeful gibbering song whose tune is vaguely recognizable, but the words are still garbled. It takes them (the voices) usually about an hour or two to dissipate entirely. When I was younger I used to wonder if the language they're speaking was tongues. This was when I was much more traditionally religious, and much more naive.

Now, although I believe in a God of some sort, he doesn't fit the Christian ideal, I don't believe that he speaks to people directly - not in the sense of spoken language - and I also somewhat believe in the ideas of karma, meditation, and universal balance which are definitely not Christian. But I ramble.

The day has come around. It is not just after four, and I have calmed the voices into submission long ago. All that remains is a touch of a lingering head ache. I have managed to complete one of the major essays that is due this week, and now I have opened the windows to let fresh air and sunlight in, and am packing more. I wish I could be done essays and exams, and go home. I'm tired of here. I'm tired of the stress. I'm tired of the roommates. I'm tired of having to use coin laundry and baseboard electric heaters. I'm tired of living out of one tiny room with all my belongings crammed into it. I want to go home. I want my garden. I want my house. I want my kitten, and my dog. I want my family again. I miss you all so much.

Thanks to Mum, Adam, Emma, and Q for the card. It came in the mail this morning and was just the pick-me-up I needed. You're all lovely. Now I'm off to pack another box, eat something, and go to a walksafe meeting.

More Interviews

In half an hour I have an interview for a position at the campus bar for next fall. I don't know what position they are interviewing me for, I don't know the hours, I know hardly anything at all, to tell the truth. We submit our resumes online, and are then contacted (or not) for an interview. So here I sit, in the computer lab, wearing a dress shirt and a jacket, and watching the clock tick.

This weekend I have an interview each day, one for rehiring onto the walksafe team, and the other for a literacy program for children. I'd spend a day a week reading to children. Sounds like a good time to me!

Anyways, I have now printed off hard copies of my resume and references. Guess I'd better go have something to eat and try to calm my nerves. I hate interviews so much.

Spring has Sprung

This is the sight that I beheld on my way to class today:
See that?? Buds on the Trees.

Spring is here. Hopefully.

White Girls Don't Like Hip Hop (or so I've been told)

Yesterday, while walking through the concourse on campus I was handed a promotional flyer for a concert. This often happens when walking through the concourse, and I glanced at it, as I always do before inevitably throwing it away, and discovered that it was an advertisement for a "blackmarket release party".
I barely had enough time to smile before a second guy said to the one that handed me the flyer, "Aw dude, you have to be selective. She's just going to throw that out."

What, do I not strike people as the wanna-be-black, hip hop/rap listening, bling wearing, gangsta loving girl? I just about died laughing.

Save Me

The following was all said by one one roommate, within the span of about 10 minutes, and all in falsetto. Apparently everything is funny if it's said in falsetto. Just thought I'd give you a taste of what I live with. It's vulgar, it's constant, and it makes me want to hit things.

Hello motherf*cker. Yip, yip, yip! Yee!
Hurry it up now.
Hurry it up now yo.
Hurry it up now pot-pots.
Aye, aye aye. Yarroo.
My name is Doreen and I think I'm a queen. I like to eat pizza pops and chew on my socks. I like to suck c*cks.
Yeah.
Yeah yeah.
Yip, yip, yip!
Are you taking a dump?
Are you taking a big dump? A big dumper-oo?
Gonna hafta break out the air freshener.
Hey man? Hey?
Yeah.
Yeah, yip, yippie-roo.

Other than that...it's been a great day! Hope you are all enjoying your days free of verbal diarrhea girl (my new nickname for this roommate).

My Favourite Emily Dickinson Poem

Part Four: Time and Eternity

XXVII

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

Good Day

After the very weird day of winter we had, the snow has once again melted, the temperature has risen, and the sun is shining, shining, shining. There's not a cloud in the sky today.

I think that perhaps my body has just absolutely had it with winter. Yesterday when it was cold, dark, windy, and otherwise disgusting, I was in the worst mood of moods. Today, with the bright, airy feeling, I am in one of the best mood of moods. Of course, that could also have to do with the fact that I called in sick to work, thereby allowing myself to sleep in and not have to deal with the stupid, stupid people that they call "coworkers".

