Go Leafs Go!

So, taking the TTC home from Gandhi's house provided a few seconds of entertainment as I was walking by the last part of the train that I had just exited at St. Clair West. There was this fat guy with a huge Leafs jersey on with facepaint on and a massive hat yelling at the top of his lungs "GO LEAFS GO!" in a rhythmic manner. He was at the end of the train and facing everyone in his section, and he was just there going at it, flailing his arms while chanting.

I could hear him from like halfway down the station, and I thought it was pretty funny. The people in the same section as him probably didn't find it nearly as funny after a while, haha.

Of course, considering that the hockey season was over a month or two ago made this appearance rather unlikely. Maybe I'm unaware of some announcement or something? I dunno.

Currently reading - Watership Down.

I love rabbits.

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My love, do you sleep?

Do I sleep?

Do I dream?

No and no.

For the past week or so, I haven't slept. Well, I have, but it's not real sleep - it's the fake, light kind where you're conscious that you're in your bed but you have no sense of time.

Dreams? Well, I know I get them, it's just that I don't remember them. I used to dream plenty (that is, I used to remember plenty), but now... well, I don't.

Correlation? Obviously - if I don't get into a deep sleep, I can't dream. Now, even once in a while, when I do get a deep sleep (i.e. passing out at 6 am or something), I don't remember a dream.

So, that's half my life there.

The other half? It's pretty awesome - sometimes. Last week, Gandhi came over for a small Katimagetogether. And then a coupla days after - surprise surprise - K & D arrive from over yonder for a place to stay, and we have more Katimatimes.

And then - what's this? Gandhi decides to have a bigger Katimagetogether at his house? Oh sweet, so we all show up there, along with T, M, and C for an even bigger Katimaparty aka celebration of a couple birthdays. Hella fun.

It's actually been an exciting week, and I would say the positives outweigh the not so pleasant negatives. It's a fine rollercoaster, but Anxiety Attacks are really, really not cool.

Another negative is L being... mad at me, but I don't know why, they're all jumbled reasons - and all on my birthday, too. Now I'm not going to say that birthdays veto everything, but really, since when is not giving in to peer pressure such a blasphemy? Well hey, the birthday pie is tasty at least.

19! Expensive lonely bar errands to come? Ha Ha Ha.

... Some people know me enough to know that it'll probably happen.

Anyway, happy birthdays to Augusters and I sign out.

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Train No. 2

The train slithers

through the woodlands

But it also rocks

the sides shake

-ominously

The trees lurch forward

-tentatively

In the mind's eye, I see

a ghost train bounce off

hit the trees

and explode

into a multitude

of shelled pieces

Fast forward

turns out it's not a ghost train

Anguish; screams, yells, heat

intense heat

A Titanic-esque pose

The engineers refuse to leave

The upturned wreck; people inside

The panic; the burning heat

Slowly, but not surely, an escape

walking corpses; the lashing heat

Nothing to claim them except

Night, fire and wood

Too many trees

As everything starts to be consumed

They walk, no clear sense of direction

Away from the burning death trap

Away from the carnage

Away from the stench

Away...

Modelos

I'm a junkie.

I don't know exactly what kind, a special kind I think, because I'm not a junkie to any specific one thing.

I mean, you can easily tell who Crack Junkies are, and who Sports Junkies are, but me? You can't identify me.

I'm a junkie all right, a chameleon junkie. A person seeing me stay up till 5 am might think I'm an Insomniac Junkie, but then the next day they'll see me listening to CBC Radio One all day long, so they'll think I'm a CBC Radio One Junkie. But what if they saw me lurking around at the Wychwood Barns late at night, they'd think I was a lurker Junkie, but I don't go there every night.

Let's look at the Urban Dictionary definition of a Junkie, shall we? There are many, an accepted one would be:

Junk-ie –noun Informal. Generally, junkie (in terms of drug abuse) applies to someone addicted to a narcotic-- such as heroin, morphine, opium, codeine, and methadone.

So am I a Junkie? In the informal sense yes, because my body seeks out drugs, and then produces its own.

Ha, a real Junkie would scoff at me.

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