Ironically, Dan's Singledom vs. Coupledom post just reaffirms our running gag of quirk -- I totally agree with the guy. He tells me he's setting up something on Incurable Goodness (sounds like a gourmet cookie to me), so I'll keep my comments from this for awhile.
Drip, drip, drip. The two leaky faucets in our house give me nightmares about how we're depleting the world's largest supply of fresh water and probably prompting the US to step up its Canadian invasion plans, but the constant dripping probably comes more from those stupid letters that arrived in the mail en masse last week. It's not a coincidence that I haven't been able to sleep since; I was doing a jolly fine one forgetting that I was waiting for old, cigar-smoking men to pass judgement on my badly-handwritten applications and sketchy résumé. Now, I get up at 5:30 AM because I can't sleep, and not because I'm excited. The euphoria wore off pretty quickly, and now I'm just anxious.
At least Vancouver has a primary sewage treatment plant, my laundry's folded, my stock of teabags (and hugs) is far from low and I'm re-establishing diplomatic relations with my body and maybe -- just maybe -- some semblance of a social life! Just when I started thinking art could no longer touch me, something reminds me about why we are all Still/Here.
Drip, drip, drip. The two leaky faucets in our house give me nightmares about how we're depleting the world's largest supply of fresh water and probably prompting the US to step up its Canadian invasion plans, but the constant dripping probably comes more from those stupid letters that arrived in the mail en masse last week. It's not a coincidence that I haven't been able to sleep since; I was doing a jolly fine one forgetting that I was waiting for old, cigar-smoking men to pass judgement on my badly-handwritten applications and sketchy résumé. Now, I get up at 5:30 AM because I can't sleep, and not because I'm excited. The euphoria wore off pretty quickly, and now I'm just anxious.
At least Vancouver has a primary sewage treatment plant, my laundry's folded, my stock of teabags (and hugs) is far from low and I'm re-establishing diplomatic relations with my body and maybe -- just maybe -- some semblance of a social life! Just when I started thinking art could no longer touch me, something reminds me about why we are all Still/Here.