I handed in the second of four papers this afternoon. Yesterday was the one on male-victim domestic violence, today was on Franz Boas and his influences on modern day anthropology. In two weeks time I must hand in two more, one on gender and rape, and the other a proposal to do fieldwork in urban Toronto with gangs and youth centers. It's a fake proposal - a practice run, if you will - but the ultimate goal is to allow us to run by our professor the proposal that we might then use to apply to graduate school.

The idea that I'm toying with at the present is doing fieldwork with youth gangs and working in collaboration with policing forces in Toronto to bring down the incidence of urban gang-related crime. It would be very interesting work, albeit somewhat dangerous and very challenging.

For this afternoon I am taking time off. I am listening to music, basking in the sunshine, and working on my newest knitting project. To those in this city: I hope you are enjoying the weather. To those in other cities: haha, you still have snow.

Flash Anger

I should have just gone back to bed. I'm sick, exhausted, and overworked. I got to work, worked for an hour and the other student staffer left because she was "sick" (code for I have cramps and don't want to be here). I informed the boss that I was actually ill, but would stick it out since she'd left. He said he appreciated that and would make it up to me.

Sure he will. Then when the next fulltimer comes in at 10, she leaves 15 minutes later because she's "sick" (read hungover).

So here I am, tired, and actually sick, and I'm stuck working a really busy day with virtually no backup. If I could have made myself vomit on their floor, I would have.

To put the icing on the cake, a friend comes over and starts hounding me about why I didn't go to a social for walk-safe last night. Let's see...I'm sick, I have two essays due by tomorrow, I just got rejected for executive position, and I didn't want to deal with all the sympathy I would have gotten from people. His response? "I'm really busy and I went" I had an flash of instant temper and shot back at him "well I guess you're just a better person than me Name." He looked startled, mumbled something, and left.

Now I'm home, I've showered, and I'm still shaking with anger. I just want to throw things and punch things and scream at things. I'm tired of having to live up to other peoples expectations. I'm failing, I'm sorry, piss off.

No matter how you slice it...

...this Sucks.

That's right. Big fat rejection. I would have done a damn good job.

Oh well.

Too bad there won't be a next time.

Yet Another Reason to be Glad I'm Moving

As my friend and I sat in one of our shared classes, waiting for the prof to arrive and lecture to begin, she tells me about the horrible thing that happened to her roommate earlier today. They live a few floors below me, and when her roommate went out to her car in the parking garage, she noticed something was not right.

Her car was lower. In fact, she could not see her car. Her car was hidden behind another larger car. Wait, no, the other car was not larger. How could this be? As she got closer, she realized to her shock and horror that her car was sitting on the ground. But cars are always on the ground, you say, and so you would be right. But her car was on the ground, without wheels. Someone had come in, jacked her car, stolen all her tires, and the dropped the car back on the cement ground. The police were called, her parents were called, her insurance company was called.

The police stared, dumbfounded. "Would you like us to call a tow-truck?", they asked. Stupid. First of all, our parking garage is so tiny that there is no way that a tow-truck could get in, nevertheless tow a car attached to it out. Furthermore, how are you supposed to tow a car that doesn't have tires??

Our repairman was in the garage at 8am, at which point he says that everything was fine. Surely he would have noticed if a car was without wheels. That's rather hard to miss. This means that sometime between 8am and 3pm, the culprits came into the garage, jacked the car, removed the tires, and dropped it on the concrete (which would have been really loud). The guts to do this in broad daylight!

Meanwhile, the poor girl is irate with the landlord. Her car got scratched in October, and she complained to him, saying that he needed to have video surveillance. The landlord replied that it was being installed by January. Here we are in March, and still no real security. The underbody of her car has been incredibly damaged, and she has no tires!

Her insurance company has provided her with a rental car until her own can be repaired, and it won't affect her rates, since it was damage due to theft, but still! Think of it! What kind of a neighbourhood is this anyways? I'm glad I'm moving!

Wants

Sitting here, staring at the article in front of me ("The Truth About Domestic Violence: A Falsely Framed Issue"), knowing that I really need to finish this essay tonight, and having absolutely no motivation to do so. I hate this essay. I hate all essays. I never want to write another essay in my life. Ever. I don't want to have to read what other people tell me to read. I don't want to write what other people tell me to write. I don't want to have everything marked, and graded.

I want to lie on a dock, in the cool air, listening to the sounds of nature, and singing aloud, knowing full well that no one else is near to hear me.

I want to sit in the park in the sun and watch the new parents with their children running through the grass.

I want to climb the top to the top of the highest building in the world and scream in pure exhilaration.

I want to backpack across Europe.

I want to volunteer in South America, digging in the dirt in some remote village in Peru.

I want to work in Children's Aid, saving all the children who need to be saved.

I want to do something. I'm tired of sitting, reading, typing and retyping things that no one will ever read - other than my prof - and that have no real meaning.

Interview Day

The interview happened. I can't say that I really participated, because the real me was frozen inside the body of this girl that seemed to just keep talking and talking. Even while I was asking her "are you saying anything meaningful? Did you answer all the points?" she just kept talking.

She slightly botched the first question out of nervousness, and the presentation went pretty well except that the interviewers didn't smile until the very very end.

I'll find out on Tuesday at noon how she did for me. This girl that I watched do my interview.

Countdown

I have half an hour before my interview. I'm so nervous I have constant butterflies. I now that I'll walk in there and be cool. I'm very good at appearing calm when my insides are upside down, but man am I nervous.

Thanks Jackie for the card. I needed that boost of confidence :)

Bonus!

To make an amazing day even better, I just chatted with this guy that I used to work with at The Coffee Shop back home. I haven't talked to him in months and months. Like...probably not since October. Maybe even longer, actually. Gosh, probably not for about a year now.

This is particularly exciting because I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. He is the world's nicest guy. So sweet. And very good looking, musically talented, artistic, etc.

He messaged me to say that he's got the sequel to a book that he and I read together, and that he'll send it to me when he's done it. I told him that I can just get it from him when I'm home for summer. We chatted for a bit, and then he went off to drum.

What are the odds that he'd message me today, of all days?

Happiness

I wish I could bottle moments like this, when I feel like everything is right, and everything is beautiful. I took the bus to the mall to get a few groceries, and it was sprinkling rain. I suppose I should explain that I love rain, so it put me in a good mood. While walking from one end of the mall, where the bus stops are, to the other end, where the grocery store is, I kept seeing all kinds of people. Elderly people, disabled people, young people, youth in goth dress, youth in prep dress. And in all kinds of combinations. Young people walking with disabled people, children walking with what I can only assume were their grandparents. The thing that struck me about all of them was their mood. Every single one of the people I passed was smiling. By the time I got to the grocery store I was marveling at the wonderful people that inhabit this planet. Such diversity. Such individuality. I've always been a people watcher, but today it seemed like everybody was out just for me.

I picked up some things, and while I was in the fruit/vegetable section picking out oranges, there was a man with his son the isle over from me. The boy must have been about 20 months, and the dad was picking an apple, flying it like a plane right up to his sons nose, saying "bop" as he tapped him gently (resulting in wails of laughter) and then putting the apple in the bag. I was just overwhelmed with a love for a culture that can have a father and son enjoying each others company so purely and innocently, even in the setting of a grocery isle. It was glorious.

Now I am home, have put away my groceries, and had to share the wonderful story with all of you.

Hoo-Rah!

I GOT AN INTERVIEW!!!

YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES

Bad Prof, BAD.

I just got out of a class where the prof lectured us for 20 minutes on the very low caliber of our take-home midterms, and about how she expected more from a class of third year students. This I don't really take issue with; it's her prerogative, although she should know that until we have marks in hand we really aren't hearing anything she's saying. And really, if the entire class did poorly then there's a high degree of probability that she just worded the questions inappropriately.

What she then proceeded to do is completely inappropriate. She handed the papers back in order of marks, and announced each person's grade as she handed them back. It was so incredibly disrespectful. I wasn't embarrassed because I got an 80 and was the 4th paper handed back, but some of my friends received significantly lower marks and had to suffer through the ordeal. I'm just appalled that she did that.

Hustle, Bustle, and You

It's nine thirty in the morning; you are two hours late. You run in, breathless, uniform unfinished, shoes untied. You sit on a milk crate down by the cash, ignoring the line up and the fact that we're scrambling to serve. You sip slowly at a coffee while the orders fly and you stare at your toes. A friend comes to the counter and you start to talk back and forth about the night before - the fun that you had and the drinks that resulted in your headache and nausea. You sit on your crate and talk to your friend who stands in the line that is pushing in urgency around him. Finally he leaves and you get up from your crate. You come over and slap me hard on the shoulder. "Sorry," you say, as the sweat drips from my brow, "I don't want you to think I'm one of those who's late to work 'cause they partied too hard." I stare at you, unblinking, while I try to keep my dislike of your from pushing the orders out of my brain. One coffee, two teas, and a croissant with cheese.

Body references

Sitting in the library, working on one of the many papers that are due this month. I've been here for 3 1/2 hours, and have managed to type up a very weak 3 pages of a 10 page essay. It's a struggle to focus today.

Our library has a system whereby you can rent desks or "carrels" for the year. Each desk is equipped with a power bar, an overhead lamp, and two drawers that come with a lock. I have never bothered to rent a carrel since I have never had the experience of being kicked out of a carrel, nor do I like the idea of having to work at one place consistently throughout the year.

However, each carrel has a tag on it saying "This Carrel has an assigned user. Please yield space." and then the carrel number (today mine is carrel #5-16). I note that someone has ever so wittfully whited out part of the tag at this one so that it reads "This carrel has an ass".

I wonder, do we ever grow up enough that random references to the body are no longer humorous? I shake my head at the immaturity.

Online Dating

It may surprise some of you to learn the following: for some time I have been dabbling with internet dating services. One service, to be exact. It began as a casual curiosity about the kind of people who use these things, and what kind of experiences they have, or expect to have. I suppose it began as a type of anthropological study, really. I created my profile in a moment of intelectual questioning, but never with the intention of actually seeing anyone that I might meet. After all, the internet is a strange place where the insane may appear normal, and 54 year old pedofiles may appear as 24 year old attractive bachelors. I am no fool.

After conducting this study of sorts for the last few months, I have determined that there are four types of men online:
1) Those who have stolen their parent's credit cards and are mascarading behind the illusion of being successful university or college students in hopes of winning into bed with them an actual university girl.
2) Those who have incredibly low self-esteem and do not believe that anyone would like them in real life, and so resort to third party winks to attract attention in their direction.
3) Those who have just broken up a serious relationship, are desperately craving attention, but are petrified of getting into a situation where they may be hurt again.
4) Those who, quite frankly, can't get enough action, and hit on absolutely everything. In my experience, these are generally men well over 30.

I have been checking back on my profile periodically, more now for amusement's sake than anything else. Today I thought I would share some of the remarks that I have received, for whatever entertainment they may provide. For the record, I think these things can be useful for some people, just not me.

The comment:
"hey hows it goin would you like to chat and wow i was incredibly shocked at how beautiful you look in all your pics lol" (19 year old male from Bellevile)
My reaction:
Anyone that can't string together a decent sentence is not worth the time of day. Honey, give the credit card back to your Mummy and stop wasting your valuable homework time. You have a test in third period English tomorrow. As to the pictures, I'm glad you liked them, I'll pass that information on to Kiera Knightly. I'm sure she always likes to know how beautiful she is.

The comment:
"hi ;) i'm a naughty exhibitionist...want to see my webcam?" (33 year old male from London)
My reaction:
Oh gee. What a romantic proposition. What are the odds that this one sends this email en masse to everyone online?

The comment:
"i get a feeling that you might be more than just a beautiful face, something also tells me you get a 100 emails a day from losers saying such great things like 'oh I just divorced my 6th wife and we have five potential criminl children but on the upside I am finally on the verge of getting a real job' etc etc" (32 year old male from Pickering)
My reaction:
I just had to laugh. This guy has obviously done the internet dating for a while, and knows what he's up against (not much). What's the tactic? Convince the girl that you're not a creepy stalker, and actually care to know about her life, even though, in reality, you are 12 years her senior and in what city is that ever going to fly with a 20-year-old Keira Knightly look alike?

I was a Lynx

What animal was I in a past life? In case you were wondering...

I Was a Lynx

I am a great knower and keeper of secrets. A bit psychic, I can bring out hidden truths.

What Animal Were You In a Past Life?

Escapades

Slept in late, woke up feeling that really groggy, head-swimming sick that you get when you over sleep but are still really tired. This happens to me occasionally the morning after I pull a late-shift with safe walk. I truged out of my bedroom into the kitchen and made eggs. My roommates were chattering at a pace that I just couldn't keep up with, so I ate and showered. Showering brought me back into the realm of the living, and after chatting with people for a while I went for a bus trip down to the mall.

I bought three little notebooks, with the idea that I will put one in each of the bags/purses I use, and then always have something on me to write with. I've been feeling the urge to write a lot recently. It's not even an urge really, it's more like I'll see something and I have this inner dialogue that automatically starts writing mentally, but I have nowhere to write it down physically, so I lose it. Now I'll have notebooks! Maybe this will mean more blog material? Who knows.

Now I have an hour and a bit to kill before I go on yet another safe walk shift! Actually, I'm double shifting. First I'm walking, then I'm dispatching. Hurrah. I'm an addict. But hey, addicted to volunteering? Not such a bad thing.

Mirror mirror on the wall have I got it?
'Cause mirror, you've always told me who I am
I'm finding it's not easy to be perfect
So sorry, you won't define me
Sorry, you don't own me.
(Mirror, by Barlow Girl - a very inspirational Christian rock song)

Broken Homes

We must feel pity for children of these
Children whose lives were interrupted
To have their home separated
And their ideologies destroyed
Surely they are worse off than those
Whose parents never gained the courage
To say 'enough', stop the yelling
And end the pain and sadness
Those children whose parents are together
Who duck and cower while tables are thrown
While bruises are formed and foul words fly
Are lucky to have unity of the household
Those children whose parents are together
Because their marriage vows outweigh the pain
Of daily tears and stress
Of psychological damage and abuse
Are lucky their home houses both fighters

These are the sarcastic thoughts
That fill my head while others lecture
And speak against household splits

Who are you to lecture, you who have never known what the true cost of unity can mean?

You sit and judge
While never having spent a moment
In the torment that these children
Live through daily
Don't speak to me of the crime
Done these children of divorce
Until you have witnessed first hand
The harm done them
By living in between two people
Who have lost all their happiness
Instead of their homes being broken apart
By separation and divorce
They live in unity
In a home that will never function
And is broken in spirit

--------------------------------------------------

In case you can't pick up on it, I had a very heated debate with another student in a class on kinship and marriage. Their bindness infuriates me.

Home

The concept discussed in class today was that of "home".

Home is a concept that we carry in our memory. It is a safe place to retreat to and allows us to remember what it means to be happy, even for a brief moment of time. Home, in this sense, it not a physical space. The memory that you retreat to doesn't have to be of the home that you grew up in, or a house at all. It is a time when you felt safe, and at peace.

The etymology of the word home is that of old Norse. The word heimur meant the entire universe, and that eventually evolved into the word heim, from which our word home is derived. Our professor talked about how strange it is that the world home, which is a reference to something very specific, evolved from a term that referred to absolute vastness, but this makes absolute sense to me. The feeling of belonging, security, and warmth is possibly the single most important thing that everyone strives for. How each finds it is different, but it is still the ultimate goal. In essence, home is everything to everyone. It is all that matters.

As we talked about this, an image came into my head of the story of the Little Matchbox Girl, a story by Hans Christian Anderson (I tried to find a link, but no luck). To give a brief synopsis, there is a girl who sells matches on the street. She is absolutely destitute. On one particular day she sells no matches, and sits in an alley way and lights a match to warm her just a bit, and as it strikes, she sees through the brick wall in front of her into a room with a Christmas tree, a warm fire, food, presents, and family. She strikes successive matches to bring the room back into view, and sits basking in the memory of the feeling, until she dies. It's a sad song, certainly, and I'm probably getting it slightly wrong, but it always resonated with me for some reason.

It is true that when things are going terribly, people resort to the memory of home, and the feeling of security, belonging, and warmth that accompanies it, was enough that the Matchbox Girl could die in peace. I would certainly like to believe that everyone who dies, returns to that image and feeling of home as exists in their utopian memory. What would be a better heaven?

I Wonder

You ever notice that the moment you break up with someone, it seems like the rest of the universe has someone? Suddenly, there are couples everywhere. They're giggling. They're holding hands. They're kissing. They're saying "I love you"s on the phone. They're picking each other up after classes and from labs. They're surprising each other in the library and in the computer rooms, making faces at each other through the glass.

I wonder, were they always there and was I just oblivious? Do I simply notice them more now because it reminds me of what I don't have? Or are there honestly more of them now?

It is the week after reading week, so it's infinitely possible that they all got together in alcohol-induced fogs on vacation. Who knows.